The search for national identity—or the fear of losing it—becomes even more pressing during times of war and crisis. Tarusa has been considered for a long time as a power place for the Russian intellectuals who came here in the 19th and 20th centuries. The image of Russia has been created here in painting, prose and poetry for years. But what remains today? Facades of empty, crumbling houses. Commercial banners decorated with folk motifs, masking what should be hidden from tourists' eyes.

When a city turns into a museum, an artificially crafted image of “Russian culture” begins to obscure the realities of the present. It becomes a form of escapism, a way to turn a blind eye to what’s really happening. The very concept of “Russianness” becomes a construct that the state skillfully manipulates. Walking around Tarusa, I asked myself one question: “Where is the line between imposed, propagandistic and real?”