Oil, canvas

1 x 1 m


Two dimensions of white in the world of three-dimensional, prominent, moving. The plain, frightening, covered with snow, of the regular and cold shape. It is my method of communication with the world. Acting like a dog, I am digging that snowbank with all my paws. I stumble upon the perfectly smooth surface of the frozen lake. A thousand-years old Baikal. Artists had been stretching it for centuries before I was born and will continue to do that long after my death.
What message can I paint or write down on that perfect surface? What can it answer me?
Ideal, white, eternal, icy plain. It paralyzes me. I am scattering snowflakes on its silent surface. Sometimes they make odd patterns.