How do we choose where our dreams take us?
“By the Window”
Opinion Essay by Anna Matviichuk
photo by Cassandra Popescu (@cassie_andra)
Every time I close my eyes, I feel a shimmering anticipation about tonight's destination. Sometimes I try to imagine a certain setting or scenario. I might wish for a dream to take me to the forest, and suddenly all I can see are pine trees, hundreds of meters tall, towering above me. I'd breathe in the damp smell of the forest mixed with crisp mid-autumn air. It's mushroom-picking season in the Kharkiv region, where my family lives.
All of my favourite dreams are lucid, vivid, sensory-rich memories from the places where I grew up. So when Mark and Yulia invited me to experience the immersive Ukrainian dinner "By the Window," my subconscious had already started building possible places my mind could go during the visit.
photo by Cassandra Popescu (@cassie_andra)
Late at night, we came in through the back entrance of St. Volodymyr Institute, where the hostess greeted us and handed each of us a small, palm-sized printed menu. I didn't want to spoil the experience, so I tucked my card into my back pocket. Down the stairs, a black curtain separated the Institute world from the basement corridors. Passing through that gateway, we felt welcomed into some secret underground Ukrainian club. The DJ spun contemporary, upbeat music, and people chatted and mingled until we heard Mark's greeting.
First, Mark told us a story about spending every Sunday with his brother and sister at their grandparents' home. When the boys were playing outside, their grandmother would raise her voice and call, almost singing, "Dinner is on the table!" and they would rush home to a bowl of borshch, a piece of bread, and endless layers of whimsical lace surrounding the window.
The recreation of that scene from Mark's childhood was our setting for the night. The aroma of garlic and rich broth filled my nose as I picked a seat among twelve strangers. The table was long and narrow, and we sat facing one another, while our hosts, Mark and Yulia, sat at opposite ends of the table.
photos by Cassandra Popescu (@cassie_andra)
The experience was an unguided journey. Time at the table felt like a group meditation, all of us united in silence and in the effort to take in the fullness of it all. Mark played an electric violin while singing old Ukrainian lullabies. At some point, the music's vibrations began to alter my perception of the food. With every bite, the pampushky grew softer, the borshch left a sharper, more sour aftertaste, and my thoughts drifted further and further from that table.
The guests' physical engagement played a crucial role in the dinner. After some time, we were each given a piece of charcoal. It was interesting to see how much the strangers' personalities showed in small actions, like how they handled it. Some started drawing quickly, making decisions in the process of drawing. Others sat back a little longer and carefully considered every line, working toward a final picture they had imagined. I trusted my hand to take me anywhere, and it led me right to where my mind already was.
photos by Cassandra Popescu (@cassie_andra)
At one point, I noticed people looking toward Yulia. In one hand she held a pampushka, and in the other a fork. These two unexpected objects became puppets, a visual illustration of the familiar tale of Kolobok that Mark was telling us. The dramatic staging, combined with the dim lighting, the airy hanging lace installations, and the windows, consumed me so fast that I didn't even notice how both Mark and Yulia disappeared.
And there was just an empty table with our drawings, a few curious strangers, and silence, left as the aftermath of a storm of voices and words that had filled the room just moments before.
And just like that, "By the Window" felt like a dream that never actually happened, yet I wanted to stop time and relive it, or maybe live inside it.
Anna Matviichuk is a Ukrainian writer, curator, art critic, and PR professional whose work sits at the intersection of culture, criticism, and communication. Her writing returns to questions of memory, the experience of the Ukrainian diaspora, and the tensions of contemporary pop culture, and she is drawn to how identity is inherited, performed, and reshaped across borders and generations.
Her personal research interests include socio-political movements and the history of art valuation: how worth is assigned to cultural objects, who holds that power, and how those systems shift over time. This curiosity informs both her critical and curatorial practice, where she approaches art and culture as products of the economic and political forces around them.
Alongside her writing and curatorial work, Anna works in public relations, bringing a practical understanding of how stories are shaped, circulated, and received. She is currently pursuing an MFA in Criticism and Curatorial Practice at OCAD University in Toronto..
