paint [Theme]

The winds of time carry away the colors.

Whatever we do is meaningless, since we are doomed to death from the first second of our conception. What is this all for? Who invented the Universe, showed all the colors, left many questions and doomed it to death? Life is the road to death, no matter what paths we choose. Does all this make sense? And why am I not completely reassured by the possibility of an afterlife? Perhaps this is all because I know for sure that a painful hell awaits me, because I am not a saint. And I doubt that it will be fun there, as some write “there are more people you know in the underworld” and other nonsense. Living life with pain and ultimately ending up in inferno - am I the only one who is depressed by this picture?

The cold and prickly month of February. He looks into your coat collar and makes you quicken your step, as if he’s hurrying you towards spring, towards your dreams, towards new people you meet along the way. And you are a little scared, and you try to resist this unknown flow, grab onto tree branches, but you are still irrevocably carried forward. Gray days and changeable mood, when you really want the sun. And somewhere there, in a deep pocket, you feel with an almost icy, barely moving hand a small, glimmering coin of hope. Chilled through and through, you almost don’t believe in this find, you carefully touch it again, and the warmth begins to spread in a soft wave across your palm, rises up your shoulder and then a little down to your very heart. You look into this torn sky with gray clouds, behind which completely different colors emerge, which only you notice. And you are no longer cold at all, because you believe that spring miracles are about to knock on the old creaky door of your snow-covered house again.

I am a fan of the smell of printing ink, the rustle of paper, notes in the margins. Paper book. It has its own soul, and even photographs seem to come to life before your eyes. I like to forget a chamomile in a book and find it one frosty morning, or put a white piece of paper folded into an airplane with a list of 25 dreams written on it. How interesting it is to discover them 5 years later! And now I sit and smile quietly, opening a new book and feeling that it is alive and smells of lavender. I really want to predict what will happen tomorrow, will a real book survive in this strange era?..

As soon as the New Year holidays pass, you immediately want spring, tulips, a pink thread of dawn on the horizon and evening jogging under the warm, beautifully setting sun. Light dresses with pointed stiletto heels, a new haircut and dreams of sea voyages. And also to cut through our meadows on an old vintage bicycle with bouquets of flowers in a basket, breathe in the awakened earth, wait for the first thunderstorm and spontaneously go for a swim at the lake. How far away all this is still! In the meantime, winter monochrome, sometimes gray, sometimes white, with the smell of pine needles and home comfort, post-New Year gifts and a blank sheet of paper for the whole New Year. Thoughts, plans, expectations, goals, dreams. All that remains is to take the paints and start painting it all.

Forever yours, imaginary friend.

Dear friends! Happy New Year to you all! I want to wish you happiness! Find it in all corners of your world: in the family, in the smiles of children, in work and other worries, in the quiet rain drumming on the window panes, in the whisper of a cold wind, in the absence of snow or in its sudden appearance on your hats, in your own laughter from any nonsense. And the world will become different, and the colors will be brighter! Happy holiday to you!

Always kiss them for dessert!

Everyone who lives with us on earth. They suffer without words, which is even worse.

By thickening the colors, you can end up in a black square.

In an ocean of suffering, doubts and feelings.

This August has arrived!

It is not easy to learn to appreciate what you have at the moment. But, perhaps, it is necessary to be happy!

Colors will become nothing again.