Between Beauty and the Abyss
Seventy-six years ago, in a remote hamlet of Polesia in Soviet Belarus, Anastasia OM came into the world. She became the embodiment of three realms, three forces that defined an entire era: the tragic legacy of the post-war years, the high expectations of a bright communist future, and the sacred, profound power of Orthodox faith.
From an early age, the little girl learned to maintain balance between two scales: her father, a war veteran, a convinced communist, a man of duty and ideology, and her mother, a deeply devout Orthodox woman, guardian of prayer, tradition, and inner light.
Thus, a subtle, continuous, almost invisible inner dialogue gradually formed within Anastasia. A dialogue between idea and faith, duty and love, earthly existence and eternal meaning. Soviet upbringing instilled respect for labor, honesty, and justice. Orthodoxy instilled a sense of responsibility before God and humanity. These principles did not conflict; on the contrary, they converged in the strict and clear idea formulated by Chekhov: “Everything in a person should be beautiful: their face, their clothes, their soul, and their thoughts.” For Anastasia, this became a way of being, not merely an aesthetic slogan. It was the beginning of her understanding of life.
At the age of nine, her family moved to Crimea. It was then that Anastasia began having visions: reality seemed to accelerate, like an old film reel, and images of the future unfolded before her — along with echoes of a past life. She perceived these flashes as natural, unaware that the keys to other worlds are given to very few. One day, passing by an ordinary house, Anastasia felt with absolute clarity: this is where her destiny lay. Later, she met her future husband — it turned out he lived there. Together, they shared more than thirty years of life until he passed into another world.
One of the most severe trials came at fifty, when doctors gave her a fatal diagnosis and only a few months to live. Fear, despair, unanswerable questions… In that moment, Anastasia refused to follow the imposed script and entered a serious, adult conversation with herself: who she was, what she needed to understand, what to change, and why this trial was given to her. She prayed less for her own salvation than for the fate of her sons, threatened with becoming orphans.
The world was crumbling. Her intuition seemed to scream, demanding she test herself. One day, meeting friends on a wild beach at the foot of Ayu-Dag — Bear Mountain — Anastasia stared at a sheer cliff the height of a five-story building. Trained local men climbed it and leapt into the water. She had never jumped before and was an uncertain swimmer. And then, like a bolt from the blue, a thought struck her: “If I can overcome fear and jump three times in a row — I will live.” The terror was unbearable, but her faith did not let her break. She did it, and her prayer was heard.
After recovering, life ceased to flow habitually — it became a gift demanding reflection. Looking back, Anastasia increasingly understood: her story was a continuous search for meaning, God, truth, and her place in the world. Trials did not destroy her — they became a form of dialogue with the Creator. To grow spiritually, she had to “eat much salt” and experience genuine pain.
After the collapse of the USSR, life in Crimea rapidly degraded: chaos, devastation, banditry, lawlessness. At fifty-four, Anastasia moved to Paris with her son. A new life began. Early one morning on the bus, she saw several rainbows in the sky at once — a sign marking the beginning of a new milestone.
They lived modestly, worked hard, never went hungry, and always had a roof over their heads. Yet, despite outward poverty, Anastasia began to feel herself a true Queen, in possession of a priceless treasure — inner fullness, freedom, and a sense of dignity. Her eyes and mind refused to see ugliness — they saw only beauty.
And again — the mystical: she suddenly remembered her past life. How could she have forgotten that she had been a painter? She needed no lessons — it was as if a Master, already skilled in all techniques, had awakened within her, as after a long slumber.
Every free hour, Anastasia spent at her easel, forgetting time, food, and fatigue. She was captivated by blades of grass and flowers, the play of shades, sunrises and sunsets, the living movement of light and its reflection on water. A thirst arose to paint people, nature, and silence, embodying all four elements. She did not study — her hand remembered, her mind was silent, and in this quiet, the real was born. Beauty revealed itself not as ornament, but as revelation.
Then came the next, most terrible trial — the loss of her eldest son in 2022. This pain is beyond consolation and knows no expiration.
Today, Anastasia increasingly asks herself: why do the higher powers continue to prolong her life? Clearly, something still needs to be lived, understood, and accomplished.
In recent years, she has stopped attending contemporary art exhibitions. After them, she feels physically unwell — her body and soul ache. Anastasia is convinced: only beauty and creation can guide humanity in the right direction. Worship of ugliness, glorification of destruction, horror, and debauchery inevitably leads humanity to spiritual and physical demise.
Perhaps only by enduring severe trials, losing home, food, and familiar order, can a person consciously choose another path.
“I want to believe that, even as we pass through the thorns, we will not be transformed into Eloi or Morlocks,” says Anastasia OM.