Memories of the… Future

Summer 2012. Heat. A flower is crying, a field of wheat is crying. People in the city are like sleepy flies: someone sleeps in the subway, someone sits in the shade. And I in my 73 years go between them to the studio. Because of the same heat and sleepless nights my feet swelled a little. All the time in my mind I draw one by one three paintings. Got to them on the 16th floor. There are paints, canvases, there is my real life. The paintings were already born long time ago, starting from my early childhood. I still feel the warm land of my village, silk grasses, and transparent puddles after a sudden rain in the middle of the summer. I hear the breathing of the childhood, the joy of love songs, and happiness because of good harvest, which falls with golden sheaves, see mornings, winded round with blue fogs. I do not have to think something out from my rural past. It is in me. Once it was rightly noticed by Tetiana Nalivna Yablonska, who supported the holy rural nature in me as if it was drawing with my paintbrush.

Vira KULEBA-BARYNOVA