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The Blue Abyss

Long-Exposure-Collection

Moody Whip

We all sell a little something that we don't own in exchange for things that no one needs.

Not Yours. Diptych

Munch's "Kiss" is a very witty non—verbal manifesto of the dissolution of lovers in each other. A fused face. A fused tenderness. Munch clearly appreciated this human opportunity to fall in love.

I appreciate it too, but I miss the times when people didn't disgust me. Not even like that. Rejection and boredom. It's softer. Refusal is neither good nor bad, I was taught that way as a child. They probably tried to transmit something else, but so far only this has surfaced.

Crescent

Ashkeeper

For almost two decades, year after year, he has been patiently fulfilling his duty. What does he do? Keeps the ashes. Does not collect, does not archive, and does not even guard — just stores. Maybe sometimes he uses some of the handfuls at his discretion, but mostly not.

Crawler

I was left alone in the cold forest. A strange forest. A forest in which, instead of trees, stumped twisted pillars with the likenesses of branches stuck out of the ground. The black sky was streaked with white threads, and ash was pouring endlessly from above, covering everything around it like dead snow.

Demons prowled everywhere between the nightmarish trunks. I didn't see them, but I always felt them. Even before I was there. Sometimes I heard their screams, more like a whisper from a mouth full of saliva.

Angler

Dormant

I do not know why I decided to call this work that way. In general, she appeared very strangely: unexpectedly and quickly. I didn't plan to create this model. I didn't plan anything at all. But as a result of some of my chaotic and not very conscious actions, which I could hardly remember, this sculpture acquired its final form.

Macabre Unit

Phantom Moment

Overthinking If I were a writer and had an exquisite command of the word, I would write a whole epic about the art of overthinking — a thing known to very, very many people living in this ultra-fast era, where Information rules the roost. But I'm not a writer, I'm a digital artist, so instead of a book, I created a sculpture, draining that image out of my tortured soul. Or out of my mind. Never mind.

Failure and success. Problems and comfort. Idleness and hard work — it seems, almost all things on earth lead to overthinking. Apparently, this cocktail of anxiety, desire and intelligence, based on absolute egoism, is nothing more than a payment for self-consciousness, inaccessible to anyone but us — people.

What's Wrong With Your Face, Bro?

One day I was walking down the street and someone called out to me from behind. I turned sharply to see the one who was yelling my name all over the street, and at that moment I said to myself: "God, you must have an incredibly stupid face, brother, when you twist it in space".

The Prince of the Skyscraper

The artist is interesting for his differences. The instinct of truth. Scarlet eyes. He gets hysterical sometimes. Sometimes he forgets the words.

Oldman