There are collections that present themselves as worlds, and others as wounds. The Diary of a Neurotic belongs to both. It is a suspended territory where the image does not illustrate but confesses. A field of works born as marginal notes, impulsive sketches, fragments of a mind that cannot settle and therefore carves itself onto paper, translates itself into gesture, becomes a trace of survival.

The artist, rooted in the layered cultural complexity of Eastern Europe, carries within her a memory shaped by war, collective trauma, and systems of power. Yet rather than declaring these themes overtly, she lets them seep into the micro-narratives of everyday existence. Details do the speaking: a collapsing face, a figure unable to find its outline, a thought too rapid to hold. Every doodle becomes an involuntary confession, an emotional misprint turned image.

This collection is a diary, yes, but not a linear one. It is a magnetic field of overlapping pages where the sincerity of instinct merges with the construction of the self in an era that no longer permits clear boundaries. Each work originates physically, with an almost stubborn materiality, and then migrates into the digital, becoming a mirror of a world where identity is not simply lived but constantly processed.

We live in a time in which the emotional landscape is no longer entirely our own. Our reactions, desires, and fears intertwine with decisions made by systems that operate beyond our will. Technology, omnipresent and invisible, becomes a coauthor of our emotional lives. In this context, neuroses emerge as a kind of metronome of chaos: biological and cultural mechanisms helping us adapt to an increasingly incoherent world.

The Diary of a Neurotic captures this short circuit. It reveals the precise moment in which the self attempts to remain human, even while knowing that its contours are endlessly redrawn by external, algorithmic, systemic forces. The works oscillate between corporeality and dissolution, between childlike gesture and fierce awareness, between the desire for order and the inevitability of disorder.

What emerges is an emotional archive of rare clarity: an inventory of thought under pressure, an atlas of small internal earthquakes, an attempt to give structure to what resists being grasped. Each piece behaves like a window into a mental process in continual collapse and recomposition. These are not representations but symptoms. Not aesthetic objects, but survival mechanisms.

Taken together, the collection poses a question that haunts the contemporary condition:

What remains of the self when the self is no longer a boundary but a flow?

Perhaps the answer lies here, in these trembling pages. In the spontaneous gestures seeking to reclaim thought. In vulnerability transformed into visual language. In the awareness that, while it lives within us, the mind has become a shared territory where human and posthuman brush against each other without ever fully merging.

The Diary of a Neurotic does not ask the viewer to understand.

It asks them to listen to the fractures.

And it is within those fractures that, paradoxically, we rediscover a form of truth. A fragile, luminous geography of contemporary existence.