A print from a tree cross-section, resembling a vinyl record on a gramophone. The tree’s growth rings—uneven, black and white, and sometimes golden—symbolize my life. Postcards and letters, addressed to me and sent by me to my friends, children, parents, and lovers.

In autumn, when the momiji maples turn crimson, or in spring, when the cherry blossoms bloom, Kamakura is especially crowded. But I love Kamakura in early winter. The gray paths, the houses, and against this backdrop of quiet grayness, the persimmons glow in bright orange on the trees.
On rainy days, there are no tourists; the locals stay indoors. Only the umbrellas of the occasional passerby drift above the pathways like floating petals. In the Buddhist and Shinto temples, the smoke from burning incense refuses to rise to the gods in the heavens. Instead, it lingers low, and in the end, the raindrops press it gently down onto the stone-paved paths.
Kamakura is the only place in Japan where I switch my camera to black-and-white mode. It is so beautiful, so self-sufficient in the simplicity of its forms, that I leave all the bright colors to the tourist camera flashes.

When a painting is finished, the artist feels joy and satisfaction and stamps the work with the seal. This is the sweetest moment. But here, a cold autumn rain falls, and all the seals lie in a sugar bowl like candies.

A print from Manchurian walnut leaves, which grow in Siberia. One leaf, in dark tones, represents the feminine aspect, with an excerpt from a description of a spring Shinto ritual in the background.

A print from Manchurian walnut leaves, which grow in Siberia.
The other, a bright “yang” leaf, is placed over the text of a male Shinto purification ritual.

This work is a result of my reflection on ghost cities in China. The city of Kangbashi, in particular, completely stunned me. Built for one and a half million people with full infrastructure, it stands completely empty—no one lives there. Along with me, the lotuses on the lake gaze with their round eyes, blinking in bewilderment. The dissonance between the square forms of the metropolis and the round, organic shapes of nature, combined with a warm - cold color palette, enhances the impression.

The idea for the peacock came after visiting India, where they roam like
chickens and simply live in the wild. After watching them—seeing them
take off like elephants and land on thatched roofs, begging for food in
the mornings, and whistling at night—I simply had to paint one.

ink, mineral pigments, rice paper on interlining
58*34 см

Happiness loves silence. The symbols in this painting are wishes for
prosperity, well-being, and a happy family life.

The first part of the diptych captures a battle between the living and the
inanimate. Among them, we see different qualities that might give one
side an advantage. But who truly has the upper hand? That is the
question.

The second part of the diptych removes this question from the
agenda entirely. The outcome is clear: the fish is sizzling with a
delicious crust on the plate, the beer is already on the table, and at last, it
becomes evident that this battle was just a game—where a third force
has claimed the true victory.

My husband archetypically reveres fishing, that is his religion. The fishermen (in the background) fill Russia’s vast, frozen waters in winter in all parts of the country. This motif is not random—it reflects the reality of my life. The fish prints in the foreground are made using the gyotaku technique.

My reflection on contemporary art course study. A dorado fish was the
model. Discussions about contemporary art. If composition, color
choices, and craftsmanship are no longer standards, and what surprises
or shocks is now considered the benchmark of the modern art, then isn’t
oceanic trash the same for these sea creatures? “What is this?” one asks.
“Is it dangerous or edible?” Another suggests that it might be
contemporary art that has drifted into their world.