For the most part, human life consists of trivial, repetitive, familiar things. You get up in the morning on the alarm clock, wash up, make breakfast, go to work or stay home and do the same things you did yesterday. You get through the day, do something, spend the evening alone or in someone’s company, go to bed—drunk or sober, happy or sad, feeling lonely or not feeling it, depressed or not, alone or with someone. There aren’t many things that happen in life that stand out from that rhythm. Sometimes the things that seem unimaginable at first, become routine. Sometimes the familiar goes away and remains only in our memories.

Each of us deals in our own way with the time filled with repetitive events and actions. This repetitiveness does not usually bother us, nor do we seek to get rid of it or make our lives significantly more varied. This is an animal repetitiveness, and it’s our biological connection to other living beings, whose lives are strictly subject to repetition. The desire for the new is purely human, or we have not yet learned to recognize it in other creatures.

The new appears when the old is reconfigured and forms new articulations. Gleb Trishkin’s works are about it—the simple, clear and familiar, seen through the human bug—a gaze attuned to the fracture of familiar things. His art is one of recall, reeling from the desire to overwrite memory, to produce a new one. Recognizable images are sucked into our daily routine—and stay there allowing that routine to last. At the same time, their optionality, randomness, easy irrelevance, their meaninglessness that can be truly justified only in art—all that allow them to keep the rift between the all too human and everything else.

— Natalya Serkova