When I was a kid, my most persistent dream was about seeing myself as a fearless adventurer, a restless and courageous nomad, exploring the distant places. Those places were mainly a product of my imagination, the vague sketches of mountains and seashores, deserts and caves, skyscrapers and urban arteries, as physically inaccessible as hopelessly desirable, altogether forming another universe that spins uncontrollably once triggered. Intuitively re-assembled snippets from the TV box, colourful postcards and awkwardly composed pictures found in the family albums, fragments of movies and the episodes from the modest reality around - all contributed to that visually eclectic part-fictionalised world that extended far beyond the borders of USSR. The way I see and capture the world around, is, perhaps, still unconsciously informed by those daydreams, imaginary journeys and visions rooted so deeply in my childhood and in my incessant eagerness to discover.

My default condition is moving - I’m the most afraid of stasis, of being motionless, and camera helps me to stabilise the disorientating world around, to externalise the thoughts passing through my head leaving not a solid clue, but some vague traces instead. These traces are the raw material for the patchwork of my imagery. I like how camera suspends the moment and creates pauses, how the sound of shutter release interrupts the flow of events, and how filming alters the time-space perception, relocating the one behind the camera in a different dimension. It steals and elevates the attention and awareness to their ultimate peaks, putting in the state between euphoric dizziness and grounding equilibrium. Intoxicating and addictive, gratifying and dangerous it is - the more devoted you are, the more it sucks you in. I guess, it requires a certain vulnerability, otherwise it wouldn’t be so therapeutic and liberating. Camera is both a magnifying glass and a deceiver, a fathometer for the depth of my engagement with the moment untangling here and now.   

It is about creating the works which exist in a hypothetical time. The ideas of timelessness and abstractly constructed time, alternative chronologies and associative synthesis fascinate me. I am an observer and gatherer seeking for the moments and assembling them into open-ended stories - there are no fixed narratives or prescribed rules, no claims for the captured being the objective representation of the seen and felt. It is excessively subjective, never distilled, and all the emerging associations are at large arbitrary. It is, essentially, about mystification, about generating the fictional temporal and spatial zones, about transmitting the emotion without unveiling it immediately and straight. Sometimes by simplifying, sometimes by amplifying. Extracting and augmenting, zooming in and out, decomposing and crystallising, awakening, or neutralising sensations. Relying more on intuition, encountering the hard edges, divergent rhythms and enticing ambiguity around, and perceiving it all at different granularity. A feverish temptation to succeed in seizing the transitory, in eliminating the nonessential, and in conveying the dualities, obscurities and counterpoints, which echo the unspoken inner dialogues. How to make the tangible impalpable and vice versa?