Shadow

Exploring consciousness becomes a very important part of my day, but never an obsession. I will try to understand messages behind every possible contact from which consciousness speaks. My paintings will give me wonderful insight into my inner state, and Jungian interpretation will act like a translator in this process. Sometimes chaotic painting will emerge, and sometimes clean and precise — it will be easy to distinguish style, but the way in which painting speaks will change, and this changing will happen in intervals. There will be a lot of paintings in one speaking voice, then it will become another, stay consistent for one period, then come back to the old one. This particular one was chaotic.

Snake Hiding Behind Purple Shadow

I would like just to mention one small thing in this painting: the line in the middle, which goes till the circle (circle which in Jungian terms means self), is colored with green but in a way which resembles snake skin (can be interpreted like shadow integration into self). Purple, which is present in the painting but not easily noticeable without mentioning it or pointing at it.

But full analysis of this painting I will leave to other people. I, for myself, understand it enough, but to get to the bottom of this painting you can't do it without one more message, which I got — and this one came in the form of a dream in the night this painting was born (May 16, 2025).

Dream:

I’m asleep in dream, and it’s as if I’m talking to my mother through the dream about how we’ll buy a house in Africa, where everything is flatland. She suggests we build it out of earth, but I say, ‘We’ll just buy one, no need to bother.’ I see walls made of dry clay, arches... Then I wake up. A meadow — 'Wet' — it’s the name of village that once was my mother’s refuge, but it’s in the country I left behind and don’t wish to return to, not even my mother, near the apple tree. I’m lying down, still under the white blanket. I get up — around me, flatland, green grass, and next to me, I notice a snake: thick, but not large. As if it’s been waiting the whole time for a chance to bite me. It’s green. I tell my mother and add: ‘Hopefully it didn’t bite me while I was sleeping?’ She says: ‘You were probably well tucked under the blanket.’ I say: ‘Maybe it’s not venomous?’ And I think — maybe it was just waiting for me to die, to get weak, so it didn’t even bother wasting venom. She says: ‘That’s not true — you can see it bites other animals.’ She’s watching it from the edge of the house, while I’m still down there in the grass.

I will look into every purple shadow of dream, find you and swallow you, and we will become one.