es en ru
 
 

Eternity as a form of time. Time as a form of life. Life as a form of art.


For me, art has never been of primary importance. For me, of primary importance has always been something that creates art, i.e. life itself. Moreover, I have always fought with art. And I am still fighting. Or rather art is fighting with me. Art tries to prove to me that it is more important than the noise of rain behind the window. Or the starry heavens at night. But I cannot possibly believe it. We are in a state of some strange, complicated, and unreasonable confrontation. Art tries to convince me saying, “Life is my embodiment.” But I resist saying, “No, you are life’s embodiment.”
For me, life is sacred. I truly respect life, no matter whether it is mine or somebody else’s. It is a small personal and infinitely huge cosmos flowing through time. Time is also sacred for me. I am mesmerized by man’s unique ability to feel time. According to enlightened teachers, this ability exists only in this world. 
I am also mesmerized by any evidence of the passage of time. Well, what is art but the evidence of time? The evidence its passage from the beginning to the end, although there is no end. From “yes” to “no.” From day to night. From the past to the future. And backwards. It is like the change of seasons. Like breathing. Like the beating of the heart.
Pulsation. The unchangeable pulsation of the world. And this is life. And death. This is eternity. That is why I cannot part with art. Or the art cannot part with me. Whatever. Because eternity has neither the beginning nor the end, anyway. But should it have any? There is both attraction and repulsion between us. I am as a part of the world around me. And the world as a part of me.
Because I am God.
And this is my world.
God is in me. God is with me. God is around me.
Essentially, I am no artist. I hate all this talking about art and about what an artist wanted the express in his/her works. I have a deep aversion for so called installations and I tend to become dispirited, almost depressed, most of the time at modern art exhibitions. I cannot and do not want to fit into useful trends in painting. I do not like to wear ostentatiously untidy clothes, drink alcohol in a company of bearded artistic bohemians, keep abreast of all the latest news, soil my trousers with solvents, or smoke carelessly while keeping up the conversation about some exposition or other. I dislike having paint stuck under my nails or canvases all over the floor in my home. In a word, I dislike all those indispensable artistic attributes that are so dearly valued by my colleagues, although I truly like my colleagues. Frankly speaking, I absolutely have no idea how, with all my desire to get to know the world, I became a creator. Because a creator is someone who creates, while a learner is someone who focuses only on learning things. In addition, taking into consideration my deep passion for esoterics, then my painting activities absolutely defy any logical explanation. And the main thing is that art has never been more important than anything else for me. What is more important than a child’s smile, a cup of decaf coffee in the morning, a thick book before my face, or a sight of clouds floating behind my window. It is believed that an artist cannot help creating. But a can do without that. I feel content with forest fragrances, games with pets, and a smell of warm moist soil. I am a consumer. I use the world for pleasures and give nothing in return. Except for love. But for some reason it is art that saves me in particularly hard periods of my life. It is art that gives me strength and meaning. It is faithful to me like silence, which, according to Confucius, is a friend who will never betray. And I am faithful to art. It is art that brings me from the bottom to the surface and helps me draw a new breath.
I am an introvert and contemplator.
I always forgive everyone and for everything. This is surely silly, but I cannot help it.
Respect. As a principle. Respect for another person, his/her personal space and wishes. In general, respect for another life (of a human being, an animal, an insect, or a tree). A limitless respect for personal freedom of every creature.
I have idealistic, bookish, and chivalrous notions of the world. This is silly too, but I became reconciled with that. I take this woman (myself) as she is. After all, she is just a version of my present incarnation. And the freedom of choice is above all things.
Now for art.
I love:
Life.
The supreme powers.
Esoterics, history, and philosophy.
Children and elderly people.
I love animals. Mammals. Birds. Fishes. Reptiles and amphibians. Small and big. Cold and warm. Angry and pettable. Tidy and smelly. Trustful and cautious. Furry and hairless. Wet-nosed, beaky, feathered, and scaly. I love them all. Because they are the best of what we have around us.

I love the human body. I am fascinated with its structure. An amazing versatile mechanism. It’s a fantastically sophisticated and beautiful union of bones, muscles, with its circulatory, nervous, and other system. And all that can move in a coordinated fashion. Moreover, its movements are reflectory. It is a marvel to me that it can function of its own accord. Without our participation. It can breathe, drive blood, and produce required elements. The most amazing thing for me is the fact of birth of new bodies. They are born for some miniscule piece, from a microscopic tailed thing that penetrates into tine tailless thing to produce a new body, a new human being with a complete set of qualities! That’s a miracle! The Divine Act of Creation! And this perfect body becomes a vessel for the Spirit. And then all this develops into a person. It’s inconceivable!

I love forests, mountains, and seas. These three elements make me happy.
I love honesty. It is very important. I love sincerity as part of honesty.
I love to make the ones I love happy.
I love deep feminine voices and coloratura soprano in opera singers.
I love traces of time and decay – abandoned houses, dead insects, fossils, and old everyday objects. Stones and sea monster shells.
In women I love: perfectly clear eyes and dark hair. Leanness and wide mouths. Fragility. I love feminine backs. I love when a women is tall.
In men I love: dry hands. The neck part from the ear to the collar bone. Irregular breathing when they are exalted. Males voices. I love having their eyes close to my eyes.
I love to watch a man sleeping. I love how a man looks upon awakening – slack and warm. I love sunburnt wrists in white shirt sleeves. A sweater in combination with a jacket. A confused look on a man’s face at the sight of tears in a woman’s eyes. I love watching a man who is absorbed in some activities together with his friends.
I love the ability to admit his/her fault and apologize.
I love intellect. And the sense of humor. These qualities excite me.
I love long shadows in the evening, minty scents, and gardens gone wild. The Middle Ages.
I love everything that is connected with acerous leaves: the smell, cones, and the amber bark color.
I love openness in people and when they are being “real” – with weaknesses, fears, needs, emotions, and charisma.
I love to read till dawn, the sound of a flying plane, to lie naked on cool clean bed sheets, the smell of a summer city at night, exotic musical instruments, speed.
I love twilight. Magic and miracles. I believe in forest spirits, gnomes, and elves.
I love the Spanish sound “z” and white Martini
I love sunny, windy, and cold weather.
I love elderly people telling stories about the past and smiling. I love when somebody really needs them.
I love weapons. Cold steel.. swords, blades, knives, and spears.
I love fireplaces and open fire in general. The combination of stone and wood in architecture. Metal structures having bolts, railroad stations built in the 20th century. I love sitting on wide window sills on high floors. Watching skyscraper at night.
I love children’s mouths in a transition period with both deciduous teeth and permanent teeth.
I love classical music. And music of the 1950s. Opera, for the abilities of the human voice. Ballet, for the abilities of the human body.
I love coarse-finish wooden surfaces polished by time. Warm gray mornings. I love to wrap myself up in a wool plaid. Dark-red roses for their color and hyacinths for their scent.
I love long skirts. Dilapidated castles. I love holding hands with a man or hug him from behind.
I love an early European spring. A dry sunny fall in any country. The scent of essential oils. Planting trees. Stormy sky.
I love having breakfast wearing a shirt.
I love watching an alarmed flock of pigeons taking off when I am walking on a fresh and sunny early morning.
I love modest evening dresses on women and smooth hairstyles. I love watching elderly people dipping biscuits in their tea.
I love the piercing blue color of the sky. Parisian chestnut trees. Observation platforms in unfamiliar cities. Big caves. The smell of railroads. Trains. Crème brulee. I love sleeping with my window open. The sound of rain. Storms. Cats’ eyes viewed sidewise.
I love when it is snowing in large flakes.
I love taxis in New York City. Helicopter tours over Manhattan. The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. The Boston Common. Copley Square at Christmas time. I love roller-skatong along the Charles River Basin. Greek taverns, elderly women dressed in black. San Nicolas on Crete.
I love Austrian Seefeld in Tirol, Berlin on an early summer morning, streetcars in Frankfurt am Main, Trocadéro Square in Paris. I love having a boat tour along the Seine when it rains with few people around. I love the canals of Amsterdam and I love feeding seagulls with herrings. I love the Copenhagen Botanical Garden. I love Girona in the fall and Barcelona in the spring time. The Montjuïc Mountain and the National Art Museum of Catalonia (MNAC)
I love the St. Sebastià lighthouse near LLafranc at any time of the day and in any season. Creperia Bretonne (a pancake house on Cort Reial) and the Devesa Park in Girona.

I love London just for what it is. And Moscow, because this is my hometown.

I love the smell of paints. I love to have my coffee with cream. I love red-brick houses. Fountains. I love to embracing when naked. Sunflowers. Other people’s old photographs. I love yelling loudly when on the top of a mountain. I love drawing faces on steamy windows. The sound of the double-bass in an empty conservatory hall. Festive salvoes and firework. Huge, glistening, green, Greek beetles. Hayao Miyazaki’s animated cartoons. Museums of ancient sculptures. I love to breath into a man’s collar when it is cold. I love playing with animals. Strawberries. I love watching sign language interpretation. High-heel shoes. Other people’s lives and life stories.
I love books. Bubbles on rain puddles.
I love to see the moment when all birthday cake candles are blown out. I love see the expressions on children’s faces at this very second.
I love reading in a café.
I love echoes. Cinnamon. Fog. Empty roads.
I love when the words they say have some meaning and when you can trust them.

 

© Daria Latour, 2011-2012