I wanted to make an elaborate photosession in the night forest at least for a decade (mini photo sketches with voluptuous branches were my metonymy). I pushed and dragged and annoyed the hell out of my friend, but we never met on the common ground, until our clocks finally matched and the magic just happened. I have a grave and roaring history of working with mirrors, that are a symbol of vanity and narcissism, beauty and a wish for it to last for eternity, so strong that we can drown as a punishment for our greediness, egocentricity and blindness to others and ourselves, while singing madrigals to our reflection. They are also reminiscent of a water, a water's glassy eye, the waterfall or the eye of a lake and an ocean, and those elements stand for bewildering subconscious which can often times be dark and disturbing in its sucking perplexity. A mirror is a silver portal to another dimensions, other astral planes, and we can transmute our physical or psychological beings by walking through it and reaching for the dangerous confidential matter. A forest is a mysterious, charged grid of secrets, a labyrinth, a place to be inconsolably lost, or a spot of a crime, where gothic curse, gruesome horror or eerie, ghostly thriller can occur, and we can find old, gasping ruins, abandoned hospitals, creepy castles, mesmeric chapels or graveyards feathered with curious and bloodthirsty spirits. A forest is a meta-place, a playground for our quivering imagination, an ancestral sanctuary of pagan deities, a coil and a maze for sacrificial rites, or a divine but obscure riddle so adored in romanticism – an ultimate symbol of primordial, all-devouring nature. Persephone was abducted by Hades, the god of the Underworld, while floating in the clouds of the mind, in the forest mirage of daydreaming, and then became Hell queen, travelling from love and spring deity to goddess of reincarnation, ghosts and occult. The spiderwebs flutter among spiky branches and leechy lianas, a moon's beam wiggles through the lacy, veiny net like torn sails in the wind, and a phantom maiden in silver nightgown is actually a succubus or mafia bride dragooning her killer, or something entirely else (because I like to leave the creaky doors half-open). Also, as a teenager I was in love with Twin Peaks, so the snake bit its tale and closed a circle.