I reproduce the traditions of my family by inertia, winding them in an uneven ball.
They sprout inside of me and are reflected by bizarre forms from the surrounding reality. My son is growing and it becomes more difficult for me to pass on rituals that are native, but are devoid of repetition. It is difficult to explain the original, true. It is deformed by new contexts. With the help of photography, I'm exploring the mythological, I'm trying to discover archetypes in simple and everyday objects, but the newly created images are just another repetition of already experienced visual experience, distorted, but still recognizable.
*Poteshka - is a small poetic genre of oral folklore, based on the repetition and presence in the text of bright fairy-tale images