The structure of time is the most mysterious of all human concepts and the most
inexorable — begin at the beginning then go till you get to the end then stop.
But what happens when you come to the beginning again?
What if everything going on simultaneously, can the exposing of colors
and forms bear such broken concept?
A superior structure always seems random for its users.
Does that mean they are unknowable?
How big is the possibility to get a piece of a puzzle from something that looks
random to me — notice in stranger’s blog, bizarre color scheme, somebody’s smile
If I would hunt for it very attentively.
May anything I hunt for, either for an answer or a question, be a kind of a pill
This is the page from my intimate diary, red album. Images appear in it as answers to big questions like these — what makes intelligence intelligent? What if the conscious mind is possible only inside the living body, as an answer to the question of survival? And is the desire to be free from reality the very reason that makes me dream my beloved naive dream, at the end of which I do not exist?
But I am here. I’m alone. I’m inside of myself, and around it is you know what? That’s right, me. And my dream is real only while I’m asleep. So I continue.
I’ve used my old acrylic on canvas work as underpainting layer in procreate. It was fun! There is some process: