Landscape seems to have died out. How far must one go to see a horizon free of asphalt, garbage, and power lines, where one can breathe freely and let one’s eye rest? Suffocating with the omnipresent footmark of man, I want to show the various facets of his influence on nature.


  My decorative formula involves the interconnection between two horizons, both tamed and crushed, each highlighting a certain oppressive element in their dweller’s impact. The following excerpt from Vladimir Mayakovsky’s poem “Out of Fatigue” seems to stem from similar feelings:






Let me cover your balding head with kisses


with the rags of my lips stained by others’ gilding