The room with a balcony and a window is bright now as if it remembers the day that saw us for the last time. Memories are strange companions. They disappear forever or stubbornly stalk through the decades. Changelings turning everything upside down and little spy cameras capturing the bygone events are better than any newsreel. Everyone has their own and they all have something in common. The paintings at the exhibition are an attempt either to collect and reassemble a personal archive, or to retroactively represent reality to oneself. Flashbacks, short stories, fears and fantasies, resentments and joys of a child hatch from a chrysalis, which once became a butterfly that refused to grow up. The number of wings and the pattern on the wings is already completely different, but something elusive allows you to recognize it at a glance. It’s like stepping into the same water twice. Is it sad or funny, scary or necessary to do? I don’t like fairies and goblins, talking unicorns, flying castles and steampunk submarines. Our mundane life and the material world are so much superior to them in ingenuity. It is enough to look at them for at least 15 minutes impartially. But in a rather interesting way, when you simply transfer something from the incorporeal world of thoughts-memories into an image format, the result differs little from illustrations made for a horror story.
text from Rodion Kitaev