Neo brutalism [Conept]

Sometimes I see it in dreams. Dark giants, grown out of silence. They don’t wait. They don’t call.And yet, they draw me in — so I come.

I don’t know if they were ever built. Or if they were woven into space
from the threads of memories that never truly belonged to us. Their walls shaped in a form we’ve long forgotten — but which has always lived within us.

These structures belong neither to the future nor the past. And yet, within them exists a past that never was, and a future that will never come. As if the gods had to abandon their temples — and concrete was the only thing that remembered their outline.

When I work with design, I usually start by observing. I watch how people interact with space, with objects, with form, texture, lightning and materials. I don’t sketch — I collect data. I trace behavior, look for patterns, try to understand what’s already happening. And only then do I begin to carefully shape something around it.

But with these spaces, it’s different. They can’t be studied. You can’t step inside, try them out, tweak them. They simply exist — monumental, heavy, still. I don’t design them. If anything, I remember them. As if they’ve already served their purpose — somewhere, sometime. In another culture, in someone else’s dream, in a kaleidoscope of my travels, or maybe in some layer of shared memory.

These forms don’t ask to be explained. They don’t care for logic. And if I manage to catch even a glimpse of their outline, it’s not the result of analysis. It’s something else. Something closer to remembering.