My practice is rooted in the primacy of space—a sensitivity forged within the post-Soviet “concrete sea” of the 80s and 90s. Growing up in a landscape dominated by brutalist mass-housing and systemic grayness, I experienced the city as a monolithic, often hostile environment. This formative immersion in what I define as “betonoza” (a chronic obsession with concrete) was my first laboratory. It defined my understanding of territory not as a static backdrop, but as a high-friction, socio-political network. From this raw, industrial upbringing, I developed a relational cartography: a process of mapping the tensions that arise when the individual seeks orientation within an increasingly fragmented and over-concretized urban fabric.
My research focuses on liminal spaces—zones of operational suspension that have slipped through the cracks of official modern narratives. Where traditional urbanism sees a finished product, I see a “living grayness” in a state of mutation. Transitioning from being a product of this concrete environment to a position of architectural seniority, I now operate as an insider. I navigate the “developer machine” from within, negotiating space for artistic agency amidst the friction of active industrial sites like Warsaw’s CEMAT.
I perceive virtual reality as a primary form of heterotopia—a nonlinear site of intense data density. In this context, my manifesto “I paint noise” functions as a spatial declaration. I do not merely document technical glitches; I portray the architecture of informational chaos. Noise serves as a representation of the contemporary atmosphere in which we are immersed—a visualization of the hidden data topographies that govern our movement through a reality where the boundary between the physical and the virtual has effectively dissolved.
In the spirit of Kurt Schwitters’ MERZ, I collect “spatial waste.” My material archive consists of both the physical debris of neglected industrial sites and the immaterial traces of virtual entropy. I treat this process as an archaeology of the present; I gather fragments of structures rejected by the system as “errors” or “obsolete,” re-assembling them to construct a new visual order. Within the system’s malfunction, I find evidence of an authentic human presence—one that resists the total automation and sterilization of public space.
My background in architecture dictates a perception of the world through lines, grids, and data points. I seek to reclaim space through a proprietary print-painting method—a slow, disciplined ritual of constructing images from hundreds of relief lines of paint. This tactile process is a deliberate practice of resistance against the relentless speed of the digital image. By granting noise a material weight, I transform the ephemeral into a lasting artifact—a physical trace of human existence in an increasingly weightless world.