Tuuli: Broken windows whistle with reverie by Artem Trofimenko

Artist Artem Trofimenko shares with us an insight into his current practice, with writing and a photographic sequence from his upcoming photography book Tuuli (broken windows, whistle with reverie.)

Artem Trofimenko was born in Belorechensk, Kasnodarski krai, Russia in 1995.
He graduated from Crawford College of Art and Design in 2018. He is currently living in Cork,
Ireland and is a member of the dark room at the Cork Film Centre. Working on a number of
projects with photography and experimental film making.

Tuuli
(broken windows, whistle with reverie.)

Upcoming photography book by Artem Trofimenko.
“These are stories trying to relate a subjective feeling, longing, experience. Small flicker and
whispers that pull at each other in a bittersweet song. Questions that dissipate as you drift
to sleep, transitions between remembering and forgetting.”

@artem_golden_
artemgolden.wordpress.com
art_trof@yahoo.ie

Tuuli : Broken windows whistle with reverie.

Have you ever felt like a mirror looking in a mirror?
Turning a lens on yourself, to engage in a feedback loop.

Facing reality, what do we say.

To be so sure of your own words, to follow each sentence to its intent. Taking a step, stepping fully, as you are, it is it, never to look back. What is courage, what is generosity, on the streets of the fun house mirrors, in the wanting and the grasping of a hand of a flaccid intellect. Whatever happens behind closed doors. Revenge to the blind grasping every desire turned to stone, death. It will never get old, the only way out is to dive head first, to freedom, to reality. 

A boy peeing in a tea cup

Not a drop spilled

The moment when

Taking a piss

Is joining above

And below

In one motion, tiny

Gestures faithfully

Become one

Like riding a motorcycle

Along the highway line

Can’t keep it straight 

If you look down

But looking straight ahead you glide,

You don’t until you do.

Can you become aware of your own gravity?

while falling you become aware of your own gravity before the impact, like when falling in love you go all in, and then you know the meaning of gravity, though impact is imminent, we still want to fly. 

Sing, song, dance, dream.

Winter, summer, autumn, spring

Life, death, stars, moon, sun, light,

Grow, grace, wonder, awe, twilight

Reality.
When we meet the world what do we say.

IS there anything left to fight or was it all a mirage?

Realta/light/reality/Realta  (REM)

Time comes and goes, like a current.

Leaving and returning.

 I will be, now you are. 

We are time, then we are out of time.

When you find yourself in time, 

Flowing in the current,

Between time and dreamtime,

You are free to be time. SAOIRSE (IO SERAS, ORAS).

Time sets us a blaze and we dance till we are spent to ashes.

I am burning and I don’t even feel.

EXILE

Once I left my home and I was never to look back. As a kid an old Kiev rangefinder fell into my hands and I found that I could place it in between me and reality to abstract it slightly and get rid of context. A way of looking at the world with lines between wake/dream blurred. 

Once I met an old man with a bicycle that appeared from the fog at a blue hour of the morning. He reminded me about the Stalker, the one that knows his way around the zone. He casts stones to feel for treacherous ground. Ever since I attributed photography to having similar power. It became sort of a navigation tool for me, it tells me where I am.

These are stories trying to relate a subjective feeling, longing, experience. Small flicker and whispers that pull at each other in a bittersweet song. Questions that dissipate as you drift to sleep, transitions between remembering and forgetting. 

To forget, let you make free. 

Cry and let the mind fall away.

Cry and let gods fall away,

Cry as beloved falls away.

Laugh as forgetting guides you to remember.

To Resound 

I awe, I see.

I laugh. I love. I cry to laugh. I laugh to cry. 

Until I’m but a whisper carried on a flutter of sparrow’s wing, waving a small gesture of hope. The last breath spelled on the lips and carried from murmur to murmuration

Becoming the voice in your dreams.

Reanimation. 

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