What can a mother do while the baby is sleeping? Breastfed babies fall asleep for an hour or two until they become hungry again. This is, of course, if nothing bothers them. But sometimes they can wake up after 5, 10, 15 minutes - if they are teething or have a sore throat.

In this project, day by day, I measure the duration of my free time, limited by my child's sleep. Strictly speaking, all the work I have done over the past eight years was done while my children were sleeping. Little by little, slowly, in parts, in fits and starts. But in this project I decided to show these parts, the conditions of my work process, its timing. I started working when my son fell asleep and finished when he woke up. That is to say, each job shows how much time I have to do while my baby is sleeping. The project also includes a literary text:

"What can a mother do while the baby is sleeping? Eat, order new books on the Internet. Wash her hair and then drink tea. Run to the nearest grocery store. Iron the clothes. Wash the floor. Watch a cartoon with elder children. Watch a movie with her husband. Edit the portfolio. Paint over a small piece of a canvas. Come up with a new work. Sleep. Do gymnastics. Read the sacred text. Chat with a friend. Choose new clothes or shoes from the online store. Do her homework for her studies. Post on Instagram. Organize her wardrobe. Fold twelve origami cranes. Take photographs of new works. Bring order to her laptop. Sew half of a doll for the youngest daughter. Sort out the trash. Play board games with elder children. Cover three stretcher frames with fabric. Sharpen children's pencils. Put children's works in folders. Cut out twenty-five snowflakes from paper. Read a few pages from "Art Since 1900." Dream. Conduct correspondence in several chats. Change her life plans. Eat 3 apples. Grow a beautiful garden in her mind. Bake two dozens dough balls. Make a weird sculpture. Make up your eyes, lips and nails. Become a famous artist. Come up with something, start doing it, and then change her mind. Talk to mom on Skype. Run through memories. Write a bad poem. Write a good poem. Submit an open call request. Think about the meaning of life. Choose a place to go with her family for the weekend. Write a letter to her eldest daughter. Think about dad. Imagine herself on the seaside. Write a beautiful text. Watch photos on her phone. Upload new works to the website. Make a short video for the exhibition. Determine to change for the better. Put all things in their places. Wash and store out-of-season shoes in boxes. Get disappointed in herself. Worry about some small stuff. Find the answer to a question that has been of interest for a long time. Or cross-stitch a few lines."

2021

This work is a home museum - something that every mother collects as a souvenir of the birth of her children. These objects cannot be bought or obtained in any other way. On the one hand, this is a very personal museum - its exhibits are of no value to others. But, on the other hand, any woman can have such a museum, because every mother collects such objects.

2021

I was wearing these things for the first two years after my son's birth. All women wear something like this when they give birth to children. Clothes for walking with your child have to be warm, comfortable and non-staining. There is nothing stylish, personal or beautiful about it. Everything in this set is used to fulfill maternal function - under the jacket you can put the baby in a sling, the T-shirt has special holes for breastfeeding and the trousers have large pockets to put something useful. Flat boots are comfortable and don't get wet (I've had them for over ten years). The object represents a uniform in which a woman can perform her maternal duties.

I wanted to create an almost invisible piece of art, which, at the same time, would be quite labor-intensive. This work is about me, about an "invisible person", an unknown artist who works at night, while everyone is sleeping and no one can see my work. My whole life is invisible work: housework, caring for children, producing of art that no one is interested in.

2020

While a child is growing, one has to buy a lot of the same goods: fruit puree, nasal aspirators, vitamins and cold medicines. I started this home collecting series when I had my third child.

"Penelope" is two series of embroideries about strange movement, about a work process when is not clear where it is moving (forward or backward), and whether it is moving at all. It is also about routine, monotonous, everyday work. Six embroideries present the image of one work, changing or not changing over time. The theme of these embroideries is confusion and doubt. And also waiting – fading and freezing at one point. From a visual point of view, I was interested in the situation of non-obvious presence and lack of differences between the paintings. In one case they are there, but rather insignificant, in the other case there are no differences - the canvases are the same.

2021

Every artist can do housework and every housewife can make artworks. The main thing is to find the right material. Salt and flour, combined in equal proportions, a little water, and you get dough that hardens when baked. This sculptural material is easy to make and use, it is always available, very cheap, and, most importantly, with its help a woman can show her feelings, for example, the tension and tiredness of the daily work. Most people think that dough is a material that is only suitable for children's creativity. Analogically people often think that women's housework (and the work of an artist at the beginning of his/her career) has no value, because it is not paid.

The main question that I ask in this series is how my art differs from ordinary women's/children's needlework. The main subject of this project is the simplest embroidery kits, which include a color scheme, threads of certain colors, and a base. Such sets are popular among beginner embroiderers, children and women. These embroideries with cute animals are not considered to be works of art. They are used to decorate the house. I was interested in working with them, exploring the flickering of two my identities - of "an artist" and "a housewife".

In this series I stop as soon as I begin. To look around, to be attentive and sensitive. I stop because something interesting has happened by chance. Something light, subtle, something that could not be achieved through effort or on purpose. Something came spontaneously and I let it happen. How often, when I hurry up to finish my artwork, I run past such wonderful, mysterious opportunities! But not today. Not this time.

The main theme of the project is embroidery kits, which include a color scheme and threads in the selected colors. These sets are very convenient for beginners. I use the scheme as a basis, but I choose threads of the similar, lightest shades. In that way the image disappears, hides, and is no longer readable. As a reference for this work I used my favorite poem by Estonian poet Arvo Mets:

"The faces of young girls
Are the same as the sky,
the wind and the clouds.
When they become
faithful wives,
Their faces will be
The same as houses,
furniture, and shopping bags.
But the faces of their daughters
Will be the same as the sky,
The wind and the spring creeks"

"The girls sing, laugh. They are beautiful. With dimples on the cheeks. They dream. They sparkle. They are light as a feather. With flaxen hair. They float in the air. They are late, apologize, smile. With eyes like a mountain lake. With the sun in their hair. They hide. They giggle. The curls fell apart. Gathering: running, chirping. They eat on the go. Perfume in a fragile bottle. Silver wrists. Mysterious, weightless. They whisper. They breathe warmth. A chain around the neck, long eyelashes. They dance and twirl. They climb trees. They eat apples. They squint in the sun. They write poetry. They sunbath on a big stone. They run into the water. Thoughtful, sometimes sad. Guitar songs. They get up early. They disappear somewhere. Girls' voices shimmer. Walk through the forest. Meet with birds. Shy, feel embarrassed. They run away. Fingers are thin. They are offended. Dissolve in space. They make noise. Clothes are scattered. They frown. At the end of the day - tired. Eyes in the fog. They go to the village, go to the sea. They walk barefoot. Hair is disheveled. A charming mess on their head. They squint their eyes slyly. They look through the eyehole. They are afraid of insects. Blow soap bubbles. They swing their legs. They crawl under the blanket. They whisper. An enchanted forest behind. Make wishes. They forget. They are silent like flowers. Mysterious, beautiful. They have bubble gum in their mouth. On the fly they kiss you on the cheek. They lisp charmingly. They recite. Short jeans. Excitement in the voice. A wreath is in her hair, blades of grass are hanging down. Brave, full of life. Fragile. Shiny. Cheeks are burning. Wool sweater. Serious, thoughtful, with a notebook on their knees. With a book in the garden. They squint in the sun. Cover their eyes with their hand. Keep a diary. Sneakers. Bright tights. They smoke in secret from everyone. They sigh. Milk for breakfast. Golden curls. A blade of grass in the mouth. A soft smile. They can throw cartwheels. Tall, slim. They jump up screaming. They take off their shoes and run. Eternal spring. Happiness, hope. Short bangs. Dress with small flowers. They squeal and kiss. They write poetry. They become stubborn. They look straight ahead. They do nothing. They go hitchhiking. Tumbleweed. They read on the beach. They play the accordion. They flirt. They make faces. They do their nails. Carefree."