chalk

The horizon moves like the hand of a clock that pierces time with a sharp tip.
The shadow of the boat moves across the expanse of the ocean, which has long since ceased to exist.
The boat and the horizon will never meet, will never be able to touch each other.
The horizon is so light that it needs encumbrance, fixation with reality, material confirmation of one's illusory existence against the background of eternity.

I started making land art during the symposium Borderline Space (Prostir Pokordonnia) in 2007. The site stirs feelings of friends and enemies, natural and controlled, free and full of unrecognized anxiety. The area was once an ancient settlement that now is divided by a border between Ukraine and Russia. The landscape, roads, and even the sky felt political.

An ocean from millennia ago is seen today in the white chalk plateaus surrounded with juicy grasses and phorbs.