I move along the labirinth of narrow streets of Marrakeсh medina. 
It’s 1432 according to the Arabic calendar. 
The labirinth catches and drags into the absurdity and chaos of medieval anthill. Ununderstandable speech, sounds of klaxons, mint seller’s call, muezzin’s strict voice endless praising Allah, drumming and bagpipes’ poignant sound is coming from the square. Sounds of the radios are coming from the open stores. 
Sweet-voiced arabic singers are signing about their “habibi” and “habibs”, 
yellow canary birds are echoing them from their little golden cages.

Sun blinds and illuminates the image in my eyes in red and white negatives.
I close my eyes and still see the picture under my closed eyelids. 
This sound river carries me in clamour and cacophony sometimes making me laugh, sometimes amazing me; at every turn - the unpredictability, 
and gradually narrowing streets take either to the future or to the past.

 I love to dissolve in medina’s chaos, being free from understanding this world’s laws, 
the world functioning according it’s own bizarre logic.
 I especially love it knowing that in the middle of this vain world 
there is an island with an Ivory Tower waiting for me.

A heavy curved door  and a deafening silence behind it. 
Calmness realizes itself in off-white, light-grey, full of dignity space. 
It’s as transparent and cool as a glass of water waiting for me in a shadow of arched rooms.    
The echo of still calm is hidden in noble silent vaults.

High doors keeping mysteries of many generations invite to hide in their rooms shadow. Coolness and quietness sober me up from the street madness; 
eyes are enjoying grey and light blue calm.

Found myself  one on one with the House; 
as if awaken from a phantasmagoric dream where I got lost and almost lost myself forever.
I love to wonder around this house hunting sunny stripes entering the rooms 
and the drawing magic formulas of  light’s and shadow’s ratio. 
I watch sun’s movement around us: the House and me in it. 
I am invited to a mysterious performance: “Visible-invisible”.

The scenography is simple and genious – strict graphics of sharply sketched shadows, slowly dancing penumbra of patterned fabric rocking with wind, 
sun beam broken in a glass of water reflects with a shine like a diamond glare. 
Another beam reflected in the mirror, breaks into 3 parts – 
falls on a water stream coming from a small copper tap 
and lightens the dissolved in shadow wall with a scattering of shiny glares.

On this and other walls there are paintings and photographs
Looking at them I set out for another journey in  the garden of forking paths 
– reality’s infinite meanings and variations. 
The walls become three-dimensional tunnels to the past 
and tell about the Time and  its stops . 
I know this works for a long time now. 
10 years ago they meant something different from meanings and senses I see now. 
These works are like wine the taste of  which becomes more complicated with the time; 
with the time they enriched new meanings.

I  look at my works – then I was happy that I was given to see – 
now I am happy that my past is real and tangible
I feel peace because my ideals haven’t left me and the main thread is not broken.
My eyes, my mind are in state of hapinness – nothing breaks the harmony – 
there is no random object here –inanimate or of surrogate essence.
I think of Valerie, about her joyful sense of harmony, making this amazing play of colours, light, textures, citations and allusions. 
I love this house and I miss it as I miss a close friend.