hi0
i'am greeting you. though i'm pierced by the metal rods, proprieties are being taught.
pochv01
a novel could be written about this picture, one can get lost forever here, and a meaning of everything on earth could be found. this is earth itself, if examined closely. a terrible hurricane has eradicated trees. thick and thin, long as a telephone cabel between ural and stockholm, and short as a penis of a young japanese man, roots are everywhere, bristling or lying still. the earth is scattered around. you are looking at it right now.
iro10
this is a real ironman. about two and a half meters tall, he is staying on a pedestal, surrounded by ten people. somewhere below is a hurted mug of a machine gun, full of scorn and squeamishness, some soldiers are hanging about behind him. overcoats, soldier's blouses, belts with shining metal plates, dirty and ugly boots - you are not seeing all of this, and not supposed to. all that counts is a tall and lean novogorod guy in a helmet. proudly raised head and an eyes filled with determination, hitler never could even dream about, holding his submachine gun high in an iron grip - he conquered reichstag. but his hand has the greatest meaning. it has a size of my head and holds a submachine gun as a toy. with the big opened palm he is greeting his friends, gently touches shivering leap of his darling by the forefinger, when she becomes frightened in the dark; but nevertheless he is holding a submachine gun. or a gun is holding him - i don't know that. war turns everything upside down.
krest3a
there is no magic, no napoleon, embracing elizabeth the second, lying in a coffin under the earth - there are ordinary crosses, ordinary people and the world most unstable coffins. however, for some reason, ordinary, for the first sight, things have a sense of magic, conspiracy and mystery. i don't know who are those people, lying at this small, i would say household cemetary at a tall hill in the old izborsk, that is about ten verst from pskov. all i know is that they are comfortable there. everyday they are seeing marvellous blinding sun, guests, who are visiting this place from the small lake below, and clearly hear perfect sounds of a green leafage, crackling high above.
val
because of this photo people with guns almost spoiled the film in my camera. i don't lie.
vene
this is my venice. steel beams, looking surprisingly light, and inspiring a firm belief, that everything will be fine, in the same time.
i know, there is something more than a simple metall alloy in it. real rusty blood flows inside, veins are pulsaiting and swelling at night, a whole territory, banded by these steel constructions, appears in another dimension. i'am there, when i'm feeling loneliness. they are saving me.
alley01
anyone can hide in this silhouette. i'll reveal the secret the person's face is turned to you, there is a little black bag in the right hand, and a smoking cigarette in the left. long, black raincoat is tangled in legs. there is no face. i have deliberately erased all features. i'm shivering from the fear of it. i'm thinking about it every day. that is why i erased it.
b&w
black and white. the magic of monochromatic image. fragile black branches and purely white snow. i love trees very much.
hor12
and horses were always very kind to me.
kran03
this lifting crane shouted to me very loud when we met 'alive!'
i saw his smiling eyes, he gave a wink to me and started to work. are you thinking he is a human slave? i'am sure absolutely not.
veli10
he is rising above 40staged house, screwing up his eyes, looking in the distant horizon. i know - he wants to the sea, ready to spread his steel hands and cross the ocean with the huge, terrible strokes. he is the one, whose strength i can guarantee.
elf10
he resurrected 18 days ago. his eyes are filled with sadness and love to the humanity.
svet00
soft rays of light are penetrating through unfinished concrete bridge. shining lines are going ahead into the distance. i'am worm.
esta01
a small japanese train is travelling back and forth on this concrete, longing away deck. not touching the surface of the bridge, it slides with the speed of an airplain. a little robot (with the white matt panels) is controlling it. the train needs no passengers its all-sufficient.
esta10
homeless are walking here. rappers are drawing graffity; sluts are staying along the road. feels like they not even suspect about a little japanese train, softly crackling above their heads. maybe, they are living in different dimensions.
old01
thirty meters away from this splendid iron drawbridge is lying a german, called kant.
moscow bridge. 7 frames.
firts three years of my life i leved, oserving this bridge. may be, my character and thoughts is originated from this? is there any connection? why, from year to year, i'am returning to it, charmed, walking around for hours, and cant throw away this noise, remove the black shroud from my eyes, and get rid of those constant illusive cries - 'kirill! '?
devil's bridge.
brig111
i saw it one morning almost this way. it was sullen and sad. i couldn't understand what happens to me and waht will become tomorrow. i went to the bridge.
brig01
missing the buses, i went along the road, seeing nothing ahead, except those reinforced concrete hands, moved apart. i could only suspect its size.
cher01
while building this bridge, germans didn't know about the man from novgorod, going to them with the firm steps, holding a toy machine gun in his hand. that why they did it good.
undr01
i looked under and was amazed: concrete was transforming from the rectangle to an oval, it was a natural grace of a tiny ballerina. yes it was dirty and unwashed, but i knew ballerina is clean like a baby's tear. the grass around it was burned, ground was black and dry. i stand and watched curves of a concrete giant. minute by minute. the ballerina was stepping over the dark river with a muddy water, spininng in a dance, understood only by itself. one pas, second, third...
[movie]
i was frightened by the horrible lumbering sounds. i did a dozen of shots and moved up, not looking back. moved fast and heared a shouts behind me. novgorod man didn't was in time to help me.
two-tiered bridge
obz10
do not be fooled by it's sizes - it almost higher than 24 staged house, standing within ten minutes from this bridge. above, in those little houses there are divine mechanisms for the manual lifting of bridge (12 men are spinning the handles simultaneously). under it there are counterweights, 900 tons each.
und10
i lost my brown umbrella here. the rain was drizzling.
me7
the man leaned out of a car and said to me, that photography is forbidden here, and i can be caught soon. i shot eleven more with a smile.
lestn01
this place is filled with cold and emptiness. constantly changing direction, humid and cold air spinning my hair in insane dance, it goes under my shirt, wants to freeze my body, take it away. narrow stairway with thin, hardly noticeable footsteps, as if it made of black rough wire, it doesn't makes me confident, scarcely i would use it, being in a sense. but even if i climbed a stairway, what sense it makes then? it goes nowhere, in emptiness, infinity... but i climbed it. i moved and moved, and it extended more and more, i became short of breath, constantly moving my legs. seemed, like i gone tens of kilometers - and it didn't end, stretching in infinity, my eyes searched for something human like, but saw only constantly recessing pulsing dot - it allured me, called, enthralled...
zav01
choir of metal bends, buttons - steel rivets, flute - strict tin tube, tight bellows of accordion - fragile stairway. my lungs - unrestrained wind, my eyes - boilers inside huge tubes.
garb01
beautiful, derelict place. piles of rubbish, a lodge with a broken windows is lost somewhere, in the middle of the area stands a car without wheels, pavement is cobbled by the old german stones with perfect straight edges. and thin, anguing like a snake along the fence, the tube of unknown use, chains the look, enthralls. at the right side of the fence, not in a frame, there is a cause of the kilometer long fence - builded, but cracked in a foundation 24 staged house.
dom10
people never lived here, its endless entangled corridors never resonated with a child's lough, its four meters elevators anchored and stand still for dozens of years. below - is a charming ensemble of a concrete falls. terrible neglected ground is overgrown with high grass, made of fragile steel rods, trailing under the heavy wind, penetrating the bones.
i was there. this is a quintessence of solitude, you can become insane in this place and be the most happy man in this world. in the depth of this building, there is certainly a lever to make the universe off.
yng10
in the right there is my father. he has a very strong hands - he lifts me, standing stock-still, like a rock. i haven't seen him for more than 3 years...
titl01
i did those words by hand for the week and a half. frame from the black and thick ropes, i tighten it with a dark solid cloth, dragged it onto the bridge, alone, and installed it for the whole day. letters were blown by the outbursts of humid, cold wind. it falled in the muddy waters of the pregol river, cloth swelled and became ideally black, and i picked it up again, put on the smooth surface of concrete and carefully tightened the knots of fastenings. i sit on the unfinished bridge, with the legs, hanging down, and murmured something illegible.
| | | | | | | | |
n. b. specially for the readers of adventurer, we are placing here not included in a final work portrets of dostoevsky on the deathbed (by kramskoy). i'am afraid to tell anything, only notice that i'am terrified with the results, i"ve reached. sq, when saw it for the first time, said by the words of duke myshkin from the novel 'idiot' 'someone, can loose his faith, after look at this picture'.
dost11
dost12
dost14
dost15