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“... Maria Stepanova’s​ story begins with the death of her aunt. Towards the end of her life, Galya retreated from the world, unplugging her phone and devoting her time to classifying, sorting and sometimes discarding the possessions that crowded the ‘cave of her tiny apartment’. Shortly after her death, Stepanova sits among her aunt’s piled-up photographs and postcards, thermal vests and leggings, books and newspapers, ivory brooches and embroidered shirts, considering this odd accumulation of objects which only really had meaning ‘within the frame of a continuing life ...”