This is my home.
The home where I was born and grew up.
The home that I loved.
The home I can never return to.
No roof, no floor, no walls are left—only memories and emotions: pain, despair, nostalgia, and loss

А year ago, my inner child’s safe place collapsed.
My childhood Room—its memory—became a refugee.
Displaced and fragile, She still carries both Her heritage and Her burden. And every day, Her walls grow stronger.

To invite visitors into my home, my memories, and the madness I live in, I rebuilt my childhood room in a 1:1 scale. It’s a reconstruction of the room I once had in my family’s apartment in Kyiv—an attempt to preserve and share the history my Room and I have witnessed throughout my life.

Materials: 31 layers of newspaper, tears, starch.

Layer 1: newspapers from August 24, 1991—the collapse of the Soviet Union, the re-establishment of Ukraine’s independence. The day I was born free.
Layer 31: newspapers from February 24, 2022—the day of the full-scale rus**an invasion of Ukraine.

Till now, the newspapers have been hidden under the wallpapers of mine and millions of other homes. That meant to cover the imperfections of the Stalin’s, Brezhnevs and Khrushev’s  buildings walls (typical apartment buildings built in the USSR. Apartment plan that every Ukrainian knows, lives or lived.) Now, when walls are ruined, at last, the Truth has been revealed.