The Artistic Legacy of Gorodets: Carved Stories and Women’s Voices

When I look at a wooden, hand-carved plaque in my home, I think of Gorodets, Russia. I wonder how this handmade object could preserve hope across decades of political change.

In the ’90s and the early ’00s, I worked on the community use of technology to foster cohesion across people and networks. I spoke in Moscow’s House of Soviets, sometimes informally translated as the White House about the possibilities the internet might bring to all nations. Back then, the hope for democracy was strong among the people I met in Russia. I often wonder how they are doing. My sense is that some are probably distraught, having to send sons to war, short of reliable information and living in protracted silence.

We came to Gorodets by boat on the way to the Feodorovsky Monastery.

Gorodets is on the banks of the Volga River in Nizhny Novgorod Oblast and is one of the oldest towns in the region, founded in 1152. It was a centre of trade, crafts and spirituality. It is small compared to St. Petersburg or Moscow. In the centre of the town, there are many colourful wooden houses with intricately carved window frames and porches.

Carved into my plaque are a man riding a horse, flowers, and an onion-domed building on a distant hill, reminiscent of St. Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow. There are spiky motifs and a strange feminine creature, gesticulating and calling out to the rider. The image of the woman on the plaque is ambiguous. Maybe she is saying goodbye, which reminds me of the woman waving to a departing soldier in Tavira near the station. Maybe she is calling for change.

Looking at the scene on the plaque, it encompasses so much of Russia’s complexity. I feel the woman is shouting for what has been lost and what may be possible. Her presence on the plaque reminds me of Sharon Blackie’s book, ‘If Women Rose Rooted.’

I have just finished reading and listening to it for the second time. Blackie’s thesis is that it is time for divine feminine leadership to rise.

She argues that the Eco-Heroine’s ride is an antidote to the action-adventure of the Hero’s Journey, grounded in a woman’s way of being in the world.

“This path forces us first to examine ourselves and the world we live in, to face up to all that is broken and dysfunctional in it and in our own lives.” She calls on us to change first ourselves, and then the world around us.

To rise up rooted, like trees.

Not only for our own growth and wellbeing, but because place and people need our gifts. Blackie argues that the Earth needs us and our descendants need us to fight for their future. We all need to make the inner journey, and no matter how challenging the path may be, there is richness and beauty along the way.

It is with these thoughts that I photograph the plaque, looking closely at its handmade beauty.

I remember purchasing the plaque in a small room with high shelves, in a traditional carved-fronted house, after a tour of the town alongside an interpreter and my Russian counterpart. I am glad I bought a large decorative storytelling piece. It has a yellow sticker with 180 rubles on the back, which means I paid about six euros.

As a group we talked about the history of Nizhny Novgorod, formerly known as Gorky in honour of the five-time nominee for the Nobel Prize in Literature, the Russian-Soviet writer Maxim Gorky, who was born in the city in 1868. I remember Gorky’s life and his views were complicated. He was conflicted about revolutionary violence and his relationship with the Soviet state evolved over time.

It was a chilly, overcast day. It drizzled for a while, and we all shared an umbrella.

Our expectation for our work together was progress through connection. We hoped to improve health care and children’s quality of life through networking. We were all women.

On another visit to Russia, I spoke at an internet conference in St Petersburg about the possibility of peace between nations, because we were beginning to understand each other, our history, and our cultural differences and similarities.

Looking back, it feels naive, but I am still optimistic about the prospect of change. Among the qualities I most admired during my visits were the high value placed on education and culture.

On that morning in Gorodets, the interpreter explained the significance of the Gorodets Helmet, a military artefact found near the town, dating to the late 12th and 13th centuries. The helmet protects the head and neck from external threats such as spears or swords. Such richly decorated helmets, sometimes with ribbons, were regarded as material manifestations of divine protection. The conical helmet is celebrated for its cultural synthesis, featuring gilded ornaments and design elements that reflect a fusion of Russian, Byzantine, and Central Asian cultures.

Centuries ago, it was possible to craft and fuse cultural protection for warriors. The helmet itself embodied a meeting of cultures, even though it was made for war. I looked up the symbolism of the Gorodets Helmet and the Western Great Helm. They represent two completely opposite philosophies of warfare, contrasting eastern mobility and vision against western maximum blunt-force protection.

The third possibility is Blackie’s thesis of Eco-Heroism. Finding our roots instead of conquest.

The plaque still has a place in my home. Whenever I look at it, I no longer see only an old Russian town. I see the people I met there, the hopes we shared, and the possibility that our continued journeys and stories, like carved wood, will survive hard times.