when I wake up,
I see a photograph —
a white line cutting a house in two.
when I write to you,
I see a triptych
with weird animals and green horizons.
when I work,
I keep looking at the glass pieces
holding warmth and tension in their crystals.
when I call you,
you see me as a flower on the wall.
every artwork i have slept with explores аrt situated along the blurred outlines of laws and oppressions — a space where censorship and public attention begin to dissolve against the white walls of apartment exhibitions and the soft interiors of private collections.