Inside old photograph albums, you can discover
interrelations and meanings that the known-unknown will not be able to
In family photos clients and proxy-servers create a fictional interaction which never existed.
Contribution to carefully reformulating memories, time of memory penetrates each other. Free associating, dream and memory transacting and transfiguring into image. Reshaping chaos, that’s what it is. Memories breaking down. You have to sacrifice something; nothing can emerge without exploding or without sacrificing something else.
A display-window or a mirror must break. There is no sadness. There is no anger or resignation. Just a memory flying like a kite over the sea.
Last night I dreamt that I was talking with two Zebras on the upper road from my parents’ house.
One day, I dreamt the two-story house of my father.
I could see the sea, a storm was approaching, it cut the ferry into two pieces. It was coming towards the house. All the windows and doors where open. I run to shut them, I was wondering why they were wide open. It was a dream of confrontation.
I am half sleepwalker and half creator, I ponder and fall asleep.
The picture turns into catharsis in its own dimension. Sometimes it looks like a train that jumps of the rails and sometimes like a lullaby. One picture transfigures into the other. Shapes deform, they desecrate, memory is altered, the system is crashing… Error 404*
Cells are dying. Pictures are destroyed. Communication is impossible. Narcissism is born and nesting. Childhood and family pictures certify the fact.
Memory is exceptionally capable at collage, at editing and mixing.
The pictures flow like liquid and appear like a vision in front of me, sometimes with fury and sometimes hollow, trying to keep up with them, so as not to get lost into the abyss, between existing and never having existed.
What gets out of the frame, is lost for ever.
*NotFound is an answer code of the HTTP protocol which shows that the client is
in the position to contact the server but the server couldn’t find what was
© Translation by: Anastasia Chormova
" Abyss, somewhere in-between being abstract and unconsciously. "