Motherland

There are signs a Russian reads before having time to think: a woman with a sword on a hill, a red flag, a star, a firebird, a profile that stood on every square. They need no decoding — they are understood as they are, and that is both their strength and their weight. The poster made them flat; the series gives them back their volume.

The Motherland in glossy drips, where the paint runs down like time. A firebird, red on black — a fairy tale built in relief. A profile scattered into pixels — a sign recognised from any distance and in any number of cells. A flag laid in layers, like cloth. An embroidered icon, a black slab with a small figure. The studio strips the poster out of these images — what remains is form, matter and a word laid down like one more coat of paint.

Relief on artboard, layered painting with drips, leaf gold, pixel assembly on a grid, epoxy resin that gives gloss and depth. Every work is assembled by hand; the edition is numbered.

A series for a study, a loft, an office, for those who live abroad and want one thing from home. Motherland is not a slogan: it is a shared narrative understood without words.