I came like Water, and like Wind I go Print

I am born a long time ago in the east of Ukraine. Since then in my heart for life there will be an endless steppe with waves of feather grass to the horizon, the smell of thyme in the hot air, the song of the lark, unvsible in the endless blue of the bottomless sky, a faint taste of wormwood on the lips. Thanks to my Mom, who taught art at school, I have been fond of drawing since childhood. In my youth, I experimented a lot with different techniques and even made jewelry of silver and gold. After studying at the Moscow University of Arts, I worked as an industrial interior designer for several years. However, most of my later life was not related to art. Over the years, comes the realization that touching the world of color brings harmony and tranquility to life. The time comes, and I go to the my studio, turn on the music, peer into the pigments on the shelves, choose a canvas from several that are patiently waiting at the wall ... Paints flow, fly or paint carefully, one stroke after another... Paints, especially if these are Nihonga pigments, turn into a structure, the smooth surface of the canvas begins to live a volumetric life. Perhaps these are vineyards of Provence, perhaps the Austrian Alps, Lake Geneva or the hills of Tuscany. From the incredible turquoise of the Indian Ocean with all the variety of colors of the underwater world of the Maldives and the deepest ultramarine of the Bay of Angels in Nice - to the dignified and powerful malachite steel wave of the Baltic. All shades of greenery of the spring slopes of Switzerland and Tyrol, the harsh gray-haired power of winter Kamchatka and the mist over the ship Maid of the Mist, sailing at arm's length from the streams of the Niagara Falls. Not much can be compared to the Vermont autumn forests, shining cadmium orange, yellow and red, or the restrained shine of Baltic amber. The riot of ALL colors on one canvas is the echo of Hong Kong, Bangkok and Amsterdam, night Manhattan and New Year's Moscow. Often, especially at night, the paint turns into gold ... or platinum ... but more I like palladium. The thinnest sheets of metal, transmissive of light, forged by Viennese craftsmen, are laid on canvas on top or in anticipation of paint. And a completely new story begins ... about the parks and palaces of my beloved Vienna, the stairs of Montmartre, the fountains of Rome, the bridges of Florence or the karesansui gardens in Kyoto...