Works
"Day Worth Its Weight in Gold"
Readymade: carpet, toothbrushes. 2019
According to approximate calculations, about 3 million Ukrainians permanently work abroad. And another 8 million go for seasonal work. No one knows the exact number. Almost half of labor migrants leave for work for up to three months, and then return to Ukraine to wait another three months until the next entry permit, which is related to the "visa-free" rules. The scale of the process is particularly acute when you get to small villages in western Ukraine. In every family, there is at least one person who has left or has once been working abroad. On the streets, there are mostly elderly people or women with children. Young men are hardly visible. And children plan to go work abroad "like their parents," so they don't even consider alternative options. In 2018, money transfers from abroad amounted to about 10 billion dollars. That's almost 8% of the country's total GDP. And these are only funds that came through official channels. If you ask where they spent their earnings, you mostly hear: "on living until the next trip, repairs, roof renovation, window replacement, car purchase." Each 90-day trip is money that allows buying such dreamed-of things. This is how gradually and imperceptibly life is transacted into property. The exchange of days for gold.
"Slowed by the Sun"
Series of digital drawings. 2019
On the first day of July, I arrived at the Nazar Voitovych Art Residence in the village of Travneve. That's how my month of peace and search for answers to my artistic questions began. Then I didn't know yet how strongly this place would affect me. Travneve is a small village near Ternopil, surrounded by endless fields. From the residence, there are two paths - left and right - and both lead to fields. I spent the first week of the residence thinking about my main project. Walked around, talked with locals, observed. And didn't notice how the place itself suggested answers to me. One day we went to an abandoned farm. Inside it was dark and smelled of straw. Here and there, thin rays of light broke through the ceiling and walls. We were as if hidden from the outside world. Time became thick and slow. I felt it on my fingertips. Every day I drew "portals" to the outside world. Drew the feeling of time slowed by the sun. Memories from childhood surfaced, when in summer I climbed into the barn's attic. It smelled of old dried wood. The air could be grabbed by handfuls, it was so thick. At the end of a long corridor was a small window, through which opened a view of the garden and trees. Everything seemed so bright through this window. It was like another world. And you could quietly sit in the darkness and observe what was happening around.
