“In the Thrice-Ninth Kingdom …” is the opening line for many Russian fairytales. Upon hearing these words, Russian children know that magic will flow in the story about to be told. Events will take place in some liminal space, perhaps the interstitial zone between “the other world” and the one we are familiar with, where different rules apply. Anything can happen there. And here, within the world we know, cultural differences between American and Russian children come into play. The protagonist in a Western fairytale usually succeeds through pluck and bravery, but the Russian counterpart more often succeeds through humility, kindness and luck. We cast our heroes as individuals. Russians cast their protagonists as members who belong; their successes are made possible by love, dependency and strength in relationships. Russian children also understand that their stories don’t necessarily end well.
Much of this is visible in photographer Mari Saxon’s portfolio, “An Untold Fairytale.” There, we often discover Saxon and her two daughters poised in a palette of deep, regal colors. Their figures are elegantly robed, softly lit, serene, but only partly seen because impenetrable shadow conceals much of their setting. It is visually obvious that these images are otherworldly, magical, potentially ominous and clearly the stuff of fairytales. The words “In the Thrice-Ninth Kingdom” need not be spoken.
In one photograph, a mother lovingly spreads her arms, wing-like, protectively enclosing her two daughters who peaceably rest on the splayed fabric nest of the mother’s dress. Off to the side, a mirrored reflection paints a very different vignette. One child appears to wield the other in her hand, almost as if she were holding an instrument — a club, a weapon? Be wary of that silver portal! It threatens to suck us in, and who knows what lies on the other side.