Kalvis Rudzītis

When Margarita Vilcāne sings, time stands still. When the sun sets, nothing else in the world exists. And here they are — two friends, Olafs and Ronis, spending a day in a seaside town. Hungover from the night before, Ronis decides to steal money from his father to buy marijuana and forget his troubles. Is there anything better than even a fleeting moment of total freedom? But the evening slowly gets out of hand, leaving the two friends to wonder: is it worth staying where you are when the next destination is not clear?

An attempt to capture the feeling of emptiness and nostalgia, reflecting it as reality in the Latvian rural landscape, partly from the observer's position, but also questioningly - what is the future of these rural areas? What is the relationship of contemporary society in Latvia with the Soviet legacy? Does it have a place to survive today and in the future, or were the materials, structures and philosophy used in Soviet times not sustainable enough to remain as witnesses to the history our country has experienced? This work is the author's personal observations of people who have remained in the countryside and possibly still live in the past or even idealize the past, and is therefore, without condemnation, a tribute to them.

When Margarita Vilcāne sings, time stands still. When the sun sets, nothing else in the world exists. And here they are — two friends, Olafs and Ronis, spending a day in a seaside town. Hungover from the night before, Ronis decides to steal money from his father to buy marijuana and forget his troubles. Is there anything better than even a fleeting moment of total freedom? But the evening slowly gets out of hand, leaving the two friends to wonder: is it worth staying where you are when the next destination is not clear?

An attempt to capture the feeling of emptiness and nostalgia, reflecting it as reality in the Latvian rural landscape, partly from the observer's position, but also questioningly - what is the future of these rural areas? What is the relationship of contemporary society in Latvia with the Soviet legacy? Does it have a place to survive today and in the future, or were the materials, structures and philosophy used in Soviet times not sustainable enough to remain as witnesses to the history our country has experienced? This work is the author's personal observations of people who have remained in the countryside and possibly still live in the past or even idealize the past, and is therefore, without condemnation, a tribute to them.

An attempt to capture the feeling of emptiness and nostalgia, reflecting it as reality in the Latvian rural landscape, partly from the observer's position, but also questioningly - what is the future of these rural areas? What is the relationship of contemporary society in Latvia with the Soviet legacy? Does it have a place to survive today and in the future, or were the materials, structures and philosophy used in Soviet times not sustainable enough to remain as witnesses to the history our country has experienced? This work is the author's personal observations of people who have remained in the countryside and possibly still live in the past or even idealize the past, and is therefore, without condemnation, a tribute to them.

An attempt to capture the feeling of emptiness and nostalgia, reflecting it as reality in the Latvian rural landscape, partly from the observer's position, but also questioningly - what is the future of these rural areas? What is the relationship of contemporary society in Latvia with the Soviet legacy? Does it have a place to survive today and in the future, or were the materials, structures and philosophy used in Soviet times not sustainable enough to remain as witnesses to the history our country has experienced? This work is the author's personal observations of people who have remained in the countryside and possibly still live in the past or even idealize the past, and is therefore, without condemnation, a tribute to them.