condenses, then expands to infinity, where the sound removes, like the cosmos, the personal cosmos of eduard artemeev. indeed, he had no limits to his imagination, a melody for the stadiums of the monumental and grandiose guys 80 could be born, but he also wrote something so tender and personal, as if for a single person. because it is connected now in my family there in a car accident right when it worked. this is, well, vegans in the hospital. we still something i composed somehow it turned out. not i know all my work. he built computers in a small studio. the keys are endless improvisations and the search for some new sound, for example, the sound of silence itself in konchalovsky's film the white nights of the postman alexei tryapitsyn. and silence this is already such an expression of the spirit, and not not documentary. history is just a parasitic work with a minimum of movement, a minimum of movements along the height of the state, with all the isolation in the process of work, eduard artemiev seemed to be absolutely open in his music and splash everything into it without residue. in recent ye