The stair landings in Soviet apartment buildings were strikingly alike. The lower half of the walls, up to animagined horizon line, was coated in nitro paint, while the upper half was whitewashed. The onlydifference lay in the choice of colour for the lower section — either blue or green. This palette was anunmistakable marker of public space, instantly recognizable by its utilitarian hues.I often found myself locked out, waiting on the landing for the adults to return. I remember climbing ontothe railings, searching for the exact point where the meeting line of blue and white became perfectlyhorizontal. In that fleeting moment, the space transformed: the landing turned into a seascape stretchingbefore me.The floor was laid with tiles arranged in a simple yet strangely disordered pattern. It seemed as if thedesign was forever trying to settle into a rhythm, only to lose its structure again — collapsing andreassembling in a continuous, uncertain dance.