Drawing is the moment when an idea becomes visible for the first time.

She leaves my head, crosses the boundary of thought and ends up on a piece of paper.

Here, rhythm, axis, movement, tension are born — everything that will later become the skeleton of the sculpture. 

The drawing is not a copy of the future form, but a search for its breath.

I rarely start with a single image.

This is usually a series of sketches — quick, inaccurate, intuitive.

Each of them is looking for a balance between mass and space.

Where a straight line becomes alive and a curve becomes meaningful.

I'm looking for a gesture that already has plastic in it, even if it still lives only in the line. 

Sometimes one drawing gives rise to dozens of thoughts.

I change the scale, the composition, the angle to get a feel for how the shape will work in space.

Paper becomes an experimental platform: lines intersect, argue, go out, and are born again.

But at some point, recognition.

You look at the sketch and realize: here it is.

A form that cannot be ignored. 

Drawing is a conversation with a future sculpture.

She is already responding — showing where the weakness is, where the redundancy is, where strength is possible.

The important thing here is not the ability to draw, but the ability to hear.

Each line is a gesture in space, and if it sounds honest, then you can move on.

When the composition comes together, I translate it into volume.

From the line to the mass, from the paper to the material breath.

This is how modeling begins, and with it the real life of the form.

The next stage is modeling from plasticine of several variants, where the drawing becomes a body.

The line is the first trace of the presence of form in the world.

It doesn't exist yet, but it already requires a place under the sun.