at work
A quiet celebration of curves, confidence, and the timeless poise of sixties-style femininity.
London, 2025
Julius carefully lifted Margarita’s hand from his chest, let his gaze slide over her sculpted thighs, and silently got out of bed.
He opened the blinds—and froze.
Outside the window, a massive, glowing tunnel sliced through buildings and trees. A dull turbine-like hum was barely audible.
Julius felt his body go numb and took a step back.
Margarita…!
He opened the blinds—and froze.
Outside the window, a massive, glowing tunnel sliced through buildings and trees. A dull turbine-like hum was barely audible.
Julius felt his body go numb and took a step back.
Margarita…!
Moscow, 2025
A quiet celebration of curves, confidence, and the timeless poise of sixties-style femininity.
London, 2025
A body drawn in Matisse lines — where island warmth meets European form, and identity sways in graceful ambiguity.
Paris, 2025
When truth is hard to speak, it finds its own way out — no matter how polite we try to be.
London, 2025
An anxious gut spins with pain while the heart stays shielded — surrounded, but not yet touched.
London, 2025
Trapped in confusion and cracks of rumor, a wild face stares out — more lost than dangerous.
London, 2025
A silent game of power and tenderness — where both seek surrender, yet neither dares to lead.
London, 2025
A memory of a cosmic creature becomes a meeting of three — man, woman, and the unknown, all sharing one unexpected shape.
London, 2025
The fear of being too late — as if connection belongs only to the bold, and silence is inherited.
London, 2025
Cats and dogs. A whole world. Are they here to teach us? Perhaps. Are we here to help them live? In part. Why do they always understand us, but we rarely understand them? Maybe it’s a game. Who is running the game, us or them? It seems like we are… But maybe they are us? Umm…
London, 2025
Up they rose
As from unrest, and, each the other viewing,
Soon found their eyes how opened, and their minds
How darkened. Innocence, that as a veil
Had shadowed them from knowing ill, was gone;
Just confidence, and native righteousness,
And honour, from about them, naked left
To guilty Shame.
John Milton, Paradise Lost
As from unrest, and, each the other viewing,
Soon found their eyes how opened, and their minds
How darkened. Innocence, that as a veil
Had shadowed them from knowing ill, was gone;
Just confidence, and native righteousness,
And honour, from about them, naked left
To guilty Shame.
John Milton, Paradise Lost
Moscow, 2025
Hares vs Cows captures a tense standoff between generations, their faces distorted yet bound to one another. The jagged yellow line stands as both barrier and bridge, hinting at conflict but also the possibility of reconciliation. In this strange dialogue, distance and unity coexist.
London, 2025
— No, you can’t.
— Why not? You have no right to influence me or hold me back. I don’t want to be dependent. I want to decide for myself where to go and who to be with.
— You can’t, because you’re dependent not only on me, but also on your gas canister. And besides, I’m bored. I’m tired of wandering around your city, riding that subway where no one sees me. I’m a ghost, after all. You think it’s easy to walk into a train car through the doors while no one cares?
— I don’t think so. But what does that have to do with me? You show up every time I breathe in helium. I just want to relax, to feel some pleasure. And you get in the way.
— Fine. I’ll think about it. Maybe you’re right. But you’ll need to pass a message to someone for me…
— Why not? You have no right to influence me or hold me back. I don’t want to be dependent. I want to decide for myself where to go and who to be with.
— You can’t, because you’re dependent not only on me, but also on your gas canister. And besides, I’m bored. I’m tired of wandering around your city, riding that subway where no one sees me. I’m a ghost, after all. You think it’s easy to walk into a train car through the doors while no one cares?
— I don’t think so. But what does that have to do with me? You show up every time I breathe in helium. I just want to relax, to feel some pleasure. And you get in the way.
— Fine. I’ll think about it. Maybe you’re right. But you’ll need to pass a message to someone for me…
Moscow, 2025
An alien reaches for the sun but takes its first bite from the tree. The Van Gogh–like colors echo the memory of his devoured ear.
London, 2025
Born after a Kiefer–Van Gogh exhibition in London, this drawing stages a strange dialogue of fathers and dreams. Kiefer’s despised father watches him exposed and vulnerable, while Van Gogh, distant and haunted, drifts toward the vision of a beautiful woman. The scene hovers between judgment, desire, and the unreachable.
London, 2025
Billionaire Jeremy Grothex — owner of Caravel Slums and JuduWudu Enterprise, top golf tournament promoter on the West Coast, and sponsor of the Connecticut Spurs — has disappeared.
Grothex went missing on his private island near Hawaii, where local fishermen last saw him with his dog. His disappearance was reported by his Labrador, who called the police using a neural network.
Grothex’s wife is baffled. She says her husband spent the night at their home in Mountain Bountain. In the morning, he took a tuna sandwich, their Labrador Carlos, and headed out for a walk in a good mood.
How he ended up in the Pacific Ocean remains a mystery. The elderly mother of the American tycoon is deeply worried — the Labrador usually called her.
Police suspect Grothex may have teleported to another dimension. He had long been investing in such projects and funding research into transcendent states.
The California State Police are investigating.
Grothex went missing on his private island near Hawaii, where local fishermen last saw him with his dog. His disappearance was reported by his Labrador, who called the police using a neural network.
Grothex’s wife is baffled. She says her husband spent the night at their home in Mountain Bountain. In the morning, he took a tuna sandwich, their Labrador Carlos, and headed out for a walk in a good mood.
How he ended up in the Pacific Ocean remains a mystery. The elderly mother of the American tycoon is deeply worried — the Labrador usually called her.
Police suspect Grothex may have teleported to another dimension. He had long been investing in such projects and funding research into transcendent states.
The California State Police are investigating.
From the series “Notes from a Californian”
Jeremy Grothex
Sochi, 2025
Jeremy Grothex
Sochi, 2025
Julius lay with his eyes closed, his breathing fast and noisy. It was as if colored pieces of paper — lights — were shifting before him, red covering black, then black over red. Bright white flashes made his body twitch, pulling him further down the tunnel.
"What do you see, Julius?" the guide asked.
"There was a conflict, a quarrel. Men and a woman. She's seeking revenge, she's deeply hurt. Maybe over her daughter. They're not showing me everything. But she has the right — I feel sorry they were treated that way," Julius continued to breathe heavily.
"Can you describe her? And where is this happening?"
"At the train station square. She's beautiful. For some reason, everyone there is dancing. But the man — he’s not telling the truth. They may think this will haunt them forever. But it won’t. Something else is expected from them."
"What do you see, Julius?" the guide asked.
"There was a conflict, a quarrel. Men and a woman. She's seeking revenge, she's deeply hurt. Maybe over her daughter. They're not showing me everything. But she has the right — I feel sorry they were treated that way," Julius continued to breathe heavily.
"Can you describe her? And where is this happening?"
"At the train station square. She's beautiful. For some reason, everyone there is dancing. But the man — he’s not telling the truth. They may think this will haunt them forever. But it won’t. Something else is expected from them."
“Bad Trip”
Moscow, 2025
Inspired by Journey of Souls by Michael Newton, American hypnotherapist and author.
Moscow, 2025
Inspired by Journey of Souls by Michael Newton, American hypnotherapist and author.
Music is the subtlest instrument of sensing and seduction. Sound allows us to let go — and imagine desires we never knew we had.
Sochi, 2025
When the Moon’s in Scorpio, conversation is never smooth — not even during an orgy or a community cleanup.
That night in Sochi, the Moon was just like that. And Raj dragged me out of the apartment.
“Are you from Moscow?” asked a dark-haired woman who’d just sat down at our table on the terrace.
“Yeah,” I replied, catching in her voice that certain tone — the kind you only hear from people with sharpened NLP skills and a charged-up energy field.
“What do you do?”
“Dogs.”
“No sh*t. You don’t look like a dog guy,” she said flatly. “I worked with charities — if that’s what you mean.”
“And you?” I asked, pulled into the conversation almost against my will.
“I coach men and businesses. Help them make serious money through sales. Hey, watch my bag. I’m gonna grab my order.”
“Bring mine too — it’s ready,” I said, sliding the buzzing pager across the table.
“Your eye’s twitching. I could take you apart right now,” she said, casually throwing punches with both hands.
“I believe you. But it won’t give you what you’re really looking for,” I replied, trying to conserve energy — but confident in my read.
“And what do you think I’m looking for?”
“I can tell you what you’re not looking for.”
“Go on.”
“Money. You work with it, but you’re not chasing it. You love it and hate it at the same time. That’s Pluto.”
She stood up — small but solid — and stepped into the crowd on the street. Hair tied back, deep brown eyes like embers, sharp collarbones, thin fingers. Big fabric roses on her dress covered her small, elegant chest. Her gaze was steady. Her words fast and sharp. No fake kindness. Just raw, overwhelming dominance.
Her strategy didn’t rely on flattery or manipulation. It was pure pressure, cool logic, and focused energy — straight to mind control. Level eighty, let’s say.
By the time I got inside the café, I saw her through the window. She’d dragged some long-haired blond guy in off the street, sat him at our table, and told him to guard her bag.
Then she strolled in and stood beside me in line.
“I can make anyone do anything. Men can’t handle my intensity. I tell them how to make real money — and they follow me like rats behind the pied piper. Pulling in checks they never dreamed of.”
“But there’s no love for you, is there?”
“No. After the first big win, they run. Bastards…”
“It’s easy to see why. You’re terrifying. But the hurt is showing, too.”
“Mind your business, Buddha in a box,” she said, half-smiling — crooked, but real.
“Ever tried BDSM?” I asked, pushing it further.
“Not yet. But you hit the mark,” she said, eyes flashing. I’d touched on something she’d been thinking about for days.
“I’m already ahead of you,” she added, brushing off my little intervention.
She wasn’t interested in food.
“I’m going to the sea. And I’m not working on your projects. You can finish my meal if you want.”
“I think I’ll have it analyzed,” I muttered as she drifted away, gliding down the burning street like a Möbius strip — every curve perfectly honed.
My failure was obvious. But what a force. What a woman. What a Moon tonight...
That night in Sochi, the Moon was just like that. And Raj dragged me out of the apartment.
“Are you from Moscow?” asked a dark-haired woman who’d just sat down at our table on the terrace.
“Yeah,” I replied, catching in her voice that certain tone — the kind you only hear from people with sharpened NLP skills and a charged-up energy field.
“What do you do?”
“Dogs.”
“No sh*t. You don’t look like a dog guy,” she said flatly. “I worked with charities — if that’s what you mean.”
“And you?” I asked, pulled into the conversation almost against my will.
“I coach men and businesses. Help them make serious money through sales. Hey, watch my bag. I’m gonna grab my order.”
“Bring mine too — it’s ready,” I said, sliding the buzzing pager across the table.
“Your eye’s twitching. I could take you apart right now,” she said, casually throwing punches with both hands.
“I believe you. But it won’t give you what you’re really looking for,” I replied, trying to conserve energy — but confident in my read.
“And what do you think I’m looking for?”
“I can tell you what you’re not looking for.”
“Go on.”
“Money. You work with it, but you’re not chasing it. You love it and hate it at the same time. That’s Pluto.”
She stood up — small but solid — and stepped into the crowd on the street. Hair tied back, deep brown eyes like embers, sharp collarbones, thin fingers. Big fabric roses on her dress covered her small, elegant chest. Her gaze was steady. Her words fast and sharp. No fake kindness. Just raw, overwhelming dominance.
Her strategy didn’t rely on flattery or manipulation. It was pure pressure, cool logic, and focused energy — straight to mind control. Level eighty, let’s say.
By the time I got inside the café, I saw her through the window. She’d dragged some long-haired blond guy in off the street, sat him at our table, and told him to guard her bag.
Then she strolled in and stood beside me in line.
“I can make anyone do anything. Men can’t handle my intensity. I tell them how to make real money — and they follow me like rats behind the pied piper. Pulling in checks they never dreamed of.”
“But there’s no love for you, is there?”
“No. After the first big win, they run. Bastards…”
“It’s easy to see why. You’re terrifying. But the hurt is showing, too.”
“Mind your business, Buddha in a box,” she said, half-smiling — crooked, but real.
“Ever tried BDSM?” I asked, pushing it further.
“Not yet. But you hit the mark,” she said, eyes flashing. I’d touched on something she’d been thinking about for days.
“I’m already ahead of you,” she added, brushing off my little intervention.
She wasn’t interested in food.
“I’m going to the sea. And I’m not working on your projects. You can finish my meal if you want.”
“I think I’ll have it analyzed,” I muttered as she drifted away, gliding down the burning street like a Möbius strip — every curve perfectly honed.
My failure was obvious. But what a force. What a woman. What a Moon tonight...
Sochi, 2025