I travel in my sleep - is photo series of the sleeping places I have as a forced emigrant since the full-scale war started in Ukraine.

This project starts on the second night after the russian invasion in Ukraine in the basement of Kyiv’s hospital morgue. Here begins my forced journey to find a safe place to sleep. I photograph beds in homes, towns and countries shared with me by people I meet on this unplanned route through Ukrainian and European cities.

Earlier, in my peaceful life, sleeping places during travels did not carry much meaning: hotels, hostels, guesthouses, and sofas in friends' homes were just a stopover to rest between new experiences and impressions. Now, as a refugee, every bed I sleep in has become a temporary island of safety, while my own bed is the embodiment of insecurity and terror.

A child's bedroom in Sofia, a living room in Stockholm, a basement in Tbilisi, a gallery in the Netherlands… Full of gratitude and sadness, I’m changing many beds and places dreaming, that one day, this journey will be over under my own blanket. At home.

Beds gained a symbolic meaning during this sad journey. I feel that sharing a place with a stranger is full of compassion and absolute kindness. I strongly believe that this power can withstand the cruelty and evil that humanity carry throughout its history continuing violence and wars.


2022 - ongoing
Digital Photography

I travel in my sleep on beds made for me by people I never knew before. They opened doors of their apartments, kitchens, workshops, bedrooms and said that I could stay with them here. Because my country is at war.

A child's bedroom in Sofia, a living room in Stockholm, a basement in Tbilisi, a gallery in the Netherlands, and many other beds and homes. I travel in my sleep by people's beds, where they were dreaming, crying, loving, had sleepless nights because of the incessant internal dialogue at five in the morning. Their pillows hold microscopic pieces of unspoken "I'm sorry," "I love you," "I don't love you anymore," "I'm so tired," "I shouldn't have bought that car." Their bed-boats carry me on waves of the "one day...", "if only...", "when I will...". Traces of their colourful dreams remain on their sheets.

I travel in my sleep, and I hug people I've never known before.
One by one, their bedboats melt into the fog of my memories, leaving a warm trail behind them. And I'll wake up. One day my journey will be over. At home.
Finally inside my own bed-ship.
___

Я мандрую уві сні на ліжках, що мені застелили люди, яких я ніколи не знала. Вони відкрили двері своїх квартир, кухонь, майстерень, спалень і сказали що я можу залишатись тут, з ними. Поки в моїй країні йде війна.

Дитяча спальня в Софії, вітальня в Стокгольмі, підвальчик в Тбілісі, галерея в Нідерландах, та багато інших ліжок і домів. Я мандрую уві сні на ліжках людей, де вони мріяли, плакали, кохали, не могли заснути від невпинного внутрішнього діалогу о п’ятій ранку. В їх подушках зберігаються мікроскопічні частинки невиказаних «вибач», «я люблю тебе», «я більше не люблю тебе», «як я втомився», «мені не слід було купувати цю машину». Їх ліжка-кораблі гойдають мене хвилями «одного дня...», «якби...», «коли я буду...». На простирадлах залишилися сліди їх кольорових снів.

Я мандрую уві сні i обіймаю людей, яких я раніше ніколи не знала. Їх ліжка-кораблі одного дня розтануть в мареві моїх спогадів, залишаючи по собі теплий слід. І я прокинусь. Моя подорож одного дня скінчиться. Вдома. Нарешті на моєму ліжку-кораблі.