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.

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, Brezhnev`s and Khrushev’s  building`s 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.

In first weeks the information front was the most important front, and I had my own war, the same as everybody did. With art as the weapon, I know the best.

 In a time of constant stress and fear, focus and touching material physically helped to calm down and stay grounded. Recreating my “comfort zone”, where I remember myself happy and loved, was a subconscious attempt to defend against trauma in the event of a loss.

Materials: Miniature Newspapers, tears, starch.