A few more sketches done while in Oregon. After these, there will be my second attempt. :)
Sunday, April 5, 2015
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Charcoal Portraits: First Attempt
I'm a little annoyed with myself for tweaking the settings of this blog, going from public to private and then public again. The truth is I just feel self-conscious for not posting more stuff more regularly here. But hey, it is what it is now. I'm so tired of trying to "get it right" - why not just appreciate life (and blogging) for what it is, stop worrying about not doing it the right way and just enjoy it!
Saturday, December 13, 2014
У зеркала
I was asked once why I always write about myself. What a strange question, I thought, but tried to give it a full, considerate answer. Only later I realized that there was no way to give an answer to a question which essentially meant, "Why don't you write what I want to read?"
The whole meaning of art is to express what is inside of you. That's who artists are - they are those people whose inner instrument is fine-tuned towards their own inner world, and whatever they do - they do through the prism of their own inner world. They can write, paint, draw, compose music, act, create items of clothing out of fabric or create outfits out of separate pieces, create interiors with given space and pieces of furniture, take photographs, build, carve, and create groups, organizations, businesses... out of their own inner world - the way a spider makes a spiderweb out of his own self. Without a spider, there would be no spiderweb. I do not write always about myself - nothing of what's published below has ever happened to me. A lot of what I wrote are fairy tales, and no, in the real life I have never met a girl who literally has wings on her back. And yet I know that people have wings - all of us have wings. Only very often, we store them in a old musty trunk somewhere in a forgotten attic of our soul. And yes, from that point of view, I do write always about myself - I write what I feel and what I know - about my own soul and about the world the way I see it through the prism of my own soul.
У зеркала
Трудно было поверить, что это тот человек, которого она знала так давно и любила. Да полно те, он ли это? И она ли это – вот глянь-ка в зеркало, ну она ли? Смотрела на нее из зеркала какая-то незнакомая тетка, вон морщинки у глаз и тушь растеклась. Рева-корова. И кардиганчик этот замызганный, откуда она его только откопала? А ну да, это же подруга ей подарила, как только она первенца родила. Чего еще говорю, кардиган какой-то – все вон коляску, памперсы там, а ты мне моду какую-то. А ничего, сноится – бойко отозвалась подруга. И гляди-ка, и правда сносился – лет пятнадцать уже назад, а вот же выжил. И она выжила, знать. Эти отношения, как неравный бой, а ведь пятнадцать лет - как с куста. Выжила, может еще и медалью нагрядат – даст бог, не посмертно.
The whole meaning of art is to express what is inside of you. That's who artists are - they are those people whose inner instrument is fine-tuned towards their own inner world, and whatever they do - they do through the prism of their own inner world. They can write, paint, draw, compose music, act, create items of clothing out of fabric or create outfits out of separate pieces, create interiors with given space and pieces of furniture, take photographs, build, carve, and create groups, organizations, businesses... out of their own inner world - the way a spider makes a spiderweb out of his own self. Without a spider, there would be no spiderweb. I do not write always about myself - nothing of what's published below has ever happened to me. A lot of what I wrote are fairy tales, and no, in the real life I have never met a girl who literally has wings on her back. And yet I know that people have wings - all of us have wings. Only very often, we store them in a old musty trunk somewhere in a forgotten attic of our soul. And yes, from that point of view, I do write always about myself - I write what I feel and what I know - about my own soul and about the world the way I see it through the prism of my own soul.
У зеркала
Трудно было поверить, что это тот человек, которого она знала так давно и любила. Да полно те, он ли это? И она ли это – вот глянь-ка в зеркало, ну она ли? Смотрела на нее из зеркала какая-то незнакомая тетка, вон морщинки у глаз и тушь растеклась. Рева-корова. И кардиганчик этот замызганный, откуда она его только откопала? А ну да, это же подруга ей подарила, как только она первенца родила. Чего еще говорю, кардиган какой-то – все вон коляску, памперсы там, а ты мне моду какую-то. А ничего, сноится – бойко отозвалась подруга. И гляди-ка, и правда сносился – лет пятнадцать уже назад, а вот же выжил. И она выжила, знать. Эти отношения, как неравный бой, а ведь пятнадцать лет - как с куста. Выжила, может еще и медалью нагрядат – даст бог, не посмертно.
People: Eric
What can be a subject for art?
Anything.
Art is not in the subject - it's in the feeling.
People are one of the most fascinating art subjects for me. I spent years taking photos of all kinds of people, from little children to grown ups. My favorite kind of portraits are candid, not staged. Though, at times there is something about a particular person in a particular moment in time, when even a posed photograph feels like a beautifully candid shot. This was one of such times - I've always loved this portrait of Eric, a musician and wood carver from the Ohio Renaissance Festival. The photo was taken in October of 2006.
Disclaimer: the photo is not for sale.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Tiger Lily
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I rarely did macro photos when I was into photography, but I remember being so taken with the beauty of this flower that I couldn't resist the temptation to fill the whole lens of my camera with it.
Photo was taken in Cincinnati Zoo in July 2006.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Sunday, November 16, 2014
My Art Album from 30 years ago
Seeing this album was a surprise for me on many levels. First of all, I did not know that Mom saved it. I forgot what projects we were working on in 5th grade. I was surprised to see the wide variety of media and techniques we were taught. Our teacher Aleksei Sergeevich Poletaev was a fine artist who had his exhibitions in our town and in Krasnoyarsk (the big city nearby), as I heard. We had two years of art classes (once a week) in 5th and 6th grades. It was fun to see what I was able to create between 11 and 12 years old (my daughter's age now), especially as I watch my daughter growing and see what they do in their art class, while at the same time I'm rediscovering my own interest in visual arts which was rather passive for the last 30 years.
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