Your practice emerges from ballet, yet in your drawings the line ceases to describe form and instead asserts itself as form. How do you perceive this shift from the choreography of the body to the choreography of space and material?

Honestly, I never thought of it in such depth, but the connection is undeniable. In dance, as in drawing, much can be calculated and prepared, yet the true act of touching the paper or canvas, of stepping onto the stage, happens only once - here and now. This is the essence of mastery: the courage of the present moment. Mistakes are necessary; they move you forward, but energy exists only in the “now.” Dance, drawing, poetry, music - all unite past and future through the present. Most people act by relying either on past experience or on future plans, yet very few know how to move in the present. Drawing is pure presence. Calligraphy is instantaneous, willful, elusive, yet entirely in your hands and, even more so, in your thoughts. Thought becomes form.​​

The series carries the title Russian Calligraphy. In your view, what does this term signify today? Is it an act of returning to cultural origins, an excavation of collective memory, or rather the invention of a new visual code that transcends national identity?

Russian Calligraphy is me. Since 2001, I have been studying Japanese calligraphy and the finest examples of Eastern graphics. In a country without a strong tradition of calligraphy, I show how these cultures can meet and develop together. From Andrei Rublev’s Trinity to the frescoes of cathedrals and the ornamental structures of architectural masterpieces, our language of composition is different, yet it also relies on conciseness and the concentration of thought. We are more “northern,” which gives a particular energy. I also recognize here the influence of Confucian philosophy and its link to inner clarity.

Ballet is by nature ephemeral. Painting and calligraphy, however, preserve the gesture. What does this transformation from the instantaneous to the enduring mean to you?

Yes, but there is always the photograph. For me, ballet has always been the art of the photographer. Now, while rehearsing Auspicious Clouds with the National Ballet of China, I see how movement is built out of poses. In music, it is the link between sound and meaning; for the audience, ballet is perceived almost like photographic art. The sequence from pose to pose creates the dance, yet each pose itself is already a piece of graphic composition. Music changes, but in ballet classical music always sets an accentuated beat. It’s like reading the news: the headline is the pose. You interpret it through its graphic structure, its fullness, and above all through the aura of the performer—both literal and symbolic. A legend is always necessary: sometimes it arises naturally from the greatness of personality, other times it is shaped by producers. The best producers have an almost extrasensory intuition for such figures. In the end, all of us exist under the spotlights.

You often refer to the three-dimensional quality of the letter, its spatial presence. Can we understand your calligraphy as an “architectural gesture,” where writing transforms into a spatial construction?

Yes, absolutely. Thank you for the term architectural gesture. My graphics are close to architecture in their sense of volume. A building may be simple and utilitarian, but what truly defines it is its address, its placement. The same is true of drawing: it belongs to the interior, to architecture. The meaning is simple - harmony. A drawing carries information, like a road sign or an emoji, but its purpose is to make the world brighter. Within an interior, a painting becomes a filter for the surrounding chaos. It is the final note, the cherry on the branch, the fruit of life.