Before Drinking Champagne
This year has been a challenging one for me, seemingly split between two poles —an inner search as an artist and an outward expression that demands attention and time, depriving concentration on the paintings. While organizing my notes, I noticed the pace at which one event replaced another and now wonder how to describe it all without producing a volume worthy of Tolstoy.
It’s hard to believe, but this year I participated in 14 pastel-related exhibitions. Nine of them were held in physical venues across different cities and countries, six of which took place in Russia, in cities such as Moscow, Omsk, and Penza. The others were in the United States, France, and Taiwan. I was also an organizer for three of the Russian exhibitions.
The beginning of the year, however, was quiet and transparent. I came down with COVID right after New Year’s Eve and spent my time listening to the snowflakes falling outside my window. My illness wasn’t severe, and once I began to feel better, I started sketching for a series that had first emerged back in 2020. The world didn’t bother me—no emails, no urgent requests. I gazed at the white landscape outside, sketched with a thick graphite pencil, and stretched canvases. I wanted different angles and wanted to tell a story of days that seemed identical yet were so different. I was again concerned about the topic of everyday objects and such a different sense of time.
It’s hard to believe, but this year I participated in 14 pastel-related exhibitions. Nine of them were held in physical venues across different cities and countries, six of which took place in Russia, in cities such as Moscow, Omsk, and Penza. The others were in the United States, France, and Taiwan. I was also an organizer for three of the Russian exhibitions.
The beginning of the year, however, was quiet and transparent. I came down with COVID right after New Year’s Eve and spent my time listening to the snowflakes falling outside my window. My illness wasn’t severe, and once I began to feel better, I started sketching for a series that had first emerged back in 2020. The world didn’t bother me—no emails, no urgent requests. I gazed at the white landscape outside, sketched with a thick graphite pencil, and stretched canvases. I wanted different angles and wanted to tell a story of days that seemed identical yet were so different. I was again concerned about the topic of everyday objects and such a different sense of time.
In the studio
The "Blueberry" series grew almost imperceptibly over six months. Each time I pulled out a new sheet, I created a new painting, searching for a fresh resonance in those shades of blue and gray, and a note of warmth nestled within the cool, delicate hues.
While I was conjuring over the pictures, I searched for a gallery space and, by some miracle, found one just a few months before the exhibition. I knew it had to take place in May or early June. After that, various joint exhibitions and projects with the National Pastel Society were slated to begin, consuming both time and attention. These commitments would have made it impossible to complete a large series and focus on a personal project. Until the very day of the opening, I continued stretching canvases and painting. And, for the rest of the year, I kept working in every possible break and pause.
While I was conjuring over the pictures, I searched for a gallery space and, by some miracle, found one just a few months before the exhibition. I knew it had to take place in May or early June. After that, various joint exhibitions and projects with the National Pastel Society were slated to begin, consuming both time and attention. These commitments would have made it impossible to complete a large series and focus on a personal project. Until the very day of the opening, I continued stretching canvases and painting. And, for the rest of the year, I kept working in every possible break and pause.
“Easy Presence” at the Gallery of Contemporary Art “Vmeste”
The exhibition "Easy Presence" truly lived up to its name—it was wonderful, intimate, and very well-attended. I showcased around 30 works.
After June, the "second half of the year" began—a time filled with negotiations, shipments, and deliveries of paintings, framing projects, endless messages and correspondence, drafting texts, gathering materials, flights, and complex relationships. I barely wrote for my blog but made almost daily entries in my personal journal, which was essential to focus on what was important and real.
When compiling the list of exhibitions for my website for 2021, I was surprised to find that only three months of the year were free from exhibition projects. Even these months were spent preparing for upcoming shows. Meanwhile, some months had as many as two or more exhibitions, such as September, June, or December.
September was particularly intense. There was the "All-Russian Pastel" exhibition in Omsk, where I attended not only with my paintings but also as a representative of our Pastel Society to participate in a roundtable discussion. At the same time, the "Olga&Vicente — rendezvous in Taiwan" exhibition in Taiwan featured about 25 of my works, although I couldn’t attend in Kaohsiung due to restrictions. Around the same period, the "International Pastel Exhibition" in Giverny, France, organized by the French pastel society Art du pastel en France, also took place—another event I couldn’t attend. The last exhibition in September was the "Enduring Brilliance" 49th exhibition of the Pastel Society of America, which was held online. Here, my painting "Sunny Latte" received the Richard McKinley Mentorship Award.
After June, the "second half of the year" began—a time filled with negotiations, shipments, and deliveries of paintings, framing projects, endless messages and correspondence, drafting texts, gathering materials, flights, and complex relationships. I barely wrote for my blog but made almost daily entries in my personal journal, which was essential to focus on what was important and real.
When compiling the list of exhibitions for my website for 2021, I was surprised to find that only three months of the year were free from exhibition projects. Even these months were spent preparing for upcoming shows. Meanwhile, some months had as many as two or more exhibitions, such as September, June, or December.
September was particularly intense. There was the "All-Russian Pastel" exhibition in Omsk, where I attended not only with my paintings but also as a representative of our Pastel Society to participate in a roundtable discussion. At the same time, the "Olga&Vicente — rendezvous in Taiwan" exhibition in Taiwan featured about 25 of my works, although I couldn’t attend in Kaohsiung due to restrictions. Around the same period, the "International Pastel Exhibition" in Giverny, France, organized by the French pastel society Art du pastel en France, also took place—another event I couldn’t attend. The last exhibition in September was the "Enduring Brilliance" 49th exhibition of the Pastel Society of America, which was held online. Here, my painting "Sunny Latte" received the Richard McKinley Mentorship Award.
Blueberry. Sunny Latte, 100 x 100 cm, 2021
I won’t list every exhibition from the year—some of them I’ve already written about in my blog or on social media. I will say, however, that this year has been an unforgettable experience of seeking balance and opportunities.
I’ve made a note to myself for next year: I want to spend more time with my paintings and try to reduce the number of exhibitions I participate in. This year turned out so packed because some projects were postponed due to restrictions, while others were added spontaneously, leading to an unexpectedly busy schedule.
During this exhibition time, I once again became convinced that my friends are amazing people, and it is much easier to experience difficulties with them. They can record a simultaneous translation into Chinese for my film while sitting in a storage room, track down the only graphic art expert in Russia, pack and ship my paintings, or silently watch me water my willows in sadness without disturbing me.
My studio also held its own discoveries during this whirlwind of exhibitions. I realized that my sketchbook is a center of gravity for me, that I can work on large paintings even while on phone calls, that small formats matter just as much, and, most importantly, that I need to learn to rest deliberately.
One painting, which I might call a miracle, was created during one of the most challenging organizational periods—between the conclusion of the "Art of Pastel" exhibition in Penza and the start of preparations for the "Crossings" exhibition in Moscow. It was late November, and I needed—like breathing—to apply a certain color. One of the canvases I had stretched for a commission was damaged, and rather than cut it off, I started painting on the remaining smooth surface.
I’ve made a note to myself for next year: I want to spend more time with my paintings and try to reduce the number of exhibitions I participate in. This year turned out so packed because some projects were postponed due to restrictions, while others were added spontaneously, leading to an unexpectedly busy schedule.
During this exhibition time, I once again became convinced that my friends are amazing people, and it is much easier to experience difficulties with them. They can record a simultaneous translation into Chinese for my film while sitting in a storage room, track down the only graphic art expert in Russia, pack and ship my paintings, or silently watch me water my willows in sadness without disturbing me.
My studio also held its own discoveries during this whirlwind of exhibitions. I realized that my sketchbook is a center of gravity for me, that I can work on large paintings even while on phone calls, that small formats matter just as much, and, most importantly, that I need to learn to rest deliberately.
One painting, which I might call a miracle, was created during one of the most challenging organizational periods—between the conclusion of the "Art of Pastel" exhibition in Penza and the start of preparations for the "Crossings" exhibition in Moscow. It was late November, and I needed—like breathing—to apply a certain color. One of the canvases I had stretched for a commission was damaged, and rather than cut it off, I started painting on the remaining smooth surface.
Windy Slope, 88 x 115
I felt as though I was simply smearing pastel across a large sheet, all for the sake of two bands of ashen mist—one darker, the other lighter. Everything else in the painting subserviated to those two bands and didn’t matter much to me. The painting created itself.
I enjoy applying to the sheets something that is nearly impossible to explain, something you can feel or recognize but can hardly put into words or define in a concrete form. It’s where I find rest, and it’s where I’m heading and will arrive someday, if life allows. Right now, two themes interest me most: the sensual and the human. I’m curious to see where this focus will lead me.
Discoveries
Here’s a quote for today:
"Learn to love art in yourself, not yourself in art." - Konstantin Stanislavski
This phrase always puts everything back in its rightful place.
I enjoy applying to the sheets something that is nearly impossible to explain, something you can feel or recognize but can hardly put into words or define in a concrete form. It’s where I find rest, and it’s where I’m heading and will arrive someday, if life allows. Right now, two themes interest me most: the sensual and the human. I’m curious to see where this focus will lead me.
Discoveries
Here’s a quote for today:
"Learn to love art in yourself, not yourself in art." - Konstantin Stanislavski
This phrase always puts everything back in its rightful place.
To all my readers, I wish you a Happy New Year!
See also
See also
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