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gone

It is not enough to simply be inspired to pick up a camera, or a guitar, a pen or tilt your head back and sing your heart out. At first, you find your way, but eventually you need to wrap your arms around an intention. I used to believe that. You are supposed to hide in a shed making half-baked masterpieces, scrap them and try to make a better one until you are finally ready to throw the doors wide open and share your gems with friends and strangers.

Now, I think a bit differently. There is something incredibly powerful in your work when you are naive. Not knowing the rules means you don't even realize you are breaking them. It is far too easy to get bogged down in self-doubt, in a struggle towards the creative stone that has not been turned just yet. We all yearn for unknown territory, unknown space, story, sound. It is possible to find. It exists.

I have been looking at some of the pictures I take here - typically of Soviet era playgroundss, old shacks, concrete monoliths where…

gone

the other man

Hello, Alice

I am the hot, I am the cold (part 2)

Elephants (the real rejection)

the clarinet and the saxophone

father fury (a crisis)

WHALE (crying into the dark)

the father

the place where all roads begin

the shovel (the same question)

landushi (their ocean)

finding time

the going back

the game (the vigilante)

the demo

the winter that never ends

to run

no man is an island

the train station negroni (a celebration)

the invisible man (finally)

mascara in the rain

of ashtrays and flowers

the tiniest red carpet

whistling through the graveyard

the long way around

the runaway

the young & the restless

the cook is in love (how to survive the Russian winter)

Sinatra's phantom

(looking for) the heartbreaker

the house of artists

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