GRAPHICS

The main focus of my artistic practice is black-and-white graphics, which sometimes come alive in animation or breathe on fabric. Now I want to introduce you to my most personal (and dearest) work

It is a triptych that reimagines my experience of emigration. I worked on it for several years — as long as it took me to feel grounded and safe again. I began it in Armenia in 2022, the first country I moved to after leaving my own, and completed it in Georgia in 2025

The series was first shown at ACCEA/NPAK in 2022, alongside a performance where every viewer could leave their mark on the work and become a co-author.

CONTACT ME

WE WERE HERE

The wind of change rips me out of my home like a plant out of the soil, like a balloon from hands. I fly, you fly. Everyone's flying, not knowing where, leaving the past down there.

Hover over a fragment

The suitcase looked small, but it was very heavy
Every flower means that nothing's forgotten
One day he will wake up and save us
On the wall, we wrote our names in a heart
Our lives crossed in this city
Growing a heart can be painful

  • chapter 1 ·

Just The End of The World
2022

One day the world ended, but I didn't notice. One day my brother left home and didn't come back. I waited and waited for him until the city emptied out, and then I packed a suitcase with memories, and left too. The suitcase looked small, but turned out to be very heavy. I dragged it through empty streets past “for rent” signs and garages whose roofs we used to run across. On one of them, we wrote our names in a heart.

I came to the station and asked for a ticket to that day when I was walking home and someone was waiting for me there. To that day when you drew a dove on my leg and called it my portrait. When everything was okay.

But they didn’t have tickets, the booths had closed long ago.

So I sat on a bench with the ghost of my dream about getting a dog, and my brother who never came back. If you sit on a bench long enough, a bus must eventually come.

I watched the end of the world and it was very beautiful.

You laid your head on my lap, and I stroked your hair, promising to watch over you. Only I didn’t save you. You’re just a memory now slipping from my hands like a balloon.

And my heart is somewhere there, on the garage wall — if it hasn’t been erased yet.

  • chapter 2 ·

When My Heart Joins the Thousand
2022
What is it that burns, lighting our way — is it my heart or my home? The threads binding our hearts to our homes broke. We have neither one nor the other left. So we fly to the light of the window, the window of that house we'll build in a different place where we take root.
Just arrived in Armenia, I walk down the street to the place I haven't yet learned to call my home. Today is Memorial Day, everyone carries flowers. Each flower is a sign that nothing is forgotten. That everything is remembered.
There are so many people around, and the scent of flowers is so strong, it makes my head spin, and I close my eyes. I realize that I shouldn't forget what I wanted to, I should also remember.
If we all do, one day we will grow new hearts in our chests. And new life will grow too, on memory and on blood.
My tears fall to the ground and flowers sprout from them. And something stirs in my chest — perhaps a new heart is taking root? Growing a heart, like growing a soul, can be painful.

  • chapter 3 ·

I Saw The Stars

2025

My first apartment in Yerevan had a kitchen with huge panoramic windows. So if a nuclear bomb went off, we would die instantly — but with a very beautiful view of Ararat. We talked about it while drinking wine. At the time, all anyone talked about was nuclear war.

You said that even in the explosion, you’d look into my eyes.

I knew almost no one in Yerevan, so I hung out with people I would never have met in my old life. Their stories and mine became this triptych. That’s how I work: I collect memories and put them together like puzzles.

Once I met an angel on Tinder, and he told me a story. About how he hid from the rain under Tumanyan’s statue when he was a child. And I thought: I'd love to sit there too, in the shelter of those enormous stone arms, so that could protect me from all of this.


The angel also told me about the great warrior sleeping underground — one day he will wake up and save everyone. But it’s better not to wake him too soon: speak quietly!..

The angel and I had nothing in common. 
Just one thing — we were here.
Our lives intertwined in this city, and our traces
will remain here forever.

Not every finished card is here.
A Tarot deck should keep
some of its secrets.
The rest will reveal themselves in time