Touch of summer (2022) Painting by Yulia Zhdanovich (MiliArt)

"Touch of summer"

*** Stretched canvas
*** Size 30*30 cm
*** COMMISSIONS are welcome!
If you see the painting you like, but would like it a different size - please feel free to contact me directly!

Coming out of the rumbling body of an iron caterpillar - an electric train to an abandoned half-station of the Tashino stopping point, you involuntarily feel jubilation from the realization of the fact that you left the car alone. None of the passengers have absolutely nothing to do on this small island, reminiscent of human activity with concrete slabs crumbling from time and weather changes. Seeing the curving blue body of the train, you wait for the thousand-year-old taiga to absorb the noise of steel wheels and return to its low chirping, ringing chirping, dull thud, soft rustling, uterine rumble, wet plopping and rare crackling.

To a small farm some five or six kilometers from the station—our final destination—we happened to walk along the bank along the course of the Balta River. How logical, graceful, self-sufficient and finished nature looks without equipped places for rest with benches, gazebos, garbage bins.

Literally every moment the color of the water in the river changed subject to lighting - it is turquoise, then bright blue, and then gray and iridescent, like mercury. And only the distant silhouettes of the hills did not lend themselves to color correction and remained undeciphered in the bluish haze as the shells of prehistoric turtles, or maybe the backs of whales sleeping on the water.

It was on the river banks that we stumbled upon one and a half meter mallow candles, pink double flowers of which were swayed by a warm summer wind. The background for the mallow was soft forbs, emitting a mixture of buzzing and crackling insects, interspersed with the rustle of the grassy massif and the cooing of river rapids.Just as intense was the breath-taking aroma that made it hot and poignant under the ribs: a fragrant cocktail of near-river flowers with a damp aftertaste of a cold taiga river - associated with wet bird feathers.

A rolled track, with rare pits, roots, steps - as if losing strength, a drying up stream turns under the canopy of birches into a barely noticeable forest path, and after just a kilometer it disappears altogether. Further only on signs of memory. There is no other way to get to the farm.

When I painted this picture, the following materials are vital to me:

Related themes

LandscapeMeadowMountainsSummerAcrylic Painting