I do not know how to photograph. I do it by chance or in following my intuition. I can’t steal anything from time, events or daily life. I also waste a lot of opportunities during trips and wedding banquets. I can only take cases that people are willing to let me have - I mean specific conditions, situations without changes – in which I’ve already defined the context, and from which I could neither move away nor depart form and even less free myself. I also do not know how to make light, I take it the way it comes to me, in the closest close-ups possible, the closest to the skin and its blemish. And if I occasionally tear something out of these, it may very be: the fuzziness and blurriness in the body’s sharpness, since our eyes - unwilling to obey us – always hold us on one side of these two worlds, the vague against clarity back to back in what our organs allow us to perceive as reality.

                   My arrival to Asia corresponds to my true entry in photography, when my eyes could finally think what was in front of them. Without giving any interpretation, my work has already drawn all necessary conclusions, in choosing its object in the exact place where he wakes up – an Asian Adonis. And if I’m conscious to track down this life in a Judeo-Christian way of thinking, I’ve try to harpoon it to the most Oriental side of my Christian West, in a referential in which Noygorod still shines of all its golds.

                   There’s no system in my work, but a kind of monomania. I usually can’t stand – or so little - far away from the face to face, from the body.

When portrait imposed itself in my photographic process, one reference that could absolutely not be left behind was the sacred icons in orthodox churches. But if I draw my inspiration from or , it’s more about the spirit than the lines themselves, which it is about giving holiness to all that flesh. From that inspiration, I found a paradigm for my serial organization or even a certain way of working with light, since the icon sculptors are looking for the light at the heart of their work. Even though I’m sometimes in contradiction with this paradigm, nevertheless all the rest for me seemed to be drawn from this orthodox aesthetic: close-ups, lack of objects or sense of time, invisible colours; all these in the spirit of what has been called “simplified icons”, krasnouchki  in Russia .

                   In the nineteenth century, the increasing people’s demand for icons brought about a mass production. All Russian’s workshops and craftsmen till the most remote villages were making icons. Works from that period, called Krasnouchki, were characterized by their simplified composition. Even though, they drew sometimes towards schematism, they expressed an extraordinary faculty of synthesis, lacking sometimes in the most refined workshops. The drawing was generally reduced into a simple draft, and colours were confined to the most basic tones.