September in July Painting

I was born long ago in the east of Ukraine. Since then, my heart has carried the endless steppe with waves of feather grass stretching to the horizon, the scent of thyme in the hot air, the song of the lark invisible in the bottomless blue sky, and the faint taste of wormwood on my lips. Thanks to my mother, who taught art at school, I have been passionate about drawing since childhood. In my youth, I experimented with various techniques and even crafted jewelry from silver and gold. After studying at the Moscow University of Arts, I worked for several years as an industrial interior designer. However, much of my later life took me away from art. With time, I came to realize that engaging with the world of color brings harmony and tranquility. Eventually, I found myself returning to my studio, turning on music, examining the pigments on the shelves, and selecting a canvas from those waiting patiently by the wall. The paint flows, flies, or is carefully applied, one stroke after another. Especially when using Nihonga pigments, the paint transforms into texture, and the smooth surface of the canvas begins to take on a three-dimensional life. Perhaps it depicts the vineyards of Provence, the Austrian Alps, Lake Geneva, or the hills of Tuscany. It could be the incredible turquoise of the Indian Ocean with its colorful underwater world, the deep ultramarine of the Bay of Angels in Nice, or the dignified and powerful malachite waves of the Baltic. All the shades of green from the spring slopes of Switzerland and Tyrol, the austere, gray-haired majesty of winter in Kamchatka, and the mist over the "Maid of the Mist" near Niagara Falls. Few sights compare to the Vermont autumn forests, ablaze with cadmium orange, yellow, and red, or the subtle gleam of Baltic amber. The riot of colors on a single canvas echoes Hong Kong, Bangkok, and Amsterdam, nighttime Manhattan, and New Year's Moscow. Often, especially at night, the paint turns into gold or platinum, but I prefer palladium. The thinnest sheets of metal, light-transmissive and forged by Viennese craftsmen, are laid on the canvas in anticipation of paint. A new story begins, one about the parks and palaces of beloved Vienna, the stairs of Montmartre, the fountains of Rome, the bridges of Florence, or the karesansui gardens in Kyoto.