Black Earth; Chornozem
While working in Ukraine, I have gathered everyday objects from bombed-out buildings and abandoned apartments—quiet, often overlooked remnants of lives disrupted by war. These found materials, from children’s soft toys and plastic figures to shattered ceramics and military equipment, hold a haunting intimacy. Each object carries the weight of absence, becoming both evidence and witness to displacement.
Among these are fragments of a Russian glide bomb, a number of spectacles, an old camera from the 1930s, and over 600 personal photographs dating back to 1938. These images—many weathered, torn, or partially destroyed—will form the basis of a new body of drawings exploring memory, loss, and the fragility of recorded history.
This collection is not about relics of war, but about the human stories embedded within them—everyday moments interrupted, yet still present in what remains.
Among these are fragments of a Russian glide bomb, a number of spectacles, an old camera from the 1930s, and over 600 personal photographs dating back to 1938. These images—many weathered, torn, or partially destroyed—will form the basis of a new body of drawings exploring memory, loss, and the fragility of recorded history.
This collection is not about relics of war, but about the human stories embedded within them—everyday moments interrupted, yet still present in what remains.