Artist Statement

My work explores how spaces, objects, and daily rituals shape the values by which we live. I approach the domestic realm not as a private backdrop, but as a formative site where attention is trained, care is practiced, and ideas of beauty, waste, tenderness, and belonging are quietly instilled. Through sculpture, painting, and installation, I ask how the habits learned at an intimate scale might be extended toward the more-than-human world.

I was born in Moscow and came of age in New York City, moving between radically different built environments and systems of belief. Architecture became an early language for understanding power, identity, and emotional atmosphere. From the severity of Soviet monumental forms to the fluid seductions of contemporary design, I became aware that material environments are never neutral: they teach us how to feel, what to desire, and what to overlook.

Personal loss is a quiet current in my practice. My mother died during my formative years, profoundly altering my relationship to memory, refuge, and the natural world. I have inherited her love for the wildflowers—resilient plants often dismissed as weeds—she taught me that to love what is overlooked is a moral act. That lesson continues to guide my attention toward the humble, the discarded, and the uncelebrated.

I work with cast cement, glass, light, hand-painted surfaces, consumer packaging, domestic vessels, and botanical imagery. By casting single-use food containers into cement, I transform disposable forms into enduring structures. These objects carry the imprint of a culture organized around convenience, speed, and planned obsolescence. Recast in weighty, architectural material, they become monuments, relics, or altars—sites where consumer values can be reconsidered.

Historically feminized forms of labor—tending, cleaning, nourishing, decorating, maintaining—also inform my practice. I see these often-invisible acts not as marginal tasks, but as sophisticated modes of knowledge rooted in repetition, sensitivity, repair, and stewardship. The same capacities that sustain a household may be essential for sustaining ecosystems. In this sense, domestic care becomes a model for ecological ethics.

Light is central to my work as both medium and metaphor. It creates warmth, orientation, pause, and presence. I aim to build perceptual architectures that slow the viewer down and make attention itself feel tangible. Through these environments, I hope to reopen a sense of reverence for what modern life renders ordinary or expendable.

At its core, my practice asks whether care can be relearned: through materials, through memory, through the rituals of daily life, and through a renewed relationship with the living world that has always sustained us first.