The photos were taken after the death of my father. He passed away suddenly in his sleep. I could not understand what happened, to come to terms with the loss. I looked for him everywhere and imagined he was asleep and dreaming. As a result, I have contact with him in the dream world he is with me.
My dreams are sometimes like butterflies – whirling, delicate, suddenly arriving in swarms and vanishing abruptly before I manage to inspect them closely. Sometimes dreams teeming in my head resemble moths flying around a light bulb. They multiply as the night approaches and cannot be chased away. They are not as beautiful and captivating as colourful butterflies, but persistent and restless like confused souls. They make me anxious. They are a link between the world of the living and the world of the dead. They appear and vanish out of a sudden. And although I do not always find them lucid or scary, I feel they are important to me.
Works depict dreams, motifs, shards of memories which probably appear in everyone’s dreams. Dreams – eternal companions of human life – encourage us to analyse our own experiences and understand our fate. They enable us to bring to surface deeply hidden secrets and go beyond the earthly matters.
These records are born out of imagination and perishable ephemeral memory. They are not meant to be unambiguous; they should leave the door open for free interpretation and free reading to enable everyone to supplement them with their own story.