I’ve realised that I haven’t done any life studies for a couple of years and I also haven’t posed myself for a long time. I like the human body a lot with its whole variability and imperfections even though I don’t see my own beauty so I don’t do life studies on myself. Touch starved, I also realised that I almost can’t remember touching the skin of another person on purpose for a long long time. I can remember the last hug I got. Since I’m out of the wards, there are also no physicals on alive people anymore so it’s a terrible feeling that all people I laid my hands on last months were dead. After COVID a year ago I still can barely smell anything although before it was one of my small pleasures to recognise approaching people I know by their smell. I don’t feel that my body belongs to me. Am I a human? What are human needs? Is touch necessary?
all what remains, WS 13/14
all what remains 2013/2014, 30x24cm oil on canvas
I have never wrote anything about my first painting in oil.
Winter of 2013-2014 was challenging because I quitted medical academy in hope to get into better place. What I got were multiple months of fear that I’ll never get into med school again.
I have already left once my dreams to become a sculptor and quitted art school for pre-med school in 2007 because I needed the real work that can feed me, according to my parents. By pure luck that same year I bought a dictionary of pathology without pictures (so histology was a pleasant surprise afterwards) and I have never had a question about meaning of my life ever again.
Thus, after all what I’ve seen through being In the hospital at least once a week since that time and listening to inspiring (and sometimes bad) doctors, talking to patients, spending time in lab with my silly scientific questions, going to autopsies and doing anatomical studies – everything could become just a fever dream because I didn’t want to tolerate the abusive system.
This is about the calling.
These days I feel similar through world events and possibility that I’ll never see my family again.
Even when I feel like a living dead
scientific questions wake me up at night and help not to snap from the historical pressure
Saying “This too shall pass. It might pass like kidney stone but it will pass” was hanging for years on my wall.
Women that had experience in both things say that passing kidney stone is worse than giving birth.
This is one of extra OH cards that came from doing end project for anamnestic group about perception of pain.
In 2021 I interviewed medical doctors of different ages and specialties. Full anonymized text available in German. Someday I’ll publish the whole illustrated project when translation is done.
My shadow’s shedding skin – I’ve been picking scabs again
I’m down, digging through my old muscles looking for a clue
I’ve been crawling on my belly clearing out what could’ve been
I’ve been wallowing in my own confused and insecure delusions
For a piece to cross me over or a word to guide me in
I want to feel the changes coming down
I want to know what I’ve been hiding in my shadow
(42&2 – Tool)
why do birds fly?, 202X
we can have a little of histology as a treat
my dark place alone, 2022
I’ve lost everything I’ve got in one moment. Moving once again alone after 7 years of immigration in one more foreign country in hard corona’s brainfog and after one week starting to work 50 hours a week with a completely empty flat and broken heart. On the other hand, I’ve achieved my long-term dream. Is it what I wanted? If I’m good enough to be a pathologist? Did I trick all these people into thinking that I’m an okayish person? There is at least one person whose place I took, and she deserved it more. There were a lot of scary thoughts, and I was completely isolated not being able to talk about what I felt. There were enough people, even friends and family to talk about everything but it seemed so useless. How can you even dare to spill this darkness into anyone’s mind? Let them choose life. Go outside. Take a breath. Take a look at this blue sky. There is hope even if you don’t feel it right now. Keep going.
dictaphone diary note #1
Мне кажется, что русский язык – единственный, на котором я могу вот так свободно о чем-то говорить и что-то анализировать и не задумываться о том важно это или нет
как будто бы это способ выражать себя и речь, которую никто не может понять. Здесь и сейчас, и вообще я семь лет живу заграницей. Я чужак и никто не слышит мою речь.
Вы все слышите только семь лет подряд как я говорю на чужом языке некрасиво, с ошибками, так, что это раздражает ваш слух.
Возможно, это моё воображение
Мне всегда нравилось когда кто-то учит мой язык.
sketch on random wood piece
here is no story or reason
intense emotions in 2020
I’m in quarantine now because i finally have corona.
the first vaccination year ago was way more worse, than symptoms that i have, but I’m contagious so no business outside.
i feel like I’m supposed to write something about stuff happening in the world. The small red book with a photo that i possess doesn’t allow me to be visible or to use proper words without having an existential fear and inviting a rage storm on myself. I wish we weren’t ancient and could live in peace.
i try to keep my own sanity intact and i’m not reading any news, so i can tank energy for my family and friends who may need support in these hard times.
I’m disappointed, but not surprised at all.