On the morning of the 24th, everything changed dramatically. Our sensitivity thresholds, bodily reactions, rituals, basic needs, and priorities have changed. When you see war in movies, it is full of action, epic pictures, and strong emotions. In fact, the reality for most people suddenly became equal to "waiting". Waiting in front of the unknown. Waiting for you to get out of the shelter. Waiting for the air alarm to end. Waiting while sitting in the evacuation train in the dark, and it is not going anywhere, and the minutes fade into a lingering anxious eternity. This waiting and uncertainty permeate the routine of city life in wartime, which I portray in my work.

The work consists of three parts: exterior, interior, and text. The exterior is filled with imaginary slogans on billboards that remind us of the concerning issues. The streets are overgrown with checkpoints and fortifications. Monuments to Ukrainian figures have been hidden behind sandbags to protect them from destruction. These houses and location fragments — perhaps fictional, perhaps not — were constructed by me from places that were important to me. Going back to them through drawing, I tried to imagine how they changed during the war. The second part, the interior, is about life during the war. In the first few weeks, we all had to deal with issues we never thought we would have to face. We learned the rules of the two walls to hide if there is no shelter nearby and began to arrange sleeping places in the corridor. We learned to cover windows, packed anxious suitcases to always be ready, and bought first aid kits. All these rituals do not really guarantee anything. They only calm down. Children in the yards play hide-and-seek, imitating the sounds of an air-raid siren. Did anything change? Will it ever be the same again?