Just Doing What I Love...

My photographs - a past, hard to remember time. It is sorted into a more or less cohesive plot not by memories, but by fragments of conversations, and smells and sounds reflected from a distant past. Here reality decays, drowning with it links to today and leaving almost no signs of the present. The visible surface is covered by a thick fog, sometimes decorative, sometimes the opposite, ceaselessly swallowing life. Recognisable faces, things, fairly easily assumed as own situations, don't help. The feeling doesn't leave that they are lives which have been lived, and the pictured people have become heroes of archival photographs. Mystical, almost supernatural creatures hypnotise. They pull you into a tale, forcing to feel uncomfortable as if being constantly watched. And you no longer know who is the weird one, you or them.

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