«About Childhood, the Yard, and the Cosmic Speed of a Bicycle» «24.05.25-08.06.25», Gallery «KUT»

Maybe it’s not a cat, but an enchanted owl. Maybe those aren’t flights, but lines drawn by someone. Maybe it’s not Mykolaiv—just a yard where grass grows through the concrete, and the sun spills from the rooftops straight onto your shoulders.

But isn’t a yard a whole world? A portal in time where you are seven, free to invent a new gravity, your own language, your own game—where a stove is a ship, and the sandbox is a crater of an unknown planet.

People, like figures made of soft clay, are bathed in light, frozen on the canvases. Around them are traces of the city: asphalt, shadows, metal. But inside—there’s a different logic. Time doesn’t move forward here. It hides in the heart, twists, compresses in silence.

And then: the bicycle rushes.
Not just a wheel—but a comet.
Not just motion—but flight.
In the backpack—a sandwich,
in the eyes—the road,
and in the wind—a song that doesn’t need to be sung out loud.

These works are not about the past. They are about warmth that hasn’t disappeared. About a city that has become a memory but hasn’t stopped being home.

It’s gratitude.

It’s memory that glows from within.