I love Russian classics quietly, almost on tiptoe. For me, these books aren't big events, but long inner conversations. I read Dostoevsky slowly because his characters are too vivid; they look straight into the soul, and that makes me a little scared. Tolstoy is like a large window: through it, you can see life in its entirety, with its light, pain, mistakes, and rare moments of happiness. I especially love Chekhov—for his pauses, for the way the most important things happen between the lines. His characters are often silent, hesitant, hesitant—and I recognize myself in them. Russian classics are fragile and heavy at the same time: they can hurt, but they never lie. When I read, the world becomes quieter. It seems to me that these books teach you not to be outwardly brave, but to be honest within. And perhaps that's why I return to them again and again—as to a place where I am understood without words.

I'm a model with experience. I have heard a lot about your site and I really want to work with you

I was drawn to this place by a desire to find a place where I could be myself and still develop. I've always found it easier to express emotions through images, gestures, and gazes than through words. Modeling turned out to be a space where this is not only acceptable but also important. Over time, I realized that I enjoy the process itself: preparing for work, working with the camera, the moments when various details come together to form a coherent image. Here, I'm interested not only in the external - beautiful shots or a self-presentation - but also in inner transformation. This work is gradually teaching me confidence, the ability to accept attention and not hide from it. It's important for me to feel like I'm growing, trying new things, pushing the boundaries of what's familiar.

Drawing is a quiet hobby for me, almost a secret. I draw the same way I read: carefully, unhurriedly, as if afraid to spoil the mood. Most often, I use simple pencils and thin lines that can be easily erased if I'm afraid of making a mistake. I like that paper is patient and doesn't ask questions. I love drawing alone, when it's cloudy or raining outside. Then the world seems to dissolve, and only I, the page, and my feelings remain. I rarely draw entire people—more often, silhouettes, hands, backs, faces at half-turn. Probably because it's easier for me to hint than to say directly. Drawing helps me express what words can't express. Sometimes sadness appears on paper, sometimes quiet joy, and sometimes just emptiness, and that's important too. I don't consider myself brave or talented, but in these moments I feel real. And that's enough for me.