170x80 cm, oil on canvas, 2013
It's been a while. I have been busy moving from one rented apartment to another, trying hard to keep up the good work. The first move was to an apartment you wouldn't believe existed within my financial limits. It was a dream home, but as in dreams, it could not stay mine for long.
But the good news is, the Tigers project has given me a nice push to continue working as it was received so nicely. One of the Tigers is now decorating an office of a big company, another has landed in a private home.
Apart from drawing and painting like crazy all that which surrounds me - the view from the balcony is an old and somewhat romantic ruin - I have started working on the next thing. The forest above, a gift for my brother, is part of the new project. I have been dilligently procrastinating, if you can say such a thing. Sketches fill the room till there's no air but still no end, nor beginning (of the actual painting) in sight.
Forest has taken over my life. I seem to be thinking of nothing else, even contemplating moving to Europe for a while just to live in a forest and paint it until I'm satisfied. It could be West Europe (France is my favorite) or East (Georgia) or something in-between, like Slovenia, which I believe is covered up to its nostrils with moss. I just need to avoid bears, and then the forest will just fall into my arms and surrender, I suppose. Or I should just rely on the few sketches (in oil) I made here, in the humble strips of green we mistakenly label "forest" and use my imagination instead, - anything goes.
But the good news is, the Tigers project has given me a nice push to continue working as it was received so nicely. One of the Tigers is now decorating an office of a big company, another has landed in a private home.
Apart from drawing and painting like crazy all that which surrounds me - the view from the balcony is an old and somewhat romantic ruin - I have started working on the next thing. The forest above, a gift for my brother, is part of the new project. I have been dilligently procrastinating, if you can say such a thing. Sketches fill the room till there's no air but still no end, nor beginning (of the actual painting) in sight.
Forest has taken over my life. I seem to be thinking of nothing else, even contemplating moving to Europe for a while just to live in a forest and paint it until I'm satisfied. It could be West Europe (France is my favorite) or East (Georgia) or something in-between, like Slovenia, which I believe is covered up to its nostrils with moss. I just need to avoid bears, and then the forest will just fall into my arms and surrender, I suppose. Or I should just rely on the few sketches (in oil) I made here, in the humble strips of green we mistakenly label "forest" and use my imagination instead, - anything goes.
