Penguins are not birds!

The limitless capacity for comparisons in detailed shots, the impulses to release emotional acts from under the canons of the astrological goblet, the nature of jealousy – like a layered featherbed pile above a pea of truth… the pea that can torment us mercilessly at night with the fear of the loss of our youth! Is there a visionary who would not ride in the sledge of Peter Bruegel the Elder?


Dimitry Bulin's characters, like mutes in sign language, constantly show with their palms the methods of flight-as if debating constantly about the physiological structure of a bird's wing.

No discussion is possible - to each his own bird: the bird-soul, the bird-heart, the bird-gas, the bird-word, the bird-food, the bird-penguin! Letatlin, Leonardo da Vinci winged... The light of the palm in the scene is like a flashing signal: STOP! Like a bright lighthouse, attracting unfocused glances.

The red ticker on the departure board: the palm is the cradle of the written-in-heavens text that has overcome the hearts of unlove!

...with a slowed down speed of narration - your neck is getting tired of waiting for the next lit word: attaching a theatrical set of gestures to the shot creates the illusion of a dramatic wholeness - we all will die young!

People are not birds! And not even emperor penguins! Only our palms - distant relatives of wings - are adapted to express the plasticity of bird flight, which will never enable us to get off the ground...