— In this work, black exists first and foremost as a statement. Technically, the entire series is executed in shades of green and blue azurite — a direct reference to place, landscape, and environment. Black itself is chosen as a conceptual foundation, as a return to roots, to the earth, as a form of praise and a reminder of where we live.

For me, black has a particular significance: it is one of the strongest and most saturated colors, requiring a certain psychological readiness. It is a color of asceticism and restraint, of inner concentration.

Speaking of post-Soviet origin, I try to remain as apolitical an artist as possible. This imprint is undoubtedly present, but for me it is primarily a part of history that deserves respect rather than a direct statement.

Conceptually, the work is built on the principle of trinity. At first glance it appears monochrome; however, upon careful viewing and closer proximity, the viewer begins to discern color, nuances, and smooth transitions within the color field.

— Both at the beginning and at the end of the question, the answer is already embedded. To free oneself from the bonds of fear means to look at the work as something non-obvious, as a form of expression, and to allow oneself time and observation — to sense what exactly it changes within you, whether it enters into dialogue with you or not.

I believe that every author of a work is merely a link in the transmission of information. Explanation is not always necessary: sometimes it is far more important to give the viewer freedom — the freedom to interpret and to remain alone with their own experience.

— In my work, I choose oil primarily for its plasticity, its ability to create transparent layers, the softness of color, and the sense of warmth of the canvas. The long drying time also plays an important role: the process of completing a work can potentially be endless, and only the author determines the moment when it is time to stop.

My black palette includes Bone black, Carbon black, Mars black, as well as Burnt umber.

Industrial black is always associated for me with a feeling of cold — the color of black steel, metal, and concrete. Organic black, by contrast, is an appeal to nature and a sense of warmth: charcoal, soil, clay, burnt wood.

— The process always begins with preparation — with drafts and notes defining what exactly I want to express and what theme I am working on at the moment. This stage is fundamental for me. Working on the canvas is always a controlled process.

Extracting form from chaos is a transformative experience articulated through artistic language. It is not a spontaneous gesture, but a gradual construction of structure and meaning.

The moment of completion is determined intuitively — through an inner sense of sufficiency.

— It is precisely in this question that one of the most controversial and subtle moments arises. My work primarily expresses personal experience — a kind of confession that coincided with a period of spiritual searching and a rethinking of meaning.

This stage included visits to monasteries and temples, encounters with mentors, teachers, and masters, as well as the study of ancient Eastern philosophy, myth-making, and mythological narratives of different peoples around the world.

As a result, a theme emerged of how personal identity is formed through cultural codes. This reflection takes place in a global context, without rigid attachment to a specific nation. The work is constructed within the field of a universal order.

— My participation in Art Basel was not physical in nature and was presented in the format of a printed publication. Nevertheless, it was precisely this that made it possible to establish an intercontinental cultural dialogue through artistic works.

International presence became an opportunity to shift and refine the focus on the theme of cultural codes, as well as to make that very "quantum leap" — in the transformation of perception and the acquisition of new meanings, both for the viewer and for the artistic practice itself.

— You are right to note that in a world oversaturated with noise, images, and objects, there arises a natural desire for silence and for the ability to remain composed amid chaos.

Why abstraction? Because an artist is not an illustrator. The task is not to translate a visible image onto the canvas, but to create poetry and a space for reflection.

In this context, I feel close to the words of Leonardo da Vinci from A Treatise on Painting: "When the work surpasses the judgment of its creator, such an artist achieves little; but when judgment surpasses the work, that work never ceases to improve."

— The theme of darkness in my work arises from the experience of an existential crisis and the subsequent transition to a state of infinite potential. In this context, it is about a continuous movement from ignorance to knowledge, about the process of reassembling oneself.

In darkness, light reveals itself most distinctly; in this sense, the very entry into such states already constitutes a blessing.

— Based on the personal experience mentioned above, I continue to explore the categories of the sublime and the transcendent through work with color fields. In this context, I feel particularly close to the practices of Mark Rothko and Barnett Newman, despite the fact that they are often perceived as opposites.

Rothko dissolves the viewer in silence and inner experience; Newman immerses the viewer in a field of presence and action. If Rothko's path to the transcendent passes through feeling, Newman's unfolds through confrontation.

— For me, the human being is a continuous movement from birth to death, from ignorance to knowledge. This is already articulated in my next work, which I am currently developing — "On the Cyclicality of Time."

The series "Pe negru. Pe pământ" is a complete statement. As noted above, it has a universal character and is not tied to national identity: at its center stands the human being as a fundamental, primary concept, regardless of geographical affiliation.

However, when speaking of patriotism, this theme is painfully perceived throughout the entire post-Soviet space. I feel close to the position of Nietzsche and Schopenhauer, who often criticized their country yet remained ardent patriots precisely because they saw and wanted something better for it. Their criticism is a form of radical responsibility, not a form of renunciation.

— I am looking for a thoughtful viewer. The type of interaction I propose sounds like an invitation; however, in conditions of general political instability and anxiety, the work inevitably functions both as a mirror and as a form of provocation.

It seems to me that in an era of globalization and rapid technological development, it is especially important to cultivate tolerance — both on an individual and a collective level. Judging by the response the series has received, the work has entered into dialogue with the viewer, and therefore it has worked.

— Any human activity is a form of understanding the world and oneself within it. After many black canvases, I cannot say that I have come closer to the answer, but perhaps I have begun to see its outlines more clearly.