↓download statement PDF↓born in moscow, russia, on may 5, at 0:05, i emerged on an edge, having managed just in time for my mom’s birthday.on the edge of time, on the edge of a landscape, on the edge of europe. my entire life, i have been registered in a house built in 1952, in the edge year of stalinism. beneath our house run the tramlines: a borderline between me and the endless izmaylovsky forest that stretches beyond sight.having started my practice at the children’s video art education group at the moscowcentre for contemporary art at the age of 10, i have worked with digital and analogphotography, animation, video, film, and mixed media, as well as developing personaland group curatorial projects. currently, i am focusing on hybrid non-fictional film as amedium to explore mental spaces that transcend physical spaces, and the sense of ashared space that surpasses personal feelings.the world is a lace canvas, and i balance on its threads, feeling the slightest tension ineach part. i believe that tramlines, edges, and borders are both the threads of the canvas and the clefts through which the earth breathes. they are the rifts, gifted to the universe that mostly consists of complete forms, which are meant to cloak the essence beneath them. through these rifts, the universal matter can be seen.i am most interested in points of convergence and condensation. some cities hold these condensations within them; some lands bear scars that manifest both in culture and geography. through these scars, the matter glows. once these spaces open to me, a new pin appears on my canvas — a tiny island with a windmill around which an invisible field of energy forms.a part of me is russian; the other navigates its way all the way down from jerusalem, inevitably passing through the lands of germany, czechia, poland, and ukraine before reaching moscow. today, you must be either aloof or possess great endurance to carry both parts. i feel as though i traveled that entire way alongside those who brought me into being. i feel that i could hold moscow, jerusalem, berlin, prague, warsaw, and kyiv within me, as if someone has plotted the space for them in my chest.a bridge between plain words and metaphors, or the humdrum and the primeval, liessomewhere in the backwoods of the mind. what is stored in the frontal lobe as coderevives in the back of the mind as metaphors — knots of matter before its consolidation. these metaphors extend beyond the verbal and exist in sensual and spatial dimensions. one can call this a third eye, or a naïve, childlike comprehension of what surrounds and fills us, when vision is knowledge, and all is raw.the whole of eastern europe — its maps, streets, rivers, people, schools, playgrounds, bricks, concrete blocks, and windowpanes — are spaces for me to rediscover and reflect in moving images, while the surface of it rounds into a pearl for me to hold on the bottom of a fish-eye. 