I grew up inside the collapse of the Soviet system. Later I trained as an architect and learned to think in systems: how things are built, how they are kept alive, and how they fail. That way of thinking stayed with me through architecture, photography, and art. Again and again I find the same thing: every structure carries its own breakdown from the start.

I’m less drawn to collapse itself than to the time before it, the anxious, everyday work of holding something together a little longer.

In Bed & Breakfast, an institution is caught in a loop, maintaining a work built to fail. Comfort Zone looks at what happens to our behaviour when private and public space overlap on a crowded beach. French Exit tests the bond between artist, space, and institution until it starts to strain.

I rarely begin with a concept. Most works start with plain curiosity: an object, a situation, something I can’t explain to myself. I follow it without knowing where it leads, and I allow myself to stay confused for a long time. Only later do I see the pattern. Almost always, I end up in the same place, looking at the structures we build and the effort it takes to keep them standing.

That is where my work lives: where control slips, where maintenance turns desperate, and where fragility stops pretending to be anything else.