About ME

Economist. Architect. Musician. Entrepreneur.

Ordinarily, these worlds are divided by a wall that seems impassable. But I live at its boundary—in that space where figures suddenly arrange themselves into symphonies, where strategy acquires the plasticity of sculpture, where beauty ceases to be decoration and becomes an instrument of transforming reality.

I remember when I first understood this. I was sitting in a theater, listening to an orchestra, and suddenly realized: music and strategy are the same thing. Both require rhythm. Both live through silences. Both know when to be loud and when to be barely audible. And if you feel this—you can create projects that do not merely function. They live.

From theatrical reforms in the halls of the Bolshoi Theatre, where every gesture has been refined by centuries, to the designer biodegradable capsules of VOYAGER, which transform an ending into a conversation about eternity.

From work with symphony orchestras, where the conductor's baton draws invisible architectures of sound, to the global platform Dolphin Hub, where I attempted to hear the voice of another intelligent species.

I create projects on the fault line of what people are accustomed to dividing. But I no longer believe in these divisions. They dissolve like morning mist.

There remains only one question—the only one that truly matters:

Is this idea capable of changing how people see the world?

If yes—it deserves to exist.

If yes—it demands realization.

If yes—everything else is merely technical details.

I was born into a family where knowledge and culture were not objects of pride. They were air.

Books stood on shelves not for decoration—they were read, debated over dinner, quoted as naturally as jokes are told. Music did not play as background—it was part of the family's thinking. My grandfather, Imindjan Kadyrov—a doctor of pedagogical sciences, professor, corresponding member of the Academy of Pedagogical Sciences of the USSR, minister of education of the Uzbek SSR—was a rare man. He knew how to combine the rigor of scientific method with the warmth of human care. He spoke to me as if I already understood what I had yet to learn—and, not wishing to disappoint him, I began to understand.

In that atmosphere, where science and art did not oppose but intertwined, I learned the essential truth:

Beauty and functionality are not opposites. They are two sides of the same coin.

Philosophy without embodiment is hollow. Action without idea is blind. Idea without action is dead. This inheritance became the foundation of everything I create.

To change something, one must first learn to read—as ancient manuscripts are read, in layers, perceiving hidden meanings.

Economics taught me to see the invisible—those currents that move events, how value arises where, seemingly, none exists. The economist sees the world as a chessboard with invisible threads.

Architectural design opened for me the language of space. I understood: space is not emptiness between walls. It is living matter that shapes whoever inhabits it. Space heals or wounds. Inspires or oppresses.

Music—hours of scales until the fingers remember by themselves—gave me something that cannot be expressed in words. The sense of rhythm and harmony. The knowledge that there are moments for acceleration and moments for pause—that very pause where true music lives.

Polytechnic school gave me the most earthly and necessary thing: the ability to do more than dream—to build. To transform an ephemeral idea into a reality you can touch.

This synthesis allowed me to create projects that do not merely function. They breathe. They resonate. They live.

There are those who work for theaters: they come, create advertising, leave. There are those who work with theaters—they immerse themselves in their philosophy, becoming architects of their new image.

I chose the latter. Because creating the visual language of theater means understanding its soul and daring to transform it.

With the Bolshoi Theatre, I worked on what is visible from outside—external advertising and printed materials. That was important work, but it was the work of an executor.

But when I came to the Theatre of Nations, the Stanislavsky Dramatic Theatre, the Theatre on Malaya Bronnaya—something different happened. There I was given the opportunity to completely reimagine the image. I did not follow their templates. I created a new visual language.

I remember the project for the Theatre of Nations. I came with an idea that seemed bold, completely unlike what theaters were accustomed to seeing. The director looked at the mockups in silence. Then said: "This looks nothing like what we've done before." And I understood—either I was wrong in my vision, or I was seeing something they were not yet ready for. But I believed: classical art does not die from boldness. It dies from boredom. I chose—to take the risk.

I transformed the visual image of each theater—at the Theatre of Nations, on Malaya Bronnaya, at the Stanislavsky Dramatic Theatre, at MGASO. In each, I heard a different melody, a different philosophy. I created marketing concepts that translated the language of centuries into today's language. I completely reconceived the visual image of Melpomene's palace.

My task was jeweler-like: not to simplify, not to vulgarize the classics, but to reveal them. To show that great art does not need protection from modernity. It needs a new voice—from someone capable of telling the young generation: this is why it matters. This is why it is beautiful. This is why it is for you.

I learned to hear the pulse of the theater—not from the stage, but through people's reactions to the poster, to the logo, through how they enter the foyer, how they read the leaflet. Every design element, every word, every color—all of this became for me a language of dialogue with the audience.

And at that time I understood: marketing ceases to be an instrument of sales. It becomes a continuation of artistic expression.

Each project was not merely a commission for me. It was a spiritual practice—an attempt to awaken in people the sense that classical art is not a museum. It is the living breath of culture right now.

Service to art is not a profession. It is a state of soul.

There are topics that people fear to touch. They are surrounded by silence, like ancient temples—by prohibitions.

Death is one of them.

But I do not fear taboos. I see in them an untilled field where extraordinary beauty can grow. Where others turn away, I look more intently.

For many years I reflected on memorial culture. I watched how people say farewell to the deceased—often falsely, through artificial rituals that move no one anymore. And one day I understood: this field is ready for transformation.

Thus was born the concept "Journey to Eternity..." and the collection of designer biodegradable capsules VOYAGER. This was my attempt to turn an ending into a beginning. To make the ritual of farewell not a mourning ceremony, but an act of profound respect—for life, for the earth, for memory.

A form that does not oppose nature, but dissolves into it. An aesthetic that does not cry out, but whispers of eternity. A meaning that transforms the finale into metamorphosis.

I remember when VOYAGER was presented at the XXIII International Exhibition "Necropolis-Tanexpo World Russia" in 2015. I was uncertain. Experts from around the world had seen thousands of solutions. Could I offer something new?

But when they saw the project, I saw recognition in their eyes—recognition that this was possible. That a conservative industry was capable of transformation.

This became proof for me:

Beauty can speak of the most serious matters—and be heard.

Art can be responsible—and not lose its magic.

Business can be humane—and still be successful.

What if dialogue is possible not only between cultures, between epochs—but between species?

What if intelligence is not the privilege of one species, but a spectrum on which we are not alone?

Dolphin Hub is my attempt to begin this conversation. The world's first global platform devoted to communication between humans and dolphins—beings whose intelligence remains an enigma, alluring and elusive.

This is not corporate PR. Not a government program with official seals. This is my personal choice—to create what I believe in, without asking permission.

I do not know if I will succeed. But I know I must try. That dialogue between species is not utopia. It is a necessity if we are to survive on one planet.

The platform unites oceanologists and artists, nature conservationists and philosophers. We are creating an international community of those who believe: we are not alone in this intelligent world.

And through this understanding—slowly, one person at a time—we are changing our relationship with nature.

For me, art is not what I do.

It is my way of existing.

I am convinced, having passed through these years, having created these projects, having overcome doubt, that:

Beauty can be a development strategy. Not decoration. But the very essence.

Creativity is a way of solving global problems that cannot be solved by logic alone.

Aesthetics can be profitable—and still remain aesthetic.

Business can carry profound meaning—and gain a soul without losing efficiency.

I do not divide the world into art and commerce, beautiful and practical, spiritual and material. This is a false dichotomy—invented by those too timid for large-scale thinking or too lazy to unite what seems impossible to unite.

True innovation is born at the intersection. Where the economist extends a hand to the musician. Where the architect converses with the philosopher. Where the entrepreneur is not ashamed to be a poet—and the poet does not disdain entrepreneurship.

And most importantly, what I learned working in theaters, creating VOYAGER, launching Dolphin Hub:

Service to art is a calling, not a job.

It is a choice to live so that each of your projects, each step awakens in people what they have forgotten about themselves:

The ability to see beauty not only in museums, but in every moment.

The ability to create it with your own hands and mind.

The ability to share it generously.

Today I continue to build bridges.

Between art and innovation.

Between responsibility to the planet and the creative process.

Between what is and what should be.

I develop directions where beauty is not a luxury for the few, but a necessity for all.

Before each project, I ask one question: Can this make the world even slightly better? Even a fraction lighter?

If not—I do not create it.

My mission is simple:

To create spaces where people awaken to creation.

Where beauty becomes part of everyday life.

Where inspiration is not a random spark, but the driving force of progress.

I believe—not blindly, but with faith tested by experience:

One person with a clear vision can change an industry.

One bold idea can birth a new culture.

One solution can trigger a chain reaction of change.

This is not pathos. This is what I have witnessed.

It is about what is possible.

About the fact that boundaries between worlds—between art and commerce, between science and poetry—exist only in our heads.

About the fact that beauty is not weakness. It is power. Perhaps the last power that can still change something.

About the fact that one person who is not afraid to dream big is capable of transforming what seemed immutable.

I do not know who you are. But if you are reading this—then something in you resonated. Then you have the same thing within you. Perhaps not as loud. Not necessarily the same. But yours.

And I want to see what you will do with it.

What beauty do you carry within yourself—and have not yet dared to release?

What boundaries are you capable of erasing?

What dialogue are you ready to begin?

What impossibility are you ready to transform into reality?

This world does not need perfect people.

It needs those who are not afraid to unite what seems impossible to unite.

Who believe in the impossible—and make it possible through the stubbornness of their faith.

I am one such person.

Are you?

Think about it—not now, but when you are alone with yourself. When the day's bustle quiets, and in silence you hear that voice inside that knows the truth.

What can you give this world?

What only you can give—something that no one else is capable of giving?

This question is not rhetorical.

It is an invitation.