Vladimir Kryloff

I have painted many times, yet each canvas still feels like a new awakening. I paint not to record, but to feel more vividly. My work is a dance of colors, a pursuit of the invisible thread that binds a glance to a scent, a moment to eternity. Yet I do not seek clarity but intensity. A girl in the flowers, a lone traveler in the space or emerald forest, the porcelain vase with irises at noon—all shimmer with life just beyond reach.
I return to the same themes again and again, not from habit but from hunger to create. Each repetition reveals something new: the way ochre burns beside violet, how a shadow bends time. My dreamy landscapes are never still; they whine softly with the pulse of those who live inside them. A forest breathes, a cat dreams, the air glows with intense secrets.
The eye must wander freely, surprised by a burst of yellow ochre, seduced by a hidden red cadmium. I trust color more than line—it speaks in tones the mind cannot name but the heart remembers.
In truth, I do not try to paint things. I paint the life within things. Color is my true language, more faithful than form. A patch of rose beside blue can speak more than words ever could. I trust instinct, intimacy, and the slow unfolding of the soul on canvas.
I...