


“Yellow Sea”, Oil on canvas, 100 × 80 cm
The canvas unfolds as a space where light itself turns into living matter. Sweeping, wave-like strokes create a shimmering surface that evokes the sea filled with sunlight. Here, yellow and gold are not decorative, but the very substance of light stretched into infinity.
Against this luminous field, three black lines — boats — become strikingly clear. They appear both fragile and resolute, like shadows drifting into the distance. These boats transform the abstract expanse into a seascape: the sea gains dimension, and the light acquires a human scale.
The painting balances between abstraction and figuration. There is no conventional horizon, yet there is the feeling of a journey. The boats seem suspended in the golden swell — in boundlessness, where movement and stillness are one.
Yellow Sea resonates as a meditation on human presence within the elements: not confrontation, not fusion, but a subtle equilibrium. The sea and the light are no backdrop, but a space where the boat becomes a sign of the path unfolding through radiance.
Pandit Pran Nath was one of the last great masters of the Kirana gharana, a North Indian vocal tradition rooted in deep spirituality and microtonal precision.
Born in 1918 in India, he was a disciple of the legendary Abdul Wahid Khan.
In the 1970s, he became a guru and spiritual teacher to Western minimalist composers such as La Monte Young, Terry Riley, and Marian Zazeela.
His music is not a performance in the Western sense — it is sādhanā, a spiritual practice of sound as a path to transcendence.
(Released in 1986 on Gramavision Records)
This album features two traditional ragas, ancient Indian musical forms designed to evoke specific moods and states of consciousness, each associated with a particular time of day.
This album — and Pandit Pran Nath himself — had a profound impact on American minimalist music.
Artists like La Monte Young, Terry Riley, Jon Hassell, and even Brian Eno either studied with him or drew inspiration from his approach to extended duration and microtonality.
These ragas are more than music — they’re a transmission of inner states and meditative stillness through the human voice.











































The presented artwork is part of the series “Quantum Project,” which combines the artist’s meticulous technique and conceptual depth. The painting, created entirely with a No. 2 brush, draws inspiration from the intricate beauty of Roman micro-mosaics. Each brushstroke becomes a fragment of a greater whole, forming a cohesive image with a tactile, mosaic-like texture.
The artist has meticulously developed a custom palette, based on the principles of index color. This approach allows the artwork to achieve a harmonious balance of hues and a systematic structure, reminiscent of digital pixelation yet maintaining the organic essence of traditional painting. The deliberate selection and application of color transform each element into a symbol of precision, suggesting the interconnectivity of the micro and macro.
“Quantum Painting,” as a technique, bridges the worlds of science and art. The title “Quantum Project” encapsulates the conceptual underpinning of this series. Each painting reflects the complexity of quantum processes, where order and chaos coexist, and the smallest particles form the fabric of the universe. This innovative approach encourages viewers to delve into the relationship between structure, randomness, and perception.
The series invites contemplation of time and space, offering a meditative experience akin to observing the infinite detail in nature or the cosmos. It is a celebration of the intricate and the monumental, achieved through the smallest gestures of the brush, echoing the timeless traditions of ancient mosaic craftsmanship while pushing the boundaries of contemporary art.

Essay by Clive Scott:
“The Photographic Poetics of Fragmentation”
This photograph operates not only through its imagery but through perception itself, compelling us to see through its language—a language of disjointedness, fragmentation, and texture. A distinct approach to framing is at work here: rather than offering the viewer a complete picture, it invites us to see the world as a collection of visual elements, each carrying an underlying tension.
In the foreground, a tangle of branches forms a natural chaos, partially obscuring the scene and leaving it on the verge of revelation. Beyond this layer, a differently structured space emerges: the strict verticals of trees stand like columns, supporting the rhythm of the composition. Their trunks are wrapped in red protective coverings—a striking visual accent that disrupts the monochromatic harmony of the winter forest. The red here is a gesture, a statement—perhaps one of protection, yet it may also be read as a sign of intrusion, alteration, or violence.
The photograph explores the boundary between the visible and the hidden. What lies beyond these trees? What role does this scene play in the space of the real world? The presence of a grid on the snow and a wooden pavilion suggests a place of human intervention—but in what context? We do not know, and the image offers no answers, only deepening our engagement in the act of interpretation.
Here, photography reveals its essence as a fragmentary art form: it extracts a piece of reality but does not enclose it within itself. Instead, it offers it as the starting point for an infinite narrative. This work exists not only in its visual plane but also in the viewer’s consciousness, where, following the pathways of its composition, one fills in the gaps with personal assumptions and sensations.
This is not just an image—it is an act of visual thinking. It speaks in the language of signs, suggestions, and omissions, and therein lies its poetic power.
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Photography as a Witness to Time and Space (in the Spirit of John Szarkowski)
Photography has always been not just a means of capturing reality but also a way of revealing the invisible structures within the ordinary. This image is proof of that. At first glance, we see nothing more than an abandoned rural outhouse, leaning and engulfed by the green chaos of vegetation. Yet the photographer’s gaze transforms it into something more: a symbol, a story, a testament to time.
I have always believed that one of photography’s most essential functions is not merely to document but to interpret. Here, composition plays with the tension between the man-made object and the nature reclaiming it. The vertical lines of the trees engage in a dialogue with the slanted geometry of the wooden structure, creating a sense of movement—as if nature is gradually reclaiming what was once part of human daily life.
This object, once serving a utilitarian purpose, has now been discarded beyond the boundaries of the homestead, standing at the threshold between civilization and wilderness. There is a strange poetry in this: an object that was once an essential part of everyday life has become obsolete, stripped of its function, awaiting its final dissolution into the surrounding landscape.
Photography captures the moment of this transformation, simultaneously reminding us of the impermanence of all things and their inevitable return to primordial chaos. This image brings to mind the works of William Eggleston and his ability to uncover beauty and meaning in the most unexpected, even banal, subjects. In the end, a great photograph does not merely show—it allows us to see.
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“The Architecture of Ruin and Tamed Entropy”
This photograph is a rare testament to architectural entropy, frozen in a moment where decay and renewal exist in fragile equilibrium. Here, an urban wall—once designed as a strictly rational surface, clad in geometrically ordered panels—enters into dialogue with nature, which is reclaiming the space.
This scene is not one of dramatic catastrophe but rather an illustration of slow disintegration, where the boundaries between the architectural and the organic dissolve. The damaged cladding exposes the inner layers of the structure, revealing the hidden vulnerability of the urban fabric. In the cracks left by the crumbling plaster, grass begins to grow—a modest yet resolute act of resistance.
The photograph rejects the conventional hierarchy of objects: there is no intact building, no expansive view of the street or its surroundings. Instead, the frame captures a fragment—details that typically remain outside the scope of architectural photography yet bear crucial evidence of the processes unfolding within space. In this sense, the image recalls the practice of architectural critics who examine not only completed forms but also their unstable states, the transformations that occur beyond the architect’s control.
This image can be seen as part of a broader discussion on post-Anthropocene architecture—one that does not fight against nature but coexists with it, allowing it to modify and reinterpret the urban environment. There is no nostalgia here for the lost wholeness of a building, only a careful observation of its new life—a life in ruins, a life among weeds, a life that continues even when architecture ceases to serve its original function.
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Essay by Alain Badiou: “Form, Event, Truth”
This photograph does not ask us what we see but rather how seeing itself is structured. Here, at the center of an open landscape, stands an empty frame—devoid of its own content, yet transformed into a site for truth. It is not merely a frame but an event, one that organizes space and compels us to question its naturalness.
In the tradition of Platonic philosophy, truth is never given to us directly—it requires construction, mediation. This frame is a structure that marks an absence, yet through this very absence, it reveals the process of distinction itself: what is inside, and what is outside? Does the field within the frame differ from what surrounds it? No, and yet we begin to see it differently.
This is how an event is born—a sudden rupture in the order of the visible. We find ourselves in a situation where the artificial creates the conditions for a new perception of the real. The field, which has always been a field, is now transformed into a sign. The boundary between landscape and its representation becomes unstable, and we find ourselves inside this duality, unable to determine where exactly the line between art and the world is drawn.
What matters here is not only what is depicted but also the very act of framing. This is not a gesture of authority, not an ordering of chaos, but rather a challenge—an invitation for the viewer to recognize that all vision is a choice, that truth is never given to us directly but always emerges through rupture, through an event that reorganizes our structures of perception.
In this sense, photography does not merely document reality; it plays with it, revealing what would otherwise remain unnoticed in everyday life. It becomes an act of thought and, therefore, a space for truth.
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#PosthumousGaze







Lost in Transition: A New Exhibition at Wynwood Hotel
The *Lost in Transition* exhibition at Wynwood Hotel plays with the concept of a hotel as a place that bears witness to the inner transformation and emotional renewal of a traveler in a new city. Impressions are directly tied to heightened senses: the “other” awakens a gaze that keenly captures unusual details, sharpens hearing attuned to forgotten melodies. All these scattered images, accumulated chaotically throughout the day, intersect in the imagination and seep into dreams, blending with reality in the first moments after waking. The instant before memory reconstructs the events of the past day and threads them to the present is nearly imperceptible—yet it lingers, close to the sensation of being lost, to that fleeting moment of disorientation.
The works displayed throughout the hotel reflect artists’ experiences at specific moments of contemplative self-perception within their surroundings. Anatoly Akue’s *Harvest* series stems from his study of two esoteric systems—Western astrology and ancient Chinese BaZi—and their influence on human life. Over the course of a year, the artist analyzed life events, interpreted them through these mystical traditions, and translated the resulting insights and subjective understanding into semi-abstract compositions. Maxim Ksuta’s monochromatic landscapes from the *Tectonic Painting* series seem to emerge from a universal mystical rhythm, inviting the viewer to engage with it through the observation of light reflections. A similar effect is present in Andrey Berger’s work, where he paints with acrylic on a reflective road sign marked *100 m*, visible only at a specific angle of light. This piece, titled *Lost in Transition*, became the foundation for the exhibition’s concept, metaphorically referring to the hidden path of life, unseen by the casual glance.
Eva Helki’s objects and Misha Nikatin’s paintings operate like ironic riddles, assembled from everyday items. By revealing the poetry of the mundane, their imagery projects onto the viewer’s memories, rearranging itself like a deck of cards, unfolding anew in different minds.
Anka Akhalaya, in creating her abstract compositions, turns to the surrealist technique of automatic writing, capturing fleeting emotional states in her works. A different impression—one that leans toward permanence and the idea of eternal return—emerges in Olga Aksyonova’s pieces, where barely visible figures shimmer in golden light, bound by a mysterious shared encounter. At the intersection of reality and fiction, in the quiet blur of watercolor strokes, Arthur Samofalov seeks a point of stability in his *Inhabited Ruins* series. His indistinct forms become allegories of uncertain knowledge—chaos obscures the clear contours of objects, evoking unease.
The challenge for each of us is to overcome the desire for rigid clarity and instead embrace contemplation—an approach that fosters inner transformation and reveals a new vision of the world. Even the smallest journey shifts the rhythm of life, lifting the veil from our eyes and allowing for transition, for inner metamorphosis, and for the formation of a renewed dialogue with both the self and the world around us.
Alisa Prokhorova