Light freezy morning with songs of Queen and Kinks had replaced with hours in the workshop. I joked and smiled. These days after I read the article about contemprorary art-schools in Russia, I have beheld clearly things I thought earlier. We’re like fish in a single water with single views etc. Frankly all of it academic art is beautiful, sistematic but not about this time. It’s great but fruitless. Just look at that outward and you’ll see. Maybe it’s my reflection on critical cold view of Br (sometimes really boundly). But now I happy with sense of freedom I have inside. Freedom is the sense when you know you are yourself inspite of anything. To push off to this thought I had words about Nabokov and his sense of superiority what came with aristocratic childhood. He hadn’t to proof it, he just lived. But peasant in a big city so often try to proof their citizen.


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