Why should I care about your art? Why should anyone care, really? Why do I care about my own art in the first place? What is my biggest personal problem? How can I transform that into a metaphor? Should it be the literal story, or rather the experience disguised as a story? What if the story is not illustrated at all? How do I see it? How do you see it? What do you see? Does it seem familiar to you? How do you feel about it? What is your interpretation of it? Made in CREVV.

I can’t remember where and how this object came to me. At first, I mistook it for a clock face. Well, if it is, then it's a very weird one.It starts at 12, marking both the beginning and the end of the count. The starting point is in the lower left corner, where the number seven is usually located. That’s where the winter solstice point — the zero point — lies. From there, the count began on a celestial circle. Stop. How do I know all this? Is any of this even true? It doesn’t make any sense to me. This thing in my hand is not an ordinary object. It’s something bigger. Beyond my comprehension. A strange dial rotates and shows a number. It’s 4. I’m stunned. It goes for another round, transforms again. Now it emits light so powerful it feels like I’m holding the sun. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice another number—8. Made in CREVV.

“Funny thing, you cannot see the world properly, everything is blurry and unclear. You can't even read signs in the distance, let alone find your way at an intersection at night. Is it worth it?” I move closer to her to see her face more clearly. My vision is not that bad as she describes. She knows that too and says all of it to persuade me not to sit in front of the monitor at night, to bring me to my senses. It just annoys me. I don’t say a word. I shift my gaze to the road. It has been dark for a long time now, drivers have already turned on their headlights, and hundreds of moving lights transform into multicolored lines. Above them, the rhythmic, blurry ovals of streetlights flicker. And somewhere in between—the glare of road signs, which I certainly cannot make out. “It’s like the music,” I say. “And look…” I take my glasses from the right pocket and put them on, waiting for her reaction. “Well, that’s something. Let’s go.” Yeah, that is really something. Made in CREVV.

(A) You can't look at the sky for long. Even with your eyes closed. Soon your eyes start to water. That's just how it is. I’m used to looking at the sky, watching birds and clouds as a child; later, just imagining they were still there. There is something romantic about feeling their power and wishing they could take me with them. (B) With every step toward the vehicle, I feel even smaller. I lift my head: the morning sun has come out, blinding me and forcing me to take a step back. The boarding has already started. I’m going in. (C) Playing hide-and-seek with the sun, we will meet on the other side of the world soon. Just in a few hours, as promised. Now though there’s just me. How many birds are heading in the same direction? Hopefully I’ll meet some of them. (D) My eyes are getting teary again. What is it? Have I been staring at the sky for too long? Made in CREVV.

“This is really a raw, resilient human experience, right? I mean the idea of life persisting in the middle of something as intense.” He stares at my friend, then at me, then at himself. I see how much it means to him. “We’re going to be loud, we’re going to be heard, we’re going to keep living.” Yes, he's right, definitely right. How could he not be? And then I caught myself feeling angry. At myself. I don't feel the same enthusiasm and drive. I don’t have that kind of backbone. He does. “I want to feel, to express myself, especially now, when everything else is really difficult.” He pauses and looks at us. “I want rock 'n' roll.” Made in CREVV.

Saturday, 4 pm. Woke up from another missed call. Shut up! Okay, okay, god… The silence hums — my ears are still ringing from the night. I can’t feel my legs, almost fell trying to get up from the bed. Plan for the day ahead: a shower, cup of coffee, no, two cups, then go back to sleep. Should’ve written that down; the temptation to do none of this is strong. I pick up a pen, and my fingers don't listen. Not today. All I can do is check the phone. Scrolling through the photos from another night. No selfies, only a bunch of graffiti on the walls looking like ancient inscriptions. Don’t remember taking any of those. Are they even real? Did I make them up? Music keeps playing in my head, won’t go away. It mixes with the sounds from outside, and with my breathing, and with the graffiti on the walls, and suddenly the whole world seems surreal. I should go to bed now. Made in CREVV.

One thing after another—it’s easy to get lost among so many hangers. Here they are, frozen on the rail like in a family photo, with a slight hint of movement. “That’s a decent rag. Oh, I meant the shirt haha!” Oh, what a jerk. I used to be the same. But now, every collar, missing button, or turned-up pant cuffs have a joke for me. Well, I’m all ears. Ha! That’s a nice one. Made in CREVV.

If you have read it, you know what I’m talking about. He came here from another planet, from a different world really. Our home is unfamiliar to him, so he sets off on an adventure. Every step he takes is a step into the unknown – new cities, new countries, new places, new people. It costs him nothing to go up into the sky and come back down, so traveling should not be difficult for him. True curiosity is assertive and unstoppable. Yet, he looks puzzled and perturbed. I know that look. Sometimes, new places you discover don’t live up to your expectations, to your dreams and your fears. And those come from stories you hear. Or the ones you wish existed. I hope he won’t be disappointed ever again. I feel like, no, I know that I should help him somehow, guide him, or protect him. Even though I know it matters more to me. I promise I won’t lie. Made with KOBRA.

Learning is very similar to sports. You repeat the same thing again and again until you master it; and the first step is always the hardest. The only thing that differentiates them for me is the fact that there are no winners or losers in learning. You can’t take first place, or second, or even become a laureate. You just do your thing and step by step you move forward. And it’s better if every next step is bigger than previous one, so you make some progress. Another problem is how to determine when you should take the next step. Or even the first one. So be careful while you move. If you’re not sure, don’t do it. Made in CREVV.

I'm stuck. Creatively especially. There's nothing in my brain except an overwhelming stillness. It hurts. I need fresh air, a way out, something to start, and something to finish. I need to think more oblique. Made in For a While.

Influences/references in the bio; vvv "layer approach" ....... new spirit. A design logic of a new era, igniting a captivating fusion of artistic expressions. A Margiela's SS92, or office hours; a raw truth. A life of things ....... past, present, future ....... Virgil's archive studies. When something happend. Ideas > objects. You are not ready for this. Made in For a While.

I hold the letter delicately in my hands, the crisp paper whispering promises of hope and longing. It's an invitation, a chance to fulfill a cherished dream, and I can't help but feel my heart race with anticipation. The envelope bears the emblem of an American institution, an emblem that represents more than just a piece of paper—it holds the key to my ultimate desire. As I carefully open the envelope, I can't help but reminisce about the past. I had once stood on a sandy beach, the waves lapping at my feet as the sun painted the sky in hues of gold and pink. The beauty of that moment had etched itself into the depths of my soul, and since then, I yearned for one more chance to witness such a breathtaking sunset. Just one more time. Made in CREVV.

I take my time with it, read it slowly, and allow myself to fully engage with it. This issue is both reflection and therapy. Its cover is as simple and empty as possible, devoid of excess. The most important thing here is time. A time that is running out, that I need to spend alone with this issue. This is an opportunity for my personal growth and reflection. Now that I’m half way done, a weird feeling starts to creep in. I feel like I might lose something when I close it; those people inside will disappear. For me, it’s a time capsule I can revisit whenever I want. It will always last exactly 02:31:28. Made in CREVV.

A gift is given. No words are needed. "Is that a dice?" she asks. "It's a symbol. Of you. For you." She squeezed the small piece in her hand, then looked directly at me. "It's a symbol of promise," I continued. She smiled and said she wasn't very good at it. I took her hand and whispered, "That's what the dice is for." Made in For a While.

The sound speaks to me. It feels real, though I know it’s made. A slow, steady beep, cut by a low hum. The most convincing sound I’ve ever heard. Why do I hear it? Maybe because I’m a machine. Maybe because I’m losing my mind. Vibrations reach my chest — precise, patterned. I hear: 01110011 01101001 01100111 01101110 01100001 01101100. The beep cuts. A red screen flares. Another pulse, brighter, faster. Numbers roll, each one glowing a new color. I think it’s trying to speak, but I can’t read the code. C’est une sensation, pas une pensée. Je suis un observateur. Je suis violet. Je suis rouge. Je suis vert. Je suis bleu. Je suis… Now I know. Made in For a While. .

The duality of a trader's nature is unprecedented. Every day you have to choose: buy or sell, up or down, black or white. But trading isn’t only about choices. It’s a discipline — planning your investments, your work, your family, your health, your future. Then using that plan to build an income-producing asset while you sleep. Something that keeps moving when you stop.

I’m not sure how to ask, or what to ask. I'm filled with questions rather than with answers. On this path to recovery, this is crucial. I’ve tried doctors, therapists, counselors. The most valuable thing I’ve found so far is this book — Questions That Heal. It helps you look at your thoughts about pain, not just the pain itself. I’d heard of it before, but only when I started using it did I feel the shift. Now I’m an empowered patient. But now she needs me — my support. And a hug. What can I do for her? It’s not about control; it’s about staying close, keeping an eye on her emotional and physical well-being. The app says she’s fine today. I’m still waiting for word from her. That's how it used to be, and this is how it is. I’m starting to live in her shoes. It’s more than empathy, more than being “supportive.” Another level, really. Something about this app. I noticed it doesn’t change pronouns in the questions — as if I share her journey, step for step. I hope it helps. She says it does. Made in BC.

I need to express myself, even when no one’s watching. The truest way I’ve found is through what I wear. The problem is, most clothes come with a personality I never asked for. Rozmova — from Ukrainian, “a talk” — works as a blank sheet. I can finally write my own story on the cloth, let it speak for me.