Therapeutic writing addressed to a grandmother who died the previous winter, read aloud once in the workshop before being calligraphed on cotton paper. Maksym used diluted sepia ink — the colour of an old photograph — and left white spaces where words failed, like silences that cannot be filled.

The text alternates sensory memories: the smell of cumin bread in the Ternopil kitchen, the rustle of a wool dress, the way she said « stones remember » while lining pebbles on the windowsill. Fragments of a real letter were glued then partially washed away with water — a palimpsest technique to say memory rewrites itself without betraying the absent one.

Second movement: a border drawn of small ink stones, each numbered like a childhood inventory. The work speaks of grief in wartime, when one lacks the luxury of stopping long but must still place words, as one places pebbles on an improvised grave. Letter to my grandmother: a bridge between generations, between western Ukraine and besieged Kyiv, between childhood Ukrainian and French learned here, in the interior exile of the Podil basement.