The Interrupted Bed

“When I’m in Kyiv, I go to sleep in my outdoor clothes in case there are explosions,” Maria told me during my visit to her apartment in Kyiv.

Interrupted Bed reflects a state of constant fear and hypervigilance that Ukrainians have been living in for nearly four years. The bed - traditionally a site of rest and intimacy, becomes a fragile shelter, never fully safe. It is surrounded by personal textiles from Maria’s family archive: her underwear, bedsheets, and pillowcases, carrying traces of domestic life and bodily presence.

Encircling the bed are 185 bullets. Instead of functioning as instruments of death, they are reimagined as objects of healing, referring to a psychological coping mechanism in which the subconscious transforms symbols of violence into sources of protection and care.

The surface of the bed is covered with liquid - a mixture of sweat and saliva, marking the presence of a living body. The bed has held, protected, and absorbed this body, only for sleep to be abruptly interrupted. What remains is evidence of vulnerability, endurance, and a life lived in permanent anticipation.