Polytechnic Institute Underground Station.
Mixed media on paper. 1985. 21,5" x 27,5".
Ever since childhood I adored the underground. Simply liked it, and that's all. Even the smell. Something in it was unexplainably pleasant for me. There was some harmonic completeness, and cosiness.
Later I managed to find (or to make up) a suitable explanation for myself.
The underground is a symbol of balance - a train forward, a train back. It is like life itself, which is counterbalanced by death. The happiness, unbalanced, not shaded by unhappiness, often can not be identified as happiness. There is nothing to compare. The locked system of the underground is animated by an opposite movement. It'll form moving water; therefore grains of nonsense and decay will not sprout in it. But if we block the traffic in one direction, the harmony will immediately vanish. There will be dissonance; the system will begin to deviate from the norm, hallucinate and cease to be itself.
It is a pity, at the stations there are no meters - detectors of human thoughts. On what station, I wonder, are there more exotic thoughts, and where is the majority of platitudes born? And where is the highest birthrate of thoughts in the underground? In London, Moscow or New York underground?
The stations of the underground are similar to annual marks of human life, and I wish you all lengthy branches, smooth curves and beautiful clean stations.