Envy is your prime teacher.
Spots, clouds, textural forms always evoke associations in my mind. I do not know why I see one or another. It perhaps depens on my mood, or a thought that is in my head, or the feeling that lives in my heart at that moment. Sometimes complete stories occur, sometimes I see faces in them. Spots is as any other thing embed in the current of space and effect on my view. It’s very funny and interesting is to play whith them.
http://www.artmajeur.com/en/art-gallery/gallery/dealieotto/1639522
It seems at first sight that people on a street move randomly. But only for me, as passer-by, when I get in the crowd. Each city and even a block of a city has its own nature of shifting. As well as an hour of the day or the whole century. As if a spirit appears in the crowd that unites persons regardless of their experience, mind or feelings. And regardless of relations that one person produces with others. It is like another type of connection, another type of relationships. And citizens plunge into them beyond their will every day.
http://www.artmajeur.com/en/art-gallery/gallery/dealieotto/1639564#
A Weather is a very brief moment. But like a band-master tunes the whole orchestra to mutual mood the weather affects a space. It has its own symphonies, arias, duets and jazz composition? I wanted to preserve them in my mind.
http://www.artmajeur.com/en/art-gallery/gallery/dealieotto/1638994
Myselfs is a line of what happens with me at the brief moment, while my face is changing its expression.
It is a handwriting of an internal motion.
The motion won’t ever recurs. And it is new every time. As well as a facial expression never recurs.
A mirror, picrure, fi lm don’t have a capacity to refl ect the spectrum of life of a human face.
And they do not show the experience that the person feels at that right moment when the expression of his face is changing.
Myselfs is a line of what happens with me at the brief moment, while my face is changing its expression.
It is a handwriting of an internal motion.
The motion won’t ever recurs. And it is new every time. As well as a facial expression never recurs.
A mirror, picrure, fi lm don’t have a capacity to refl ect the spectrum of life of a human face.
And they do not show the experience that the person feels at that right moment when the expression of his face is changing.
http://www.artmajeur.com/en/art-gallery/gallery/dealieotto/1640653
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VqyLSYvvuuU
What does make our day humdrum? Perhaps what we do every day with reluctence? I should not have done this but, as a matter of routine or rule or habit, I continue doing what I have to but don't like. And one more question is am I going to continue on the same lines?
Что делает наши дни серыми (будничными). Может это то, что мы делаем каждый день с неохотой. Мне бы не делать этого, но по какому-то заведенному распорядку, или правилу, или привычке, продолжаю делать то, что мне нужно, но не нравится делать. И еще вопрос: продолжать ли дальше в том же духе.
http://www.artmajeur.com/en/art-gallery/dea-lieotto/321721/job-15-march-2015/9084589
Mar 10, 2016, 9:14 AM Article by Dea Lieotto Comments
It was the unusual spring of 2015. Snow was drying out, befor
melting. Prolonged mists, prevalence of sepia in colour. Lack of
sun, of its light and warmth. I have wanted to impart colours. I
painted the April which I met as I walked. Then the May. And
finally long-awaited summer came.
http://www.artmajeur.com/en/art-gallery/artwork/street-nizhniy-novgorod-russia-26-april-2015/9055516
In passing I pick people out of the crowd from the crowd and they disapear in it, hardly noticed. Sometimes I watch their paces, figure, faces, lips, eyes, their expressions, gestures of their hands. I don't know why I notice exactly those features and persons in the crowd. It probably depends from my mood or from my intentions. Time to time the face that I briefly point out from others sets up high spirits although I never learn his name. Now it happed right the same way - no names, no stories, just brief vision and my heart became lighter.
Мимолетно выхватываю из толпы людей, и, так же, едва замеченными они исчезают в толпе. Иногда отмечаю походку, фигуру, лица, только губы, глаза, их выражение, жесты рук. По какой причине выхватываю их из общей массы, не знаю. Может это зависит от настроения, может от настроя. Иногда лицо, мельком замеченное среди других, создает отличное настроение, хотя имени его обладателя я так и не узнаю. Так и в этот раз: не имени, не истории, мимолетное видение, от которого стало светлее.
http://www.artmajeur.com/en/art-gallery/artwork/the-woman-in-the-bus-on-march-21-2016/9083395
February of 2016. The Winter. My sister and I were in Rio at the first time. Everything is new in the city. I've seen and learnt one important thing there. This thing is space. Rio is a very vibrant city. And full of hustle. Nevertheless it's right the city where I understood at the first time what the word contemplation means. Rhythms of verticals of high buildings, contour lines of horizons, proximity all of them to the ocean, mountains and plants is a very attractive thing about Rio de Janeiro. I hope being there again.
http://www.artmajeur.com/en/art-gallery/artwork/rio-de-janeiro-10-febriary-2016/9084208
Each picture has its own story. But I don't think I know the story. Everything is demanding to be defined. Even the story of a picture. I've painted this. How? When? Why this thing, not the other. I know what is painted in this picture. I was impressed by vulnerability of that moment. And by her pose. So much loneliness and hopeless was in her posture at that time. I transform the light of the lamp into the moon. Because I allways remember about Moon Goddess. Night, moonlight, loneliness, at window. It's just mood. A moment which happens with everybody.
It was in the middle of 2015. My sister and I wanted to travel to Rio de Janeiro. Sometimes we studied Portuguese and about Rio. About Its dance culture and carnival. Not only about this, but rather about why people in their country so in love with dancing and carnival. Not each of us can dance but each of us wants to, at least once in life. Accordance, passion, strength of tango always bewitch. Now after I have been in Rio de Janeiro, I can feel where carnival and dancing come from.
When shuch thought comes in my mind I want at once to draw. Drawing of faces is like a kiss in its possibility to give a touch to the feeling that the person carries on. The challenge which attracts me is in each face, how the person comes out of one?s lines. Not even to touch the secret but to get closer to it. Just for a brief moment to make the impossible possible. To sense the person and one?s perfection. I draw faces in this way.
"Создаст же бог такую красоту!". Когда в моей голове появляется эта мысль, меня тут же тянет сделать зарисовку. Рисовать лица подобно поцелую, возможность притронутся к чувству, которое несет в себе человек. В каждом лице, в том как человек проявляется в игре его линий, есть загадка, которая меня притягивает. Не прикоснуться к тайне, а приблизиться к ней. На короткий миг сделать невозможное возможным. Ощутить человека, его совершенство. Так я рисую лица.
http://www.artmajeur.com/en/art-gallery/artwork/lheya-24042015/9043249
http://www.artmajeur.com/en/art-gallery/artwork/look-21-march-2015/9047452
Oil is a magic substance in my hands. It can mold.
It's like clay in hands of a sculptor.
Or like sounds in keys of a piano.
With oil one can create wonderful reality.
My hands feel it. that is why when I take oil into my hands I confide my feelings not an idea.
Масло волшебное средство в руках художника. Им можно лепить.
По своим возможностяим оно близко к глине в руках скульптора.
Или как звуки в клавиатуре фортепиано.
С ним можно творить удивительную реальность.
Его чувствуют мои руки. И поэтому, когда я беру масло в руки, я просто реализую
чувства, а не идею.
It was the unusual spring of 2015. Snow was drying out, befor
melting. Prolonged mists, prevalence of sepia in colour. Lack of
sun, of its light and warmth. I have wanted to impart colours. I
painted the April which I met as I walked. Then the May. And
finally long-awaited summer came.
http://www.artmajeur.com/en/art-gallery/artwork/street-nizhniy-novgorod-russia-26-april-2015/9055516
