Sometimes, when a chapter in a book ends and a new one begins, there is an empty space between them. A piece of white sheet. I’m stuck in this space. The chapter "St. Petersburg" is over, the chapter "New Life" is ahead, which still does not want to begin. I "zeroed out", went through all the monopoly cells and returned to the starting position. I’m back in my hometown. And it seems that everything is not so terrible: a job has been found, relatives are nearby, paintings are being painted. But there is no happiness. Thoughts creep in treacherously "Is the move worth it?" Or is it better to feel happiness in a cage than to get bogged down in a "swamp" on the outside?

I grew up and took my first steps in art in Uzbekistan. At the age of 20, I went 4,000 kilometers from home to Russia to finish my education. It had a huge impact on my life.

My work combines the strict rules of Russian academism and bright motifs of Uzbek culture. Art is inextricably linked with my inner world: I let emotions and impressions through me in order to find answers to the questions that concern me the most. Having a diverse experience, I draw inspiration from childhood memories and life events.