Growing up, I used to imagine that there was a landscape behind the last row of houses that I could see from my balcony. I used to stand there at dusk, looking at the space between two houses, and since I couldn't see anything except sky and the top of one tree, I would imagine that there was a meadow leading into the hills, instead of a huge factory that was really there. I noticed that the balcony was turned westwards and that became symbolic to me. In the nineties, everyone in the country thought that “the west” meant spiritual freedom and a normal, relaxed life. That new life was so close, right behind that last row of house.
When I started working with art, I started thinking about social justice, about who decides of our lives. I became interested in how society works, in what way we are shaped by the place where we grew up, in what way our priorities and attitudes are being changed.
Works are personification of the obstacles that we have to pass, our thoughts on the future and our wishes; personification of the part of our life that we actually can control. The drawn landscape becomes the symbol of desire for something we lost or what we could have – but at the same time it is threatening and it leaves us wondering what is behind it.
These spaces are intimate and fictional.