Every body of work, every story has a premise.

In mid 80’s, my grandfather had a brand new car Volga. There were not so many cars on the streets of Moscow. I recall only a few parking spaces being taken next to our house. And of course, my grandpa’s Volga was the most beautiful and precious car in the neighborhood. When my grandmother was asking him to go somewhere, he was taking me with himself. I remember the feeling of driving on a back seat with windows being open. The wind was playing with my hair, and I could see fast-changing images through an open window. It was stunning. And I was thinking for myself that when I grow up I will buy myself a nice Volga.