Another skies do not belong to anyone
They reveal, drag into themselves, and there
They can be felt without lifting your head to the heaven
Because the eyes long hold the infinity glare ...
Behind me – a field of zinc plates and platelets, like a protective metal shield with stained symbols of time, each of which preserves its moment of truth. The etching with its rules, laws and whims, like a path to self-discovery, beginning with the visualization of an idea and continuing, crossing the boundaries of the plate. This is a form of art, where the unseen thinks for a long time before revealing itself. I would like to say: I live in a plate, attempting to convince myself and others that it really isn’t a plate...