Borshchaga

Last night narcotic attacks were asking themselves questions about meaning of life and about the reason why black and white scandals do exist. Rays of violent night fight were snapping like the wind outside the window when the beds had been already made. They were sitting at the table and furiously washing something of themselves; the day before yesterday movie was appearing as a rainbow and other human rose-like parts on the ceiling. Dark rooms soaked with naked bodies, water ran into the rain, and people remained dry among loud applause. She was lying down, he was screaming washing down his hands with poisonous words and glances; it was getting gray in the room with the background of copper-gold game of fury. He looked aside, she looked at him, he played the feelings, she played love, he sighed of mercury, she was scratching out on the backs of passersby love-end. Open-hearted confessions again by empty people in packed rooms, she was washing the shame of her face, body, he – from erogenous zones, he was washing the glass, she – her chest, he was going down the corridor into the emptiness, she was looking impersonally for a medicine for circumferential inaccuracies. 

We like to keep certain things personal especially those going on at our homes. Student residency is the place where hundreds of young people live whose personal lives are taking place in front of each other. There is almost no such thing as private space/life in a residency. As well as no rules. They say, but no one knows before they see from the inside.

This is a project about a Ukrainian student residency where 4-5 people in a 150sq.ft. room is a norm. The most restless pictures were not included in this project because of high involvement in what was going on.