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  Teriberka, residing on the edge of modernity and on the cusp of becoming.

When looking at the computer screen, the Russian arctic village of Teriberka appears as a series of photos you can click through like an artist’s portfolio. The physical real of Teriberka is a series of aestheticized images, colors, angles, ideas captured in photographs.

Teriberka aims to be a modern off-loading site for the proposed Shtokman gas field. It is located along the Barents Sea and its history as a fishing village is several hundred years. Participants of the Norwegian-Russian oil and gas workshop were invited to picnic at Teriberka. The drive from Murmansk takes one hour by paved road, and then, two hours by dirt road.

At a distance, Teriberka appears as a cluster of homes with breathtaking views of rolling hills and the ocean, and in a way, appears pure and untouched by the increasing contradictions of Russia’s market economy. However, the closer we came to Teriberka the more we could see that the homes were not picturesque cottages but instead abandoned, burned down and in various stages of decay. There were old bakeries, houses, and what appeared like schools and offices that were rotting in the middle of the village. The occupied homes were themselves in latter stages of decay. Walls and roofs were caved in exposing the internal structure of buildings like bones of a carcass. The dock was littered with the skeletons of sunken ships. Amidst welcoming comments by Teriberka mayor Valeri Yarantsev we wandered by windy ditch-filled dirt roads alongside strings of ghost houses.

The town appears tragic and poetic like a film reel, familiar to us from modern day Hollywood movie sets, such as the recent thriller Shutter Island with the megastar Leonardo DiCaprio.


 
     
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In the New York Times movie review of Decasia, Sarah Boxer (2004) opines that popular culture has seen a revival of interest in the will of things to become more disorderly, to resist form, to seek entropy, maximum disorder, minimum sense. There is a growing aesthetic fascination with the deterioration of objects into matter, shape into stuff, form into deformity. The subject of decay has acquired new drama and character. It has fans, chroniclers, hangers-on.


Today’s interest in thingness has its roots in Romanticism, though not quite the spiritual kind of yesterday. Today, we are physical with Romanticism. The slogan for our time is nothing falls apart, but things come alive. “The modernist anxiety over the collapse of structure is replaced by the panic over uncontrolled growth of structures—cancers, viruses, and other rapidly evolving entities” (H.T. Mitchell 2001:171-2).





In her work on dwelling in West Virginia, anthropologist Kathleen Stewart, examines how progress literally creates the conditions for a kind of forgetting and discarding of things — old trucks, factories abandoned and worn down by rain, rust and cast away littered in out of the way spaces, hollers, streams, across Appalachia. For dwellers living among these neglected spaces on the road to progress — the discarded objects become a time and space experience.


Objects long abandoned become relevant and potent emotional markers of a personal present, past, and future. By binding themselves in folksy (ethical) and practical (mimetic) ways to “useless” objects, Stewart’s informants are members of a cultural landscape — defined by being “passed over” — an externalized space on the side of the road.






James Faubion (1994) has a similar take on debris, in particular, the remnants of Greek architecture within the city of Athens. Here, decayed materials are a mode by which Athenians historically construct their present. Thus, our daily relationship with the past is analogous to the practice of bricolage, a kind of practical living that privileges historical facts selected from an inexhaustible multitude of psychic movements (Levi-Strauss 1966) or, in Faubion’s words, different modalities of the modern.






The Shtokman natural gas project calls for a proposed Liquefied Natural Gas off-loading facility near the Barents Sea village of Teriberka. Its details, available to Teriberkans from charts, images and plans available on the internet and from town hall presentations by developers promise to bring a new technological wonder to this remote fishing village several hours drive from Murmansk.


Today, the four hundred villagers of Teriberka live amidst modern day ruins. They also live in expectation that the Shtokman energy project will bring a new modernity. That is, they live partly in an imaginary space of a promised future. Teriberka is a World of Tomorrow where folks actively are binding their consciousness to remnants of the future.

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