Activism
Pollinatrix grew up in Minsk in a creative family. She studied directing at GITIS in Moscow and later attended EHU, but life took such a turn that she was unable to graduate from either university. Depression following the 2020 protests forced her to leave Belarus and discover Europe with a backpack on her back, finding the “Rainbow” festival and a rainbow family along the way. Now, she lives in Bulgaria and performs in her musical project, Dead Counterpoint Initiative — “frequency jazz.”
Read more in this new longread from Nottoday and Pollinatrix about where the fuel for life comes from, how to overcome depression, and how to find your way to music.
Pollinatrix
— Hi! What was the point of no return when you realized that going “home” wouldn’t be possible? Do you have a criminal case against you in Belarus?
— No, there was no criminal case, but there were several detentions. I spent some time in Zhodzina prison. Later, personal—not direct, but potential—threats began.
I was very active in the protests, and for a while, it became the meaning of my life. When everything started to decline, I fell into depression. I started having hallucinations, anxiety; it felt like I was being watched. I realized I had to leave because I was simply burning through my youth in Belarus, constantly occupied by the protests. I enrolled in EHU and left for Lithuania.
— Have you tried to forget or erase 2020 from your memory—or, conversely, do you try to save every crumb of the past as evidence, as fuel for the future?
— Let’s put it this way: for the first six months, I tried to distance myself as much as possible. It was difficult because Vilnius reminded me of Minsk in many ways—I would flinch at sounds, and it constantly felt like I was being followed. Plus, there was an activist scene there; I was invited, and I went myself.
Psychologically, I just wanted to rest, reset, and restore my mental health. In the Netherlands, I finally had the space to just *be*, to do nothing—to take care of myself, so to speak. I stopped reading the news, distanced myself from the Belarusian agenda, and tried to reboot. Now, from a rested perspective, I look back on that year, rethink what happened, and sublimate it into my art.
— Let’s talk a bit more about 2020. How do you perceive it: as a flash, a trauma, or an inspiration?
— Probably all of them at once.
At that time, I was 18 years old, and I put my whole soul into what was happening, participating in all the demonstrations. I began to realize myself not just as an individual, but as a part of society.
That inspired me—to create, to talk to people, to have dialogues on the street.
The trauma is, of course, the depression and the decline. But now, five years later, I think I’ve coped with it.
— What helped you cope? What mechanisms did you use?
— Honestly, primarily distancing. Information silence. I stopped reading the news and totally switched my consciousness. I went backpacking through Europe, hung out with hippies, got high, took psychedelics. I looked inward more—at my emotional processes. I re-examined my relationship with my family and rebuilt myself through my own prism.
— Wasn’t it scary to take psychedelics while having depression and trauma? Weren’t you afraid they would “break you open” from the wrong side?
— At that time, I didn’t think about it consciously—I just wanted to try everything.
Well, at the beginning of the psychedelic journey, there were so-called “bad trips,” anxiety, and paranoia. But I found myself in a very calm environment in the Netherlands. I was living with a guy who had experience in this—he acted as a guide, leading me through the emotional process and helping me find internal stability.
— You mentioned that you sublimate the emotions from 2020 into your creativity. Tell us about your creative project.
— I’ve been making music for the last six months. I was inspired by my friend from *The Orchestra of Mirrored Reflections*—they are a dark jazz band from Ukraine.
Yes, I sublimate that energy, but not directly—right now I’m interested in universal processes, abstract thinking, and realizing myself as part of something more massive.
I started *Dead Counterpoint Initiative* six months ago. I like calling it “Frequency Jazz.” In genre terms, it’s a mix of ambient, dark jazz, and a conceptual approach to music. From the perspective of math and numbers.
I recorded the debut album, *Entazis Zone*, over six months and released it about a month ago. There are six tracks. The inspiration was local architecture—Byzantine and Ottoman. Bulgaria is very rich in that regard.
Let’s just say this album helped me accept my dark side. To realize that my depression is an endless source of inspiration.
Perhaps music and creativity are the best ways to interact with that state. To squeeze the juice out of it and make something beautiful. Something that could inspire others.
— You said architecture inspired you. Can the surrounding world be perceived as musical notation for someone playing ambient or abstract music? Can you “calculate” houses, forests, and trees and translate them into notes?
— Yes, absolutely.
I believe that everything in the world, in life—at least on planet Earth—makes a sound and has its own acoustic field. Especially architecture—and especially ancient architecture, which was calculated in great detail from the standpoint of geometric parameters. And music at its most basic level is the same geometry, just the geometry of vibrations.
Therefore, you can listen to anything, essentially.
I used natural acoustics—the reverb and delay of bridges and arches, because they create incredible reflections that are difficult to reproduce even with modern technology. It might be possible, yes, but analog sound has a different tone; it penetrates the soul deeper.
— Tell us about the process of creating tracks. How did you approach it? Do you have basic musical training, or is it all intuitive?
— Knowledge of music theory helped me a lot while working on the album. And, of course, musician friends supported me with technical issues.
In this album, I paid a lot of attention to the environment. I traveled around Bulgaria, listened to walls and bridges, and recorded the sounds of the world around me—they became the foundation of the album.
The main thing, as David Lynch said, is not to miss the idea. It might be a barely perceptible sensation or a rhythm—something that is difficult to convey through poetry or painting.
The key is to capture that feeling. Then it starts to unfold like a fractal, and you can dig deeper and deeper.
— If we perceived Belarus—its architecture, its atmosphere—as a musical composition, what kind of music do you think it would be?
— There would definitely be a lot of industrial: the sounds of factories, the harsh sound of concrete walls. Lonely and melancholy. Though, to be honest, I’m inspired by “panelka” housing blocks too—there are plenty of those here in Bulgaria as well.
But on the other hand, Belarus is one of the last greenest corners of Europe. I was inspired by the Belarusian band *Port Mone Trio*; they recorded the album “Thou” in a forest. They listened to the forest, the wind, the sounds of nature, and integrated them into the music. That’s cool.
— Do you busk? Or do you only play at venues?
— Yes, I busk. Right now in Bulgaria, a friend and I play on the streets. People really like what we do—it’s something new, eclectic, doesn’t fit a specific genre, and certainly doesn’t sound like the music the locals are used to.
My main instrument is the clarinet. Its sound creates an unsurpassed atmosphere in the city, and people really “get” us.
— In which country is it best to busk? Where is the audience more receptive, where is it better financially, where do you fall in love with a city and become part of it?
— Every country has its own peculiarities, of course. But I only recently started busking actively—here in Bulgaria. Before that, I mostly just joined hippy circles to bang on some drums.
So I can’t speak for other countries yet, but Plovdiv is great. It’s atmospheric, and people treat experimental music with interest. In terms of culture, Bulgaria is a bit stuck, as my friend says—somewhere in 2007. That’s why everything new feels vivid here.
— I’ve traveled through Turkey and Georgia; they have very developed traditional music. What is it like in Bulgaria, what sounds on the streets here?
— Mostly, as you said, it’s typical Balkan melodies. But in Plovdiv, you can often hear gypsy jazz as well. Sometimes even Soviet pop.
But there are also many non-conformists and young people who are interested in alternatives. So there is a demand for experimental music.
— Is the income from busking enough to live in Bulgaria, or do you have to work on the side?
— It’s not enough. It’s peak season now, and we earn well—it covers our daily needs. But to pay rent, I have to work online. I do freelance design, and my boyfriend takes some music programming gigs.
If we didn’t have to pay for housing and just traveled through the “Rainbow” gatherings, the busking would be enough.
— Have you performed a full concert somewhere other than the street?
— Not yet. It’s all in the plans. I started the band six months ago, and in that time I’ve recorded the first album—mostly as an investigation of myself and my sound.
Concerts are difficult—I applied for asylum in Bulgaria in November, and I’m still waiting for a decision. It’s hard to plan anything when you don’t know if you’ll have to leave.
— You chose dark jazz. Is this style a dark workshop of the soul or a cry, an attempt to manifest pain?
— Both.
For me, dark jazz is a way to comprehend the world, my emotions, and my pain. To make something beautiful out of it, to squeeze out the quintessence of my experiences.
The best way to deal with pain is to make something poetic and elegant out of it, regardless of the genre. While I write music, I get to know both myself and the world around me better. A more objective view of the subjective appears. The horizon expands, and life itself unfolds in a new way.
— You talk about comprehending pain and experiences. What is the engine in your life? Is it an experience or an impression? Is it pain or joy?
— That’s a difficult question, especially given my age. At the moment, I’m still driven by my pain; my creativity is born out of strain. Honestly, in the future, I would like to write more music out of joy and share it. But for now, this is how it is. For now, due to my age or the spirit of the times, I’m definitely driven by suffering and the desire to calm down a little and release energy.
— Aren’t you afraid that if you play music out of joy, the style of the music will change? Because it seems to me that dark jazz is hard to play from joy, like some kind of depressive black metal performed with a radiant smile.
— No, it’s not scary, because I’m not attached to the genre. I’d like to call my music “frequency jazz,” which isn’t tied to specific genres and moods. It’s just an understanding of music as a phenomenon in itself, without any prisms. I think changing is good. In any case, I will simply broadcast the universal flow through myself with some personal nuances in taste. I’m sure there are people who will resonate with my music.