I must admit I am absolutely fascinated by recipes which call for fat-free yogurt or milk combined with liberal amounts of butter and cheese. I feel they tell me more about their authors that I want or need to know. Come on, I am tempted to say, live dangerously, try 2% yogurt... :)
Life, my sister (after Boris Pasternak): strawberries. 12"×12", Oil on linen panel, June 2013
For this rework of an almost two-years old painting, I pulled out the same bowl, and filled it with new strawberries; matching two moments in time. Summer, strawberries; for me, strawberries remain a seasonal thing. And in season, they still smell of childhood.
But the two years have not passed in vain; among other things, there has been a lot of mental decluttering, scrubbing away of protective crusts people call "maturity".
And so today, this painting brought me back to a poem which I, strangely, nearly forgotten; even though it used to be most important to me once upon a time, at the dawn of my life: "Life, my sister", by Boris Pasternak. The poem is so powerful, so important, that I believe this painting might be a beginning of a new series.
A new blog post in the #sonnetsincolour series:
There is a love triangle in the background of this sonnet, which, by its very nature, defies the very concept of love: this triangle, and the pain the speaker experiences in one of its roles, cannot really be captured in the conventional framework of love. And so the poet lashes out against the very word, "love", clashing its various meanings against one another, as though in a battle.
I haven't shared "Today's work" for a while, because there was a photo session planned for the weekend, so better photos. So, here it is, this one is from Saturday, one of two, rather different, studies for Sonnet 48 (How careful was I when I took my way...)
A transcription of irises (Study for sonnet 48). 12"×12", Oil on linen panel, June 2013
With this, I think, I'll indulge myself today with painting a still life in natural light, if only because we were at the farmers' market yesterday, so there is plenty of subject matter to choose from...
Blake gardens. 16"×20" (40.6×50.8cm). Oil on canvas panel. November 2011
This one is listed today for Daily Paintworks auction, where you can zoom in:
http://www.dailypaintworks.com/buy/auction/139716
When art is over (after Boris Pasternak). 24"x30". Oil on canvas. 2012.
When a feeling dictates the line,
It sends its slave to the stage,
Then the art is over.
There is only soil, and fate.
Click to see details: http://lenalevin.com/gal/Best/1
Matissean negotiations. 12"×12" (30.5×30.5cm) Oil on canvas panel
An attempt to capture the inner workings of the painting process: the moment where things turn into colour planes.
I also reworked another painting yesterday, and put final touches on the two still lifes after Matisse and de Heem today, but it makes no sense to show preliminary photos, when it's time to make final ones (over the weekend). The rest of the day will be dedicated to harmonizing the inner and outer workings of my life...
A new sonnet painting added to the "Sonnets in colour" album, its background story scheduled for tomorrow...
"Sonnet 40. Take all my loves, my love..." 20"x20". Oil on linen. 2013
Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
Then, if for my love, thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;
But yet be blam'd, if thou thy self deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty:
And yet, love knows it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes.
#shakespeare #williamshakespeare #sonnetsincolour
A new blog post in the "Studio News" series...
Roses in March (after Ilya Erenburg). 20"×16" (50.8×40.6cm), oil on linen canvas, March 2013.
The winters we have known,
the colds we have frozen ourselves into:
There was no sadness anymore,
Only pride, and calamity.
Caught in this hard, icy grief,
blinded by dry blizzards,
We couldn't see, and yet we saw
The green eyes of Spring.
Released today at +UGallery : http://www.ugallery.com/ProductDetail.aspx?ProductID=26777
