my studio life line

Where is Everybody

2010-11-08T19:17:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-08T19:11:00.000-08:00

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)

2010-11-08T19:08:00.000-08:00

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.

More moments of life

2010-10-17T12:26:00.000-07:00

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.

Selected episodes

2010-09-11T17:32:00.000-07:00

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".

Horizons

2010-06-15T16:59:00.000-07:00

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.

Insects

2010-06-13T11:58:00.000-07:00

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.

Russian objective approach to history

2010-05-29T17:41:00.000-07:00

It is understandable that Art and art movements of the country of any time can be considered a reflection of its politics.Filled with rage during revolutions and times of change people destroy symbols, official signs, slogans... they want to forget and, most importantly, not advertise the points of view that have been reflections of something wrong and evil. But some may argue that by doing so they destroy art or destroy history. At the same time, it can be stated, that they re-create art and make history. In a way, both of the ideas are correct. It creates a controversy.

In 2008 Kurskaya metro station in Moscow reopened after the restoration. Its vestibule, returned to splendor of past years, was adorned with the lines from the Soviet anthem: "Stalin our Leader with faith in the people/Inspired us to build up the land that we love".
The inscription had disappeared from the station in 1956, after Khrushev's revelations of Stalin's crimes. The statue of Stalin could not be found, so its niche remained empty.The words alone are enough to provoke an outcry.The statue was not returned to the station. The inscription remained, the director of the Moscow metro, ordered the the words about Stalin's inspirational role be neutralized by the addition of on emore verse from the anthem, this one about Lenin: "Through days dark and stormy where Great Lenin led us/Our eyes saw the bright sun of freedom above."

When describing my own work I often call it "nostalgic fairy tales". The longing for a common, known space often is a key in my imagery. As a painter I want my viewer to walk into my paintings, as if in Stanislavsky's method, which requires the actor to enter the role so completely as to forget his own identity. When people will be walking into the Kurskaya station they will be walking into the history, common place that has changed its identity a few times.

Through the door

2010-05-17T17:20:00.000-07:00

There is a glass french door between my kitchen and my studio.. yesterday I took a picture through the glass. I see that all my main painting characters are already in the picture: boat and ladder.

what happened to the "flying invasion"

2010-05-13T16:27:00.000-07:00

... purple wanted way too much and was almost uncomfortable, which, of course felt like the point, at first. But it was difficult to look at. The idea of dividing space into two "areas" - one closer, one further was good. Reaching this effect using the illusion of weight - worked, I think:

this still felt too purple

I gave this painting a name a long time ago (right after the "invasion" happened) I called it "Watch me drifting" - thinking about drifting, as of doing something to keep balance in the water or on ice.

There was a strong wish to change word WATCH to TEACH today, but I managed not to do it.

those bright reflections on this grey floor!

2010-05-13T12:21:00.000-07:00

it is totally sunny outside

yellow rag

2010-05-13T11:59:00.000-07:00

I am taking a break looking at my working table. A Mess. Bright yellow rag stands out. Bright yellow rag - a piece of an old towel, which was the one I used after my first shower here... I am home now.

in the next three days

2010-05-07T10:14:00.000-07:00

It has been quite in the studio, although not in a sketch book and not in my head. OnWednesday morning I filled in 10 feet of a brick wall in ART 12 Gallery in Fort Point. ARTWALK starts tonight and goes on until Sunday evening. It has been a long while since my last "real" show in Boston area. I kept the most of recent work (especially large pieces) at home and installed some older work, even one painting from 2007, which is small. All the walls have been distributed ahead of time. I asked for a brick wall, but did I ask for the only wall in front of which light is not working? This is too sarcastic, I think. Oh well, for the same reason why it is sarcastic it will not be hard to take care of, I think.Just half an hour, small table, a chair and rock and roll.

Large pieces that I am keeping home for now:

They are all about 6 feet high! My new work...

selected pages from sketch book

2010-04-27T15:55:00.000-07:00

For many years sketchbooks have been my stream of conscious. I often wrote in them, planned work describing it to myself more than drawing or painting. Then times will come during which for unknown to me reason, I will be totally unable to fill in the page in a sketch book. I will open it, proudly date it and close it. From time to time I came up with book that have no written text, or where text becomes a part of the page. In the past collage was a big reason and part of those books. But two weeks ago, after talking one of my students into the whole idea of a "visual diary" (this is how I call it for my students) I became excited and suddenly started one. It feels wonderful. It is, I think, this time connecting images with thoughts, both consciously and not. I am even thinking about making a page for them on my new site. Here are a few random pages scanned yesterday. I will put collages separately.

First catalog of my work is available to everybody:

2010-04-13T11:55:00.000-07:00

... and the floor

2010-04-12T18:42:00.000-07:00

is sometimes the best painting there is

flying invasion

2010-04-12T18:30:00.000-07:00

of purple flying shapes happened ... I think that soon enough some of them will fly away while some will come closer.. I want to bring this image a feeling of breaking, rupture, cold wind... using the opposites as my main tool: part of the painting stays calm and happy, as if reflections can have weight.

thinking about narrative...

2010-04-09T15:42:00.000-07:00

... in my work I decided to underline that: Being surrounded by a foreign language my creative process is often a wonder, a search, a feeling of an absurd tragedy of life. I do not apply ideas to my work, but rather allow practice, images or final work itself, test theories. I am a wonderer. My art explores the world through a mixture of autobiography, symbolism and philosophy.

What happened to the "dirty orange pond"

2010-04-06T17:08:00.001-07:00

it is not finished in my opinion, but in a big way it is. Sun on a rainy day. "Watch me Drifting". But of course a lot can happen. I am trying very hard to not overpaint anything, sometimes because of that I have to paint over something.

... that piece that has been on the floor and super sensitive

2010-04-06T17:02:00.000-07:00

Images came out back-words. There was a park. Then there was a bench. Then it got cold and snowed. And now we have something like an Iced Park. It is not for ice-skaters, it is for lost dogs, blind dates and ice-fishing.

Another laundry day?

2010-04-05T18:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday new canvas pre-painted dirty pink was waking up with bright yellow water, alizarin splashes and floating pumpkins.... random black and white lines made it look like a dirty pink pond.. very ugly, needless to say. Today it started raining and dark fog covered pinks and yellows, erasing the lines of random plants. White came in like a cloud, dripped, washed off some grays and darks. Pink looked out, as an eye through a looking glass, crying. With one dark brown line across the whole painting on the top it is just another laundry day. BUt we will know better tomorrow.

March 31, in the studio

2010-03-31T12:36:00.000-07:00

Monday, March 29, 2010

2010-03-30T12:33:00.000-07:00

Reassembled back to normal, after the Passover dinner last night, it feels confused in the studio. Furniture shifted, people left, sounds changed, food vanished, paintings... moved back and fourth, now trying to find their spaces back to where they can pretend to be invisible. - A feeling of disorientation creates a tension between the objects in the room. Passover Haggadahs building a mountain on an old wooden chair - poetry review sitting on the top of a tower, like a butterfly on a cake, reminding us about the mystery of every single individual and the impossibility of the escape.

Two new unfinished gray squares are taking the studio space back.

One just came back down to the floor. It wants to be left alone, it wants to be finished. It already feels over-painted. How do I stop? It is seems to be more narrational than needed, but it is balanced and has a character. It is bloody. Two small bare feet walk on the wire. Blood dropping down through a dark gray fog.

The other new square piece is asleep and vulnerable. Asking for emptiness, abstracted bright lights, as wire projections through my windows shields. Can rain be white?

doors story

2010-03-27T14:22:00.000-07:00

... since I left an old post about the door show in Russia, I thought it might be a good idea to tell a story of what happened to that whole idea. It has its own life with a new purpose - transformed- wondering, but making a point.

In March 2008 I had a personal show in Gallery 360, called "Enter and Exit", then 4 months later that show went to New York, to a place, which is unfortunately now out of business, an editors club in Chelsea, The Village Quill and made it to a Russian Word Newspaper in NYC in a form of an interview. After all this traveling doors/paintings went to Boston and had an Open House in Brookline in May of 2009. In 2008 show Gallery sold 4 paintings. Open House in Brookline sold 2 more. It was as if there was a psychological obstacle of a door. Why do we need one? To enter? to exit? to send somebody away, to let somebody in? I think this what this project happened to be for me at the end. I moved all of them with me to Boston, whatever was not yet here already and now have a huge crazy kitchen closet with all my painted doors trimmed and sliced, if needed. I think they finally found its place and purpose. Do I want to make furniture? I don't. In that particular case, it was the other way around.

new beginning

2010-03-26T14:46:00.000-07:00

Today is Friday, March 26, 2010 I am re-starting this art-blog with hopes to find a way to keep it going... day by day

from door to door

2008-01-02T16:22:00.000-08:00

This summer, walking dusty moscow streets, half-cooked in Summer heat I found myself on the premises of an old Beer Factory that has been closed since the early 90's. Today it was open and functioned well, but not as a beer-factory, rather as a New Art Center. It was still under construction and dirt around the area smelled like Soviet beer. In the middle of this beautiful mess a new and clean New York style gallery with high ceilings, wooden floors and big windows was standing. I entered. The name of the gallery was (and is) Proun.

You can find more about it on: www.proungallery.com

Show that I found myself in was called ENTER-EXIT. Even a title gave me goose bumps, because it was almost a year since I was thinking about painting on doors; sort of try and switch from painting doors to painting on them and see how different it will be. I think I have a right to label myself as a gambler, when we talk about the mystic of positive and negative space, entering and exiting spaces. i worked with images of stage, open window and dividing forever. I felt almost high. Old folk-style doors, collected from Russian churches and villages have been installed around the gallery, coming out of the floor, like mushrooms after the rain.

Each door was more designed then painted and images would be simple: flowers, one figure, a tree. Because of the installation the viewer was able to see the door from both sides, so everything that was written, painted over on another side of the door became a part of the story, making everything more narrative and more "russian" that way. I walked around the show for about 15 minutes and, once exiting, thought about Red Riding Hood and an angry wolf.

The whole experience was challenging. Who am I? Am I thinking and creating based on my background? Am I a XIX century peasant or a Moscow XXI century curator? Oh well... I am who I am and this is just great. Coming back from Moscow, I took a deep breath and started my doors series. I do think that "Enter or Exit?" still is the best title for my up-coming show in March? So far, it keeps growing and changing, but all makes sense. They (doors) do look like my work, tell stories, ask questions. Sometimes its a good idea to knock before entering. I am not afraid of the plastics of forms and find old door handles, locks and order metal tabs.