I called this work - “The One Who Gathers Mattresses”, it`s something like an allegory of death. Sometimes in my childhood in the stillness of the night when I went to bed and put my ear on the pillow, I heard mensural crunches. Later when I grew up, I learned that it was my own pulse. But when I was a little child I imagined it was someone who comes for me, sinking into the snow. I imagined a man wearing old sheepskin coat crossed the vast snowy wilderness. Maybe he still goes and goes as long as our hearts are beating…