Alla Zagaykevych. Motus.

What strange breathing... it somehow reminds lace – made of hundreds and hundreds of threads, ropes, cords, flashbacks, strings, spider web, green and dry fur tree needles, crossings of sunbeams, lunar waves, enormous invisible amount of various roots, silk ribbons from untwined wreaths, wind rose, bunches of tastes and colors... but this lace does not lie, does not sag under its own weight – it is strained against the air, as it happens to sails of the Indian summer – that is why everything that it consists of rings – each separately – in its own mood – and, strange enough, nothing interferes with anything, the other way round – although it could, as this album is a sort of a compiling, collection of favorite pieces, not a separate independent work (at least, it has been such till now) – and this whole lace studded with thousands of crystal-transparent ringing drops at some instant gets penetrated with light – you have approached not just listening, but hearing – and it starts its sorcery that acid stroboscopes have not even dreamt about...