Fifth Journey Day 65: Room with the Feathered Frame

Date: July 12, 2025
Location: Yerevan, Armenia

The city feels like it's always been this way and doesn't need to change. I got there around noon and took my time. I walked slowly from the station, enjoying the feeling of the light on my skin. The sidewalks were warm, but not hot. They smelled like the baked stone I remember from southern places. Everything here is pink, even the stone. It's not a light pink, but more of a deep pink, like the color of volcanic rock.

I visited the Sergei Parajanov Museum. It sits at the edge of a hill, looking out toward Mount Ararat, though today the mountain was swallowed in haze. The museum is small and feels like someone's home, with many items that seem like personal jokes or gifts. Groupings of dolls, feathers, rusty scissors, and photographs cut into triangles. His handwriting, which was angular and looping, was pinned to the walls like music.

There was one room that took me longer to finish than I expected. It's a simple space with just a chair and a low table, and a wall covered in pictures of pieces of fabric, metal, and string. It didn't feel curated. It felt like an offer. It was as if he had built the room not for visitors, but for himself. I stood very still, and for a moment, I didn't want to draw, record, or interpret. Just be yourself. Let the pieces settle on their own.

Outside, a boy was selling cold apricot juice in little plastic cups. I took one, sat on a bench across from the museum entrance, and drank it slowly. It starts sweet, but ends with a bit of bitterness. It feels unfinished. Or maybe it's exactly right.

I feel more relaxed now — not lost, but free. The day was not very demanding, and I wasn't very demanding either. That was all it took.