Andrey Moss 

An attentive viewer may notice a certain consistency between my two most recent works, and they will not be deceived. They will notice the subtle connection between these two completely different historical periods, characters, and stories, which was intentionally created. This connection between humans and divine providence captures the moment when a person, most often a woman, unites with their divine essence, becoming a chosen one, a weapon of God, to administer justice, whether in the form of a marble ancient Greek goddess or blindly following divine voices. It is always interesting how we, as men, use female images to punish ourselves for our consumerist and other attitudes. Perhaps this is why, unsurprisingly, the goddess of justice has a female form. It is hard to believe that this was a random mockery of the male gender. Perhaps we want to see judges in female guises, imagining them as our mothers, but such thoughts lead us to completely different areas..

In my two most recent works, I have placed a special emphasis on justice in a female form. Whether it is about the independence and freedom of an entire nation or the triumph of vengeance and honesty in the case of a single soul. In this context, I have had the courage to contrast divine providence with pagan mockery. However, I am merely continuing a concept that was established during my second collection eleven years ago and remains relevant today. This concept, inspired by

The infinitely long, incredibly frosty and immeasurably snowy winter has finally given way to spring light. And after five months spent in the company of impenetrable darkness and loneliness, my studio, or rather monastic cell, was finally filled with this hopeful light. For me, returning here is comparable to recovering from a seemingly incurable disease.

After I was forced to suspend my work last September, I decided not to immerse myself in pity and sadness, but to devote this time to restoring not only my mental health, but also to repairing my own house, so it's not surprising that because of my meticulousness and tediousness, this process dragged on for such a long time.

Cloisters in former times portrayed on their high walls

The truths of Holy Writ with fitting pictures

Which gladdened pious hearts and lessened the coldness,

The austere appearance, of those monasteries.

In those days the sowing of Christ’s Gospel flourished,

Muse of my heart, of palaces the lover,

Where will you, when the blast of winter blows

In the black boredom of snowed lights, discover

A glowing brand to warm your violet toes?

How will you there revive your marbled skin

At the chill rays your shutters then disperse?

Sanctified by the flickering candlelight of Baudelaire's poetry, this year is suddenly coming to an end, dedicated to a woman who once appeared as a white-stone goddess, and when she left, she brought to her knees a pitiful mortal who believed that a woman was just a patent for satisfying his carnal beliefs.. This year is suddenly coming to an end, unfortunately giving way to a more violent one, to the nervous and alcohol-soaked sounds of Poe's prose. There is no more birdsong or candle crackling here, everything is quiet in anticipation of the murder. We are no longer in a cozy and hidden room.. everything here exclaims only one word - revenge..

- Edgar Allan Poe

If you haven't seen Robert Eggers' very first film, today is the perfect day to do so. Besides, this film is straight from the moodboard of my next project..

Did you spring out of heaven or the abyss,

Beauty? Your gaze infernal, yet divine,

Spreads infamy and glory, grief and bliss,

And therefore you can be compared to wine.

Your eyes contain both sunset and aurora:

You give off scents, like evenings storm-deflowered:

I’d build, Madonna, love, for my belief,

An altar in the dim crypt of my grief,

And in the darkest comer of my heart,

From mortal lust and mockery far apart,

Scoop you a niche, with gold and azure glaze,

Where you would stand in wonderment and gaze,

I’m fair, O mortals, as a dream of stone;

My breasts whereon, in turn, your wrecks you shatter,

Were made to wake in poets’ hearts alone

A love as indestructible as matter.

A sky-throned sphinx, unknown yet, I combine

The cygnet’s whiteness with a heart of snow.

“Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.” - Albert Einstein

It's always a fun game with a definite loss - to find at least something in my garden that even remotely resembles everything that is depicted in this most mysterious manuscript.. Some books should be tasted, some devoured, but only a few should be chewed and digested thoroughly. And this one is either a great mystery, or an equally great joke, but still no less inspiring.