A series of portraits of all the boys I've ever kissed, with no exceptions. The first kiss on the metro platform, a kiss with a guy whose face I can barely remember, so he’s depicted from behind, and the kiss with the one who became my husband—these and other stories were part of a performance during which I lived in a hotel room, surrounded by portraits, sharing my love stories with all the visitors. For those few days, the small hotel room unexpectedly turned into not only a space for my exhibition but also a place for heartfelt stories from others about their kisses, hearts and tears.

Photo by Jenia Filatova.

A series of portraits of all the boys I've ever kissed, with no exceptions. The first kiss on the metro platform, a kiss with a guy whose face I can barely remember, so he’s depicted from behind, and the kiss with the one who became my husband—these and other stories were part of a performance during which I lived in a hotel room, surrounded by portraits, sharing my love stories with all the visitors. For those few days, the small hotel room unexpectedly turned into not only a space for my exhibition but also a place for heartfelt stories from others about their kisses, hearts and tears.

Photo by Jenia Filatova.

A series of portraits of all the boys I've ever kissed, with no exceptions. The first kiss on the metro platform, a kiss with a guy whose face I can barely remember, so he’s depicted from behind, and the kiss with the one who became my husband—these and other stories were part of a performance during which I lived in a hotel room, surrounded by portraits, sharing my love stories with all the visitors. For those few days, the small hotel room unexpectedly turned into not only a space for my exhibition but also a place for heartfelt stories from others about their kisses, hearts and tears.

Photo by Jenia Filatova.