Generally, she is a "stylist" - but it's clear that she can't stand the word. I believe, nobody can, but still they call themselves so. Well, what else is there to do.

Natasha is from Minsk, but for many years now she has been based in Israel (currently in Haifa). By education she is (and my brain in such cases always tries to toss me the parasite phrase "not a piece of dogshit") a flutist. She has three grown-up kids (a girl and twin boys!) and a beloved husband. A very handsome one, to my humble taste.

On Facebook she has removed all friends from friends (somehow I was lucky to be left among the 45 chosen!!!) and switched to subscription. But she keeps following those she is interested in. I have no idea how she manages everything, because she is constantly consumed by her work with her "ladies" in different parts of the world.

As for the rest, you can ask her yourself.

Oh, and a short glossary, so you could make sense of the answers to the questions:

HD – Human Design, the concept Natalia is currently into.

The Oboist – the imperishable place of application of Natalia's love, "the vague object of desire"

Labels (meaning stickers!) is what Natalia rips off from practically all bottles and vials. For she, you see, can't stand the design!

– It will take too long to explain without HD, but with HD I could do that in a couple of words. Many are now aware of what HD is, so I'll first put it briefly: I am a Manifestor with an open G center, and it's not just open, it's snow-white, without any gates at all. A blank sheet. And triple definition. Now in more detail, without HD: the only way I can understand something about myself is through others. Even if these others make me sick. To make this interaction honest (without masks), as much as it depends on me, I show all my sides, parts, depths and tops. In order to collect as much information about my own uniqueness, mediocrity, humility, arrogance, beauty and ugliness as I possibly can. Recently it all has come to coexist perfectly - ever since I started to warn people about my intentions beforehand and stop once I feel that I'm acting like somebody else, or start to equivocate or prevaricate to manipulate, everything has started to whistle and grow as if all by itself.

– Yes. I would even add the word "only". Interested only to that extent.

– Well, it's as if there was a block and now it's gone and everything is flowing - whether fast or slow, clean or with pieces of trash - but naturally, without any convulsive flutter. Like a forest creek flows: with twigs, bugs, leaves, over stones and roots, but it flows and flows on.

– I don't know. If something doesn't find a response, reaction or reflection in me, I forget it immediately and don't perceive it in any way: it's like another world which I can believe exists but I can neither comprehend nor even see this world. Like another dimension.

– Some do manage. I failed, for example. There are people that can do it, but mainly it's like "I look at my pictures - how could I not see this before?"

– Yes, in my case it does. And I think it's the same for others.

At first you don't know anything at all - you take a lot of time searching, comparing to the palette, feeling the fabrics. And then comes the moment - especially if you manage to imagine that you are a character of some fairytale and you are able to describe this character (yourself) - when it becomes easy. Then you all of a sudden start to spot your colors, immediately recognize your textures and lines. You look at an item and you think - yes, it gets along with my fairytale, it fits my picture.

That's how I did the redecoration in my apartment: I tested every item - whether it fits the interior. Because we're all poor people. We either tend to like something that reminds us of our childhood, or something that mom said was right, or our husband, or somebody else on the internet. And we are being told all the time: this is beautiful, this is good - ok, it may be good, but I don't need it.

– That "keep silent and you'll seem smart". That "it's better to say and seem stupid than to keep silent and remain stupid". That "if you have some patience, someone will say what you wanted to say in a much better way than you would have". That words can hurt badly. That punctuation can say much more than words. That you can tell whether a person has style at their first words. That there is no difference between the virtual and the real. That there is a huge difference between the virtual and the real. That the internet is a living space, like a forest or a river. That typos disclose the meaning better than words and are never accidental. That mistakes in a text may cause as much disgust as actions. That internet discloses things fuller and brighter than offline. That someone you dislike on the internet will cause the same feelings offline. That someone you like here may be unpleasant in real life. That people are shy of themselves, they don't understand and see themselves in a way that I can't even imagine. That written words have dozens of meanings that may not manifest so clearly offline (now that I've said this it hit me that I can't even give any example of this, but I can't but mention this either). That I personally prefer online interaction. That if online communication with someone is impossible, then the only topics to discuss with them would be small talk nonsense like weather and apple trees. That I do have a gut feeling. That it often lets me down. That it often saves me. And that the most hurtful thing for me is silence in response to my words.

– Like blaming myself. And digging deep to find why and how I have missed. And I can't stop until I find it - otherwise it won't let go.

– Yes. No doubt about it. Although, I've had cases when I thought someone didn't love me and was wrong - online, in brief interactions.

– More than I could ever dream of when I was a kid. At least a few people. Well, that kind of people that, if I say "I'm totally fucked", they'll drop everything and do something straight away.

– For 22 years. I don't understand what it means, "your people". We all only have ourselves. Everyone is like no other. Well, we may be the same in what we do - like "we are football players", "we're miners"... I don't know. Maybe this will work: feeling as part of something big and common, like a grain of sand in a desert? Then yes, I do know this - it happens when you play in an orchestra or sing in a choir. I suspect it also happens in sex, though I personally have never felt this is in sex, but I have in choir and in orchestra.

This should have been followed by a question about the choir and the orchestra, but pardon the interviewer, she totally fu… missed it (as always happens in interviews!!!) and asked instead:

– I don't understand anything about states at all. As a kid I used to think that the USSR is like a choir and an orchestra, that Moscow is about "how fine is everything under the sun", but once I bumped into the realization that it's not true, that was the time I understood that I only have myself and there is nothing else. Only if you're very lucky and there are also people that consent to spending their time, energy, money and attention on you - then you also have these people. But I don't see how this is linked to state or nationality.

...Though, who knows... if something happened to me in Israel, there are chances that if this state wouldn't save me, it at least wouldn't finish me off… But in any other country, it's just about a few certain people you can be close with, I guess.

– For about a quarter of a century that I've known the Oboist, it happened from time to time that I would forget about him. I wouldn't recall him for a week, or a month or… I don't know… maybe longer. And then again. How is he… What is he doing… Is everything alright… With all this rotating in the background of my mind I have become who I have become, I've come to work the way I do now. And while I had this link in my mind that "Minsk equals the Oboist, youth, rejuvenation", I could keep my soul safe from the paranoid anxiety about the situation in Minsk. And I would come back there. And work there… But really, it was always the Oboist that I was coming back to. Even if I didn't see him or didn't tell him that I was coming. But recently I caught myself thinking that there is nothing left to distract myself with when things get uneasy or unpleasant - I've already told you about Berezovsky's theory about a football team as a place to let the steam off (S.B. - damn, I don't remember!) - that I don't have my Oboist anymore. And looks like this time it's for good - because many other things have changed as well. For instance, I've ceased to like certain things I used to be fond of before, they've lost their importance. And now the word "Minsk" no longer gives me those pleasant goose bumps whispering "homeland, youth, the Oboist" that used to neutralize the irrational sense of danger that once has emerged in me and has been growing year by year ever since.

– I tried to explain it when you and I were having dinner at "Vasilky" - like, look, there's a gorgeous building right across the street. But it's the KGB. And hell knows what's going on behind it's walls. Right now. While we're drinking our wine. Maybe not. Or maybe yes. I no longer believe anything or anyone. I only know that if you're unlucky enough to appear in a wrong place at a wrong time, you can be pulled in by the stupid millstones into a space from where there's no way out - not even because someone wishes you evil or you're guilty of something, or for some other reason. But just because. For no reason at all… Like the response to the attempts to make sense of things in "The Death of Ivan Ilyich". Apart from that, I always live with a feeling that I don't deserve this wonderful life that I have.

– I was leaving the Oboist)) So I can't be sure: even if I did have it, I wasn't feeling it… Though I've had an experience of running away from the police batons. I left in November 96.

– I don't remember what was first. I just had this feeling like "What a shape..!! Why so motley!!" - so now I just pick the stuff I can remove labels from or pour into a white/black/transparent container at home.

– I would send them all to do community work: sweep the streets, empty trash bins, paint over ugly graffities and fucking remove the stupid labels with their "art". They're shitting all over the place with their fucking positivity and stupidity, the "non-smoking ladybugs" and unique shower gels for women's left elbows.

– So let it be an obscene interview. So what. I hate advertisers and marketologists. And I'm ready to bear responsibility for my disgust towards their "creativity": I think that the degree of their guilt in what's happening around today is no less than that of politicians. Even worse. The latter fight for power and huge money, and these guys just scatter their little pieces of shit around and think of themselves as artists.

– Possibly... But I am surrounded by ugly signboards, illiterate texts and tasteless pictures - on banners, labels, signs and pricetages… Ok, coca-cola was geniously designed, so?... This piece of crap is hanging on a historical building in the center of the capital like a stain on a tablecloth. It's an eyesore that uglifies the building. And what is it celebrating? A disgusting poisonous wish-wash. No. I hate it.

In response, those marketoloshits (S.B - hate speech! I'm judging!) and advertisers are free to disdain me back. And we're even. Only I maintain their existence, because at least sometimes I still have to buy the stuff they spoil with their "art". And they don't maintain me in any way.

– I never ask who is who, I take on everyone.

– Everything... Rabinovich described this perfectly through the words of one murderer. Have you read this? I can give you the link in a minute.

– Let me copy it.

– Ok. So he writes… Uh… Give me a second. I need to think how to put it in brief. That humans befoul everything. That even our shit, unlike that of other animals, only poisons the soil...

– And then live with whatever you want to live with. But wait, why throw away the clothes? I don't throw away anything. I go with the minimum of stuff. And if there's something I no longer need, I look for someone I could give it away to. And it doesn't mean we all should shave our heads - I DO.. Same as with labels. Maybe someone finds joy and pleasure in them, like I used to in the 90ies.

– Yes, I think fate does exist. Now I don't know how to express what I feel about it… There are trillions of fates, and all are possible, and each and every one of them already exists and any of them can become yours depending on a trillion of events that are beyond comprehensible. Our will is, of course… well, at the rawest and most primitive level. And there are so many layers to this that even a thought matters… I guess.

– Obvious. Noticeable. Understandable. Selectable either by mind or by conscience… Go guess what exactly you need to do. Most of all I believe in leaving.

– Yes… though sometimes even a word or a thought is enough. Or inaction. Something different from what one normally does. Something that's hard. If you're used to talking all the time - try to shut up. If you're used to keeping quiet - open your mouth and speak out already.


The jigsaw will always fall into place the right way. Even if the outcome may seem terrible. That's what I believe in.

– That I can find no explanation to all the good things that happen to me.

– Many people do the same and they're still unhappy.

Here Natasha quoted something she had recently liked, but I wanted her to think about it. Then she thought about it and said:


– Love is the calm acceptance of fatality.