daily, privite life, reflection, senses

good old Sunday evenings

So Sunday is losing its power above everything and concede a place for another study week. I’m in the usual for weekend’s evening after-bath mask. There is a good old comfort of Sunday evening which reminds me school time when we went to the bookstore with parents and made dinner with the noise of comedy show or news. I was reading much more than now.

But surely this day as a few before wasn’t congenial at all. Even today I went out of the room just for “not being in the room alone”. I had delicious noodles for lunch, bought two nice t-shirts at the Russian shop and a stylus for the phone. Even when I went down to the supermarket I could hardly be logical on my own (here we are! ) sadness. It went out of the lack of control over my own life on the day-to-day basis. There is no option of modification or deviation. I have to do what is to be done for the session. And it could be nicely endured by me if it wouldn’t take almost all the time with some dull connections and useless talks. I hate meaningless, and it’s the point. I must remember.

However, as I felt killing time was not my main reason for melancholy, the main one was a well-known sense of loneliness. How unique! My position of double life helped a lot in alienation. People aren’t dull, they see tribesmen. At the supermarket, I saw peripheral vision a known girl standing in the queue. It was like the invasion into my Sunday routine. I run away and hurried up to not to meet her again. Talks and smiles, you know. Nastya is quite happy in her successful private life in the new room. Which is nothing with me at all.

Certainly, I’m going to visit home at the vacation – it’s too hard for me to endure the whole time though I know it’s a good test. But, yes, it’s good to remove some things.

Finally, I cannot throw the study on the road and move forward without, I need to put it into the proper place, get papers and move forward.

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daily, reflection, scribbling, senses

Mom in town

The early morning call by my mom made me get up. She was to enter the town. I did my exercises, make-up and all other morning routine. I was waiting for her at the entrance hall by the aquarium. Fast and easy were happened to be at my room where she could evaluate the coziness I made. Delicious regular breakfast with hometown sweets. There were some new jars at the fringe. Though I looked fresh my manners were closed and awkward.

The way to the visa center we were talking about all different minor things. The path led by Google wasn’t right because of the fence. Mom amicably asked the cleaner and he gaily told us everything. The yard of the centers was typical for any public service. The polite man at the entrance helped us to figure out what to do in the process which was simple and therefore not so magical as British one. My mind blurred away and I didn’t understand anything. Thank God, mom organised all that stuff – mine responsibility is the cultural program and logistic. So we were photographed (really bad), fingerprinted (not impressive). As for me that didn’t have such special spirit as real consulates have (that was just the visa centre).

We went out with some lightness by done task. As for me I felt the hardship inside. Some terrible inner pain which reason was in her desire to pay for my study and continue all this tiresome stuff. I kept silence while we went through the grey district to the metro station.

During the way we decided to go away at the center and visit my favorite cafe. The exit wasn’t right but for some reason we found the other cafe of that label. That was a place, menu and time I like mostly. The spirit of young and fresh center with deep background. We both took the cream soups and I added the cake, she added the Quiche. That was as noisy and vital as usual. I could feel so free and easy to think up ideas and talk about positive things like Czech beer, dreams coming true and the historical spirit of the central district – the only place where Moscow is actually Moscow. The conversation was like close friends’ meeting at the coffee shop. Evidently I didn’t want to finish that, but we had to. For some short moments of drinking black tea with tasty curd pancake I even could feel happiness. While we were waiting for a bus she noticed the way people wear here. It totally depends on the district. 8bf5ebfd6a0b20423456a7f50eb335e1

At the station it turned out that the next bus was at six this is why she decided to put me on the bus and wait at the train station. That was cold and uncomfortable. She said I looked sad, so I was. I didn’t want to go to my district, to the hostel, to the institute, to the tasks, to all those people. She offered to buy a ticket and ride with her. But I took a bus and moved to the North with some music. En route it turned out to be the accident with three cars. As we stopped I decided to go to the hostel instead of the meaningless lessons and went though the park.

Those were stones inside my breast, stones of low self-esteem, doubts and fear. I’m twenty-two and I don’t feel like I know who am I. Does anybody know for sure at all?

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daily, reflection, senses

Jumps down and up

This day was the outstandingly emotional one.

Since the very night of yesterday I had been in a great anxiety about my sketches and their scarce. I went to sleep late and as it could be foreseen I woke up late too. That was a decision to skip the lesson – cinema watching and make some more sketches. But the script didn’t consider the emotional side. I was shattered inside and could cry any moment of weakness. The yesterday’s pictures and ideas of production design struck me deeply with the sense of mistake.

I felt lonely because of my disagreement with the dirty work of painters and the basic boredom of pre-production. Additionally I had no sketches to show and got a terrible sense of self-deprecation. I could hardly agree to wear the dirty clothes and take the gas burner to make a special texture at the wall. There were so much questions about production in general and in detail but its basically were not about design but script writing, cinematography, editing, managment, financial side and the hiring and collaboration of people.

Today I went there really late to the time we agreed. However, there was nobody of us. Just imagine me at the grey big corridor of the studio, where people can be in any costume and have very different works. Immediately our master appeared and asked me why didn’t I come in. The same moment the rest of the group entered and we all was led into the studio.

To say it was magical, it’s to say nothing. I just couldn’t imagine that it’s real. The long, wearsome process of shooting was going on. The director ordered with the loudspeaker in short and demanding way to do things faster or stand the other way, to turn on the other side or to take the other thing. Just a production, frame by frame. In the green tent they were sitting in front of the editing screen and considered what to do in order to get the great harmonious frames. The storyboard at the wall and drafty cut at the Macbook. Is there any surprise that I didn’t want to leave the tent? I smile and understand that it is obvious.

How to get into the green tent as a real one? – the main question I brought out there.

That was all literature around. Different people at the so called magnificent job with typical routine and alive demands. A child, old man and woman, troops. As for me the shooting livened me up immediately and charms are still inside me.

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Uncategorized

Almost done. II tour drawing

So, it’s heavy shower outside. The hostel is tranquil as any place under the rain. The warm light of lamps at the empty quite corridors with dark grey colour of weather. I did exercises at the drawing room which was really strange as nobody were to do it too. I made and ate breakfast alone as I was the first person at the obscure kitchen without a window. While eating I unwillingly remember that such square meal is the remain of UK trip. We did eat almost the same way, the only difference was toasts with jam or butter.
However, this is the great morning of rain I have many words to type and say. But basically it concerns to institute and the character of applicants as well as teachers. Yesterday while drawing the head I was considering either feeling so uncomfortable and unhappy there is good or it is just a part of unpleasant process of exams and people around. Sometimes I even have a panic (yes, with plain face) that it’s not absolutely my way. Though I know it’s ok to doubt I can notice that I force myself to go to the insitute rather than fly there zealously. There are many new ideas which came during this time. Printing books and devise the concept, making sketchbooks, shooting music videos, painting studies, English stuff, writing essays etc.
But the general situation at the institute is going good for me. One girl went the distance and took her documents out just because of the idea of bad drawing and painting. Nice for me, shame for her. To my own manners with other applicants, it is rather removed and shallow. It would be interesting to mix with a few girls but I don’t want to combine the competition and relationships. It is much easier when you do not know people and move in own direction.
I had been sitting at the hall for a few minutes longer as I texted Mary. She couldn’t go out with me then and I comforted myself with the lonely way to the station. But Nastya Ch. was waiting for me downstairs. Such moments I get that I do not understand something crucial. It is so torturous to hear her narrow-minded replies. Maybe my dislike is the result of the contrast between her enthusiasm about animation and my motivation’s slack. The relief was reading of “Make it stick” the rest of the road.
Today, it will be a miraclous day as we are to draw a nude model and this is almost the last day of the practical exams.

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daily, senses

The first day of exams. Composition.

So, these three days went away. Maybe that was the hardest part of the exam process and I certainly should record it here timely because now it all seems far away from the present moment. However, I try.
It was a rush morning of friday: I couldn’t fell asleep the whole night and the moment the alarm clock rang I got up like a troop. Then I run even less than usual. At the undergroung it was noisy and crowdy but I closed my eyes to find an axes inside. The entrance of the institute was crowded with lots of applicants, I went by them easily and upstaired. At the hall girls sharpened their pencils, so did I. Though it was simple to stay calm outside the nervious enviroment, I felt some stress at the crowd in front of the door. It was stupid by them to orginise us that way (it’s a different kind of talk) I was the only person with salad and cardboard. Moreover it was physically hard to keep everything in hands we found out the workshops not ready for work. Can you imagine this? Time was up, but we had to spend it on removing easels and stools. So, I shouldn’t be criticital about them. While I set the workplace the Master asked me all the information about education and that was the only thing which he said me.
The process itself was hard for me. I tryed to modify the habits into the “new” demands: to show mood, light and shadow, interior, exterior. I’d chosen the theme “Interesting job” and didn’t realised that understood it ironically while they meant it seriously. This is why (and because they asked to base on own observations) I drawn the post office’s routine, slowness of fishermen at the ice, boredom at the electronic store but dynamic of tennis player. I did that all in a rush without real breaks or dinner, without noticing other people. However, the teacher who came there so often distracked me a bit. I remember that at the college we all began to mix colours instead of real painting while the teacher was behind. Even the toilet pauses were short and nervious. To the end of the time I was persuaded that my sheet was terrible. I saw just one of other people but strained myself.
The way back Nastya Ch. talked hyped-up. I couldn’t keep up with her energy level. I went to the Tretyakovskya and ate my salad at the bench. I remember how sadly my thoughts was. Gloomy I was going on the road in search of coffee or cake to relieve myself. But at once it showered and the option of the underground seemed me great.
At the Moscow Book Store it was the book presentation. The literator who was to come (Dmitry Bykov) was known to me by his literature lectures and horrific likeness with my dad. I was sitting there again and just observe clearly Moscow people: girl with real Moschino coat but speaking culturally and some guys showing off with some connections. However, I was sitting there again, but quiet upset and frozen. He was late ten minutes but appeared in the crowd with a book in hand as he had just bought it. He seemed an ordinary man in shorts and windbreaker, more grey haired than on public photos. His manners looked drowsy while the voice sounded vital.
The talk was wide, he touched the points of the Internet, revolution as a surgery, about new generation ahead and the hardship of making career in the present situation. It was fun, educating and sometimes vague for me (without literature education). I couldn’t make out who are that authour they were speaking about. I went out at the beginning of autograph session as I wasn’t to buy and read the book.
The air was more fresh as it had been after the meeting with Pozner. I ate the soap at the cafe and was totally inspired for everything ahead.

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