There are places where time loses its linearity. The ruins of the Surb Gevorg Church in the village of Sultan-Saly are precisely such a space. Destroyed, having lost its dome, covered with graffiti by vandals, it continues to live: people come here, bring icons, and light candles.

I entered it with the expectation of seeing a monument to loss. But the longer I stayed inside, the more clearly something else emerged. The light penetrating through the ruined dome filled the space and revealed what seemed forever lost. In the candles left by someone and the modest icons, images of hope began to appear—not brought in from the outside, but something that had always been there.

This is how the logic of the series came about. It is structured as a path from disintegration to wholeness. The first part reflects a state of inner crisis: emptiness, loss of faith, the triumph of reason that imagines itself the sole master of truth. It is a perspective in which destruction seems like a final verdict. The second part reveals the same world—but seen differently. Light fills the space, and it becomes clear: what I had taken for an ending was merely a point from which hope begins.