My family’s history could probably make a really good historical drama (think Downton Abbey meets Saving Private Ryan), but the ironic thing is my grandparents and great-grandparents rarely talked about their lives – both for fear of prosecution and not really wanting to relive many of the things they’ve been through.

I grew up in St.Petersburg, Russia – the city of 3 revolutions, the cradle of political and social change in 19th and 20th century Russia. But in our family, no one talked about the communist revolution, or the WWII much. I only know snippets that my grandmother remembered (and wanted to share), or that my mother knew from her grandmother (my great-grandmother).

I know my maternal great-grandmother came from a very wealthy family – and married into one that came from ancient Russian nobility. The family legend goes that when she was getting married for the first time she needed 17 (yes, that’s seventeen) waggons to carry her dowry. At the end of her life, in the 1970s, every time she saw a documentary about the Hermitage Museum she’d note – in passing – that before the revolution they used to have a tea set, or furniture, just like in the museum.

My biological great-grandfather died long before the World War II, and I think even before the revolution (a blessing, I guess, with a surname Skuratov and aristocratic ancestors he was likely to have been persecuted anyway – together with his family). My great-grandmother remarried, this time, a pro-Soviet officer, which I’m sure helped the family in the long run (this is all speculation on my part, of course, as there is no written record).

A lot of my relatives died of hunger in the 900-day siege of St Petersburg (then Leningrad) during WWII – but my great-grandmother and her two daughters survived it. But the horrors of the war and the siege were never discussed in our family, so again, I know virtually nothing about it, apart from the general stuff we learned at school. Even that general knowledge makes me want to weep – so I understand why they never wanted to talk about it.

All I have are these damaged and faded photographs, which miraculously survived the revolution, the war, the displacement and the struggle.

Imagine this:

It’s brutal winter, there’s no food, you live on 200 grams of bread a day, you trade your diamond and ruby rings for an extra piece of bread for your kids, you are being carried to safety across the frozen lake under Nazi bombing, but you take those precious photographs of your family with you.

I know I’m truly lucky to have these photographs and to know at least snippets of my family history. Some of my friends’ families don’t have even that, their grandparents orphaned and displaced at a very young age, not knowing their history or where they come from.

And still, I wish I had more, known more, talked to my grandparents more, learned about what their life was like when they were growing up, what their parents did, how they spend their days, the games they played, the books they read, what they dreamt of.

I’m guessing in a rather roundabout way, this is why I do what I do.  It’s why I document families the way I do. It’s why I find documenting life – our wonderfully happy and safe life, warts and all – so very important! It’s why being in your family photographs is so important. And also why printing them is so important as well.

Because one day, 100 years from now, your great-grandchildren will be looking through old boxes they brought down from the attic and discovering what you – and your life – looked like. Even when you’re no longer there to tell them about it.