Line doesn’t exist in nature. It’s just a border between objects. Line is a phantom. What moves me is the strangeness of what can exist without proving the reason for its existence. It comes without asking permission. It’s here because it can be. It has that particular shape because, why not? Why is this better than that? Because everything is better than its opposing everything, that in turn is better than its counterpart. Meaning? What is it? Everything is magical. Everything exists. There is only one law. The law of being rhythmical, of being in tune with its own heartbeat, with its own breathing pattern. Nothing is too early, nothing is too late. Everything is on its own time. Right time. Wrong time. The world exists with us and without us. 

 

I make it all for a single purpose -- to make one more mistake. To feel the pain. To feel that it exists because it's visible. Being visible is a painful business. Making something that is visible is to bring it into this world of pain. Knowing that you are here just to feel pain, because that’s how you learn life, own life, to be alive, to learn to love. 

 

I am in a certain physical-metaphysical space, I belong to it, I am part of it. I take a piece of paper. What is it for me? It’s a certain environment with its own properties. I enter this environment with my own properties. I leave artifacts of my environment there in the form of lines. These artifacts change that environment and at the same time reveal its qualities, while being changed under the influence of the forces of that environment. As a result, my artifacts, being part of my world, change me myself. I am splitting. My phantom acts on my behalf, but has its own will, not always dependent on mine. Or rather, I give him the freedom to act. The interaction frequency between mе аnd my phantom is quite fast -- a micro-fraction of a second -- becoming one uninterrupted creative flow.