February 25, 2025
Hello, friends!
Today I’d like to tell you about Paris in February.
Hello, friends!
Today I’d like to tell you about Paris in February.
I just got back this morning, had a bit of sleep after the flight, unpacked a large suitcase, and started opening the box with a big painting I brought back from France — a piece from the summer projects, now headed for an exhibition in Moscow. And right in that moment, I thought: if I don’t write this down now, I’ll lose some of the important memories — so I sat down at my laptop.
For the third year in a row, Paris has been nourishing me with its February haze, that gentle sense of winter under a blanket.
If it weren’t for the exhibition at the Grand Palais, which always takes place at this time, I would’ve never seen the city in this state.
For the third year in a row, Paris has been nourishing me with its February haze, that gentle sense of winter under a blanket.
If it weren’t for the exhibition at the Grand Palais, which always takes place at this time, I would’ve never seen the city in this state.
This year, my one-meter painting from the Blueberries and Eucalyptus series was selected for the exhibition. I carried it from Russia with all the paperwork, packed as oversized luggage. Everything arrived without much trouble, and in Paris, all that remained was to have the painting framed and delivered for installation.
Not long ago, the Art Capital exhibition returned to its historical venue — the Grand Palais. The building was originally constructed for the 1900 World’s Fair and has since hosted countless significant events. Inside, beneath the glass dome soaring 45 meters high, the light shifts every second, playing with shadows and sunspots. And in the evening, the dome glows above the Seine like a crown.
This time, among all the white booths, I was given a unique one — ultramarine. That color, merging with the city’s silver hues, quietly set the tone for the entire trip.
Not long ago, the Art Capital exhibition returned to its historical venue — the Grand Palais. The building was originally constructed for the 1900 World’s Fair and has since hosted countless significant events. Inside, beneath the glass dome soaring 45 meters high, the light shifts every second, playing with shadows and sunspots. And in the evening, the dome glows above the Seine like a crown.
This time, among all the white booths, I was given a unique one — ultramarine. That color, merging with the city’s silver hues, quietly set the tone for the entire trip.
On the first day alone, the Grand Palais welcomed around 15,000 visitors. Needless to say, at large exhibitions, conversations happen nonstop, without breaks — so now and then we would sneak away to walk through the city, get some air, and reset ourselves before returning to the flow of encounters.
Paris finally began to feel closer — as if, this year, all its essential parts had fused into one unique map made not just of streets. Along this route, just a few steps between the Grand Palais and the Champs-Élysées, we stumbled upon a small branch of Christie’s with a remarkable collection. Seeing it through the window, we simply couldn’t walk past.
Behind the glass we glimpsed a red Chagall and a black Soulages, and together with Katya Posetselskaya and David Decobert, we stepped in to ask if we might take a closer look.
Inside, we found exquisitely arranged rooms. In one — a collection by my favourite designer Axel Vervoordt, who is always impeccable in his wabi-sabi style; in another — that very red Chagall. And opposite, set against a deep blue rectangle of wall, hung a small painting by Nicolas de Staël. It was so beautiful we froze in place, taking in the shimmering strokes of color and discussing the work of curators — those who know how to make paintings speak louder through the space around them.
By that point, I had no doubt left about the ultramarine wall for my Blueberries.
Behind the glass we glimpsed a red Chagall and a black Soulages, and together with Katya Posetselskaya and David Decobert, we stepped in to ask if we might take a closer look.
Inside, we found exquisitely arranged rooms. In one — a collection by my favourite designer Axel Vervoordt, who is always impeccable in his wabi-sabi style; in another — that very red Chagall. And opposite, set against a deep blue rectangle of wall, hung a small painting by Nicolas de Staël. It was so beautiful we froze in place, taking in the shimmering strokes of color and discussing the work of curators — those who know how to make paintings speak louder through the space around them.
By that point, I had no doubt left about the ultramarine wall for my Blueberries.
If you walk from the Champs-Élysées and the Christie’s building toward the Grand Palais and continue along this side of the Seine, you’ll reach the far end of the Tuileries Garden — the place where I always seem to get stuck on the green chairs beneath the perfectly trimmed trees.
And just a bit farther, past the Louvre and across the river, I make my usual stop — like visiting an old friend — at the historic Sennelier art shop, where I go for materials and for the atmosphere that has lingered here since 1887.
And just a bit farther, past the Louvre and across the river, I make my usual stop — like visiting an old friend — at the historic Sennelier art shop, where I go for materials and for the atmosphere that has lingered here since 1887.
And farther along — through the Musée d’Orsay and the Cluny Museum with its medieval mysteries — you reach the Luxembourg Gardens, just a stone’s throw from Notre-Dame de Paris.
This year, for the first time, I stepped into the cool halls of the Cluny and saw the legendary Renaissance tapestries The Lady and the Unicorn in person. They’re called an "allegory of the five senses," yet somehow… there are six of them. A mystery.
This year, for the first time, I stepped into the cool halls of the Cluny and saw the legendary Renaissance tapestries The Lady and the Unicorn in person. They’re called an "allegory of the five senses," yet somehow… there are six of them. A mystery.
Each time, the route of this walk would change — but sooner or later, it always led me back to the exhibition.
My Blueberries stayed in Paris. And I’m genuinely happy that I’m not the only one taking inspiration from this city — my inspiration is staying here with it, too.
My Blueberries stayed in Paris. And I’m genuinely happy that I’m not the only one taking inspiration from this city — my inspiration is staying here with it, too.
