Arts Thread

The soil that you see in front of you was brought in from the Bela- rusian village “Zhirovichi”, the village of my grandparents. It was collected near the Spring of holy water. Around the spring the lush vegetation creates a place of tranquility, a place where the biblical myths breathe through the matter of the landscape. The “pochva” is alive. It houses billions of living beings - traces of the distant landscape. The organisms in the soil are breathing, feeding, metabolising. Their vitality produces electrical charge. Since the Russian invasion into Ukraine I have not been able to return to Belarus. The village of my grandparents, along with it’s Holy Spring are now only a memory. The memory - shared like a collective hallucination of a promised land. A land, existing on a different scale of time, eternally near and distant. A memory land, a promise, a desire. The dirty matter, pochva buzzing with unheard sounds of life. The animated vibrations of the matter produce dreams and desires. The digits, executable rituals in the form of a code produce a landscape. The landscape was re-constructed from my memory, somewhere in between imagination and reality. A dream of soil matter, a promised land embedded into the physical substance.