«Three sisters»
This series is about three elderly women from the remote villages of the Bryansk region. Three sisters, three destinies, lived in the same rhythm. Together they greeted the dawn over their garden, whispered news to each other on the bench by the house, and went through losses and celebrations side by side. Their faces are like chronicles of time: decades of labor hidden in wrinkles, joy and quiet weariness reflected in their eyes, and wisdom born of the years they have lived.
The photographs do more than record their everyday life — they look into the very fabric of existence, into that daily reality where every gesture carries history. In the hands tying a knot on a headscarf, in a smile half-concealed behind a playful remark, in the tea shared on the veranda, we see not only the private lives of three sisters but also the fate of a village, the fate of a generation that is slowly fading away.
A special place in this series belongs to its material foundation: the photographs are printed on old wallpaper salvaged from an abandoned apartment. These wallpapers act as artifacts of time, a second skin of the past. Their cracked surfaces, faded patterns, and worn layers preserve the memory of other lives, of homes and voices that have already disappeared. In them, the same fragility and endurance appear as in the sisters’ faces. They become a link between personal history and collective memory, turning each image into both a living document and a metaphor for the inexorable passage of time.
Three Sisters is not only a story about a family. It is a glimpse into the vanishing culture of rural Russia, where time flows more slowly, where life is sustained by simple things — care, shared work, conversations with neighbors. It is a reminder of the strength of women, a strength that can be quiet and invisible, yet in that very quietness lies the resilience of an entire world.
Each frame here is like a torn-out page from an album, where instead of neatly placed photographs, life itself emerges — in images, objects, gestures. This is a series about memory — personal and collective, about what disappears, and about what remains as long as there are those who remember, and those who look.
Golden lines of time
Scars are lines of time left upon the skin.
They are like traces in the sand, imprinted by wind and waves.Each scar marks the fact that a moment of pain has passed, yet its memory continues to live within the body—like grains in an hourglass, where every particle is a lived instant.
In this project, people reveal their bodies just as sand reveals the footprints of steps once taken.Accidents, surgeries, attempts to endure pain—all of these have left their strokes upon the skin. And we chose not to erase them, not to smooth them away, but to transform them into symbols of resilience.
We covered the scars with gold leaf—sprinkling them with sun-lit fragments of time. The gold settled onto the skin like sunset upon the sand, turning irregularities into radiance. Thus, in the spirit of Japanese kintsugi, scars ceased to be hidden fractures and became lines of light.
Sand reminds us that time slips away. The wind may erase a trace, but it cannot undo the journey that left it behind. So too does the body hold its memory—not for the sake of pain, but in gratitude for having endured.
Scars are not flaws.
They are golden clocks within us, where every line speaks of what has been lived—of the fact that we were, and we remain. Like grains of sand in the palm, they escape every attempt to forget, only to one day become the most precious testimony of our lives.
In this project, sand became a special backdrop—a metaphor for time. Scars illuminated with gold rested upon the skin like sunlight upon grains of sand. The wind may erase footprints, but it cannot undo the path that created them. And so the body preserves memory: the lines of scars resemble the imprints of steps, enduring even when time has carried everything else away.
Barcelona. Dissolved in Sunlight
This series explores the architecture of Barcelona through the prism of time and light. At its core lies the cyanotype process, one of the earliest photographic techniques of the 19th century, discovered by John Herschel. Since cyanotype is based on the direct action of light, it is light itself that becomes a co-author of these images.
The choice of toned cyanotype allows the work to move beyond the familiar blue print. Natural dyes soften the color, shifting the image into a palette of sepia, ochre, and earthy browns, bringing it closer to old archival documents and maps. This becomes a key artistic gesture: Barcelona’s architecture is shown not as a modern, stable city, but as a “monument of memory, ” a trace faded by time.
The project refers to the materiality of photography and its relationship to history. Paper, having absorbed the imprint of sunlight, becomes a metaphor for memory—preserved not in accuracy, but in sensation. Architectural silhouettes lose clarity and become fragile, as if the city itself were dissolving in the very light that created it.
These images do not document Barcelona; instead, they return it to the realm of experience, where the focus is not on recording details but on evoking a state of being. Barcelona appears timeless: a city outside of time, which each viewer may live through in their own way, as a personal memory.
