Jun 7, 2016
The infinite white color. Completely empty white room. No servant, no bedside table, no window, no door – nothing. The only foreign objects in this purgatory – the big, constantly burning candle, a gray mattress and me. Sometimes contours of this room are washed away, the ceiling merges with walls and smoothly passes into a floor. Then it seems to me as if I am in a hollow sphere. To dispel this illusion, I should rise and feel the room corners, to jump up to a ceiling to return feeling of adequate geometricity of space. Though recently I began to do it reluctantly: I notice that the longer an illusion of feeling of a sphere, the more densely it contracts around me. Recently I have had a desire to bring it to the sizes of egg and to check what happens: everything will fall back into normality, the sphere will break up, having found access to the world behind his walls, or will simply flatten me out.
May 26, 2016
Passing by the boulevard near the station, which is always filled with human turmoil, I have seen several artists who were peacefully drawing in a shadow of birches. She was among them. Having settled down slightly at some distance from the others, she, with the stiffened smile appearing on a human face, shipped in other world, created something on the big canvas lying directly on a stone blocks.
May 19, 2016
Here's your house – there, on a snow threshold,
I knocked at the oak door.
The similarity of God has opened to me,
Having whispered: "Trust, but don't believe".
After the easy waves of her graceful hand there is a strange interlacing of the lines meeting in the big shaded circle on a wall. She, apparently, is so keen on this process that the image itself doesn't worry her anymore. The main thing - the moment of creation something from nothing, the idea embodiment in reality. And its accuracy, as well as, however, idea itself, remains on the second plan. So passes an hour. Lines are removed from each other, branching - the picture begins to remind system of blood vessels.
May 11, 2016
Suddenly the forest begins to thin. The small gaping gleams are already visible between kroner filled by phosphoric stars. Trunks of trees aren't tied anymore, and grow as if having stood apart from each other as if something has separated this part of the wood. I feel that I'm near its core.
Apr 30, 2016
The skies drags on a gloomy dullness without the slightest hint on the sun. Dank autumn wind walks between trees and penetrates them. Occasionally under the krones slips a certain similarity of snow, but it is dissolved at once into a whitish haze which had settled on the wood in the morning. The dry blackening foliage crackles under my steps.
I go forward, going deep into dense thickets and being lost among artful designs of branches and ubiquitous windbreaks as if one more of millions of fallen leaves. Birds smoothly become silent and the wood plunges into the deaf silence. Lungs stick in the condensed blackness of air. It is felt that I have come into such depths of the wood which nobody before me had disturbed. As if the little spider who has got out of a gap in a wall, I investigate this foggy world, which is spread around me in a gloomy whiteness, leaning only on a thin thread of own mind which at any time can break. And then I will remain one against infinite hordes of the trees hidden in a gloom.