#2 2019 (63)
The rough texture of the canvas, traces of the palette knife, fingerprints, brushstrokes - sometimes closely calculated, sometimes random - and unembodied vibrations of colour. All is about registering the evanescent traces of Being, trying to capture, to conserve these traces. It is foreknowing that all these things have existed before. And above everything, from within, by some unfathomable path, there surges a feeling of being doomed for harmony, for the capacity of overcoming the hardships of historic reality locked in the iron circle of being.
Like some Watteau pearl, how cleverly
A snuffbox embraces all life's matter...
Beneath the heavens, in the skies above, on the roads, along the faintest paths, under lonely trees, in autumn-hued groves and summer gardens, on enchanted islands, but never in the closed spaces of rooms - Anatoly Slepyshev’s personages inhabit the two dimensional infinity of the master’s canvases.