A certain artistic Ukrainian gentleman by the name of Mitasov lived here, covering his apartment in layers and layers of inscriptions. He was university educated in economics and managed a store, but he also had something called horror vacui — “fear of blank or empty spaces” — a hyper-obsessive personality disorder strain causing him to scrawl his walls, his fridge, his piano. He also did street art. He had to.
You can still see them around in Ukraine, like “Happiness! I’m waiting for you here!” and other poetics. The rest? Sometimes, words — “us” “us” “us.” Sometimes, just random strands of cyrillic. He died in 1999 in a psychiatric facility.
Here’s a glimpse at his body of work. One man’s torturous compulsion, another man’s art. Right?
Yes, this should feel wrong.