Monday, November 8, 2010

Where is Everybody

Three Summers ago..

It was a quarter after four.

She looked through the air,

Forgot to do the laundry,

Opened all the doors,

and closed all the windows

Time covered the weather behind the glass

at once and green boat

filled with broken

Summer-days entered the harbor.

Brothers and Sisters

When they became people with each other, they painted the Milky Way with skim milk. Big blue flowers bloomed that day on another side of the river and all the seagulls from the shore cut a piece of the sky and waved to them. They felt understood, loved and needed, like brothers and sisters from one big and good family.

A Trip to the Village (almost 10 years later)

Her blue shoes had not been shined for months, and when he came from the shower, wearing a long bathrobe with silver stars all over it, she had already packed all her belongings into a small yellow suitcase that she kept under their bed all this time.

She kissed him good night and reminded him to turn off the stove. She got up, adjusted her jacket and lit a cigarette. She ran down the stairs, holding the yellow suitcase in one hand and the cigarette in the other. She thought about the Moon, the Milky Way, and the silver stars, and the village of her childhood. At the front door, she realized that she forgot her umbrella, but there was no time to go back now, the train was leaving in fifteen minutes.

She was going to the village to shine her blue shoes! When the train took off, she decided to brush her teeth. She met her reflection in a small round mirror above the sink. A woman in her early thirties, a toothbrush in one hand, wearing a jacket and a pair of old Levi’s, a few pimples, soft pinky cheeks, silver tips beginning to show in her dark curly hair, stared at her. She flushed the bubble gum and brushed her teeth. She was tired and fell asleep in her compartment.

The train took off and began slowly picking up speed. She was getting closer to the village! She thought about the gas station over there, in the village. Almost every boy wanted to work at the gas station, or maybe at the fire station when he would grow up. She dreamed of gas and fire, and her childhood, and Mom’s old house. It always smelled like diesel for her in this little village.

Early in the morning, the rain started behind her ribbed compartment window. When she opened her gray eyes, the rumbling of the wheels gradually faded, but the strong smell of her childhood village was now all over her. She looked under the bed and saw the small yellow suitcase covered with thick layers of dust. The sound of lost birds was coming from under the bathroom door. It suddenly stopped and she looked around wondering. And then he came from the shower holding her shined blue shoes in his hands. Long bath robe with silver stars all over it and shiny blue shoes in his hands reminded her of the Moon and the Milky Way, and the smell of a burned stove reminded her of a little village, where she grew up, where it always smelled like diesel.

He kissed her good morning and reminded her to brush her teeth.

She got up, adjusted her nightgown and lit a cigarette. She realized that he forgot to turn off the stove, but there was no time to go back now, the train was leaving in fifteen minutes.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

More moments of life

What can be better than "cleaning" Russian dry fish (vobla) on New Yorker Review of books?
Is this about adaptation or lack of Russian press in the house? I guess it is about lack of interest in Russian press in the house.

In a crowd of people at the conference where I knew nobody everybody was suppose to congratulate a person next to her/him. I congratulated a men who was standing next to me. He shooked my hand. He had only one on finger on each hand.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Selected episodes

On Thursday on Rosh Hashannah services, when I said "Shana Tova" to a person besides me, I shaked his hand and realized he has only one finger on each hand.

Helping our friend to get out his bike from the truck of his car, John dropped all his keys... into the gutter. It took some courage to talk him out of the idea to swimming all the way down the drain.

Un-folding the sails on the boat today I silently compared it to folding the torah in the morning services. Similar comfort and discomfort between winds of life and truth of living.

The most of the paintings from my July show "Landscapes with no horizon" look as an enter into another space, not a landscape and not a painting.

My old abstract NY painting has been used as a cover to keep the wooden table from the rain. It rained all right. When I took of the table cloth and turned the painting over I discovered that it is called "Wet Space".

Tuesday, June 15, 2010


After looking through latest work and picking up pieces for the show I came up with the title: "Landscapes with no Horizon". I went downstairs to J's studio. On a big table there was an open box with some strange black plastic structure in it. Box was open. On a cover it said: ARTIFICIAL HORIZONS.

Sunday, June 13, 2010


Once upon a time, many years ago, when I was a resident in Hambidge Center for Creative Arts, I left a container of strawberry jam open on a porch. When in the morning I came out I saw a "sculpture" of buzzing flies in and around the jar; some of them eating each other... That week I created an image of a bowl full with red thick substance surrounded by small buzzing insects... and later on had a painting "Forgotten Strawberry Jam".

Two days ago I repainted a recent piece, which had bleeding feet walking the wire before. No legs left.