So I was left alone with my fate in the Strange Forest, because neither my mother nor my father, nor my
brother or any other protector to save me from unavoidable misfortunes, if they were to occur at some
time, was there.
Amos Tutuola, My Life in the Bush of Ghost, 1954
My periodic expeditions into the forest began in my early childhood, when my father in his free
time would take me on walks in the Izmailovsky Park located not far from our home. Sometimes he
would complement our walks with unforgettable, mystical stories about an invisible but perceptible
on a physical level, mysterious, unreal world. The debris from those strong emotions to this day reveal
themselves in my current works, which can contain and combine the space of nature, the space of the
mind and recollections and the space of art, densely interwoven into a single perception of the world.
Joining together, they impress and inspire with the presence of mystery, eternity and the unattainable,
absolute freedom to which, in my view from without, a master of the likes of Cy Twombly got very
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