I was born inside the collapse of a Soviet political structure. Later, trained as an architect, I learned to think like a system: how things are built, kept alive, and how they fail. That logic never left me. Whether working as an architect, photographer, or artist, I kept tracing the same arc—every structure carries its own breakdown from the moment it begins.

My practice moves along the fault lines of political, institutional, social, and gestural systems. I work in that tipping point where stability starts to fray. Not in the spectacle of collapse, but in the quiet, anxious maintenance before it.

In Bed & Breakfast, the institution is trapped in a loop, sustaining a work designed to fail. Comfort Zone pulls apart behavioral protocols, showing how they dissolve once private and public overlap. French Exit tests the bond between artist, space, and institution, pushing it until it strains.

Lately, I’ve turned that gaze inward—toward human gestures, their exhaustion, their slow consumption of meaning. Entropy isn’t a metaphor. It’s the lens.

This is the territory I inhabit: where control slips, maintenance hardens into a desperate practice, and fragility stops pretending to be anything else.