ABSTRACT
There they stand, stiff, uncomfortable; suddenly and irrevocably aware of themselves, their bodies, and the bodies next to them. Everything feels suspended and oddly concrete. This includes the most ineffable of qualities, time itself, which seems to have wandered off somewhere, leaving them in this stultifying, unending, unendurable present. What was to be a brief interim has turned into a veritable eternity; standing there, waiting, before this strange black box with its unblinking mechanical eye. A technological epiphany was supposed to occur in just a moment or two, which turned into three, until they lost count. There was the promise of some grand illumination. An explosion of light was to fill the room and somehow—now this was the tricky part—the part they didn’t quite catch, but it had something to do with the light and the impression it would make on … oh, it’s impossible to understand. Suffice to say, through the magic of modern ingenuity, this light would somehow forge their image into a picture for subsequent generations to ponder. So there they are: Olga, Masha, and Irina. The three sisters. They are surrounded by family, friends, and prospective lovers, all trying to look their best for a posterity that they can’t quite begin to comprehend; making themselves presentable for a future us, who, they hope, will look kindly upon them. So, they continue to stand: frozen, while time’s “winged chariot” has raced off, leaving them behind like relics from a forgotten past.
