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Запись от KaterinaMN размещена 13.05.2010 в 22:12
I recently discovered that I have a number of texts in one way or another connected with the painting. so that in the diary of thing and place.
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Draw she could not. Well quite. When it was 30, a little before that, something in his head became - she paints and bought. And the canvas. And what occurred was included - faded. Blank canvas stood, looked at her white. And it was very scary. It was a white spot on the black piano. Although the piano - is the word red, the piano he stood, but it was black. Black and upset.
What to paint - a long time did not know. And then a friend's birthday happened. Others - not a lover - not a husband - it is another. They were friends. And what to give - about gifts she ever think she could not. Then we drew the first. Drew - and the most frightened. Color-color-color. And with colored canvas white spot face - non painted canvas. And his face hard. Not him. Draw. And if you speak the truth - that it, but after forty years, and his father - today.
And then drew the second. Delicate purple boy. Simply. But not terribly already. And brought both. Show. He had offended - asked - you and me so you can see the truth - and she could not do anything. And really. First it was - and the second he gave - gave.
It probably happened. And then went to study. Little. Many failed. Bare.
And as a child she drew. Or draw - but more and more characters for their stories. On the narrow yellow cardboard, on punched cards. For a country Boltovnyandii that he and his sister came up and talked to each other for several years in a row. And the drawing cards for her - what a country without a map. None. But she still faces painted. And the stories they imagine.
Even then - once - have painted - or write - paints, much has been. And even some pictures purchased. She asked her mother - could one day? And that and said - no. No. No. No.
The word is a stone and heavy. And do not run away from it - once - and have hanging on their shoulders - is - pressing. Like took off - and it's all there. Lying dwarf pokrehtyvaet - pohihikivaet. No. No. No. Yellow ugly dwarf. And he - he did.
When the paint falls - she begins to live. In the tube it is thick and viscous - a lie - a matte velvet, the shining and the hill. And with each conversation is - blue red green. Orange. Cherry. Ochre. Strange. Like it had not, she does. Or she. My head is spinning image, lives - and on a sheet - very differently. Like it or draws. Strange. Strange. Although the texts she also was. Write - but then does not remember - and do not know - she wrote - or anyone else. Sheet white - all the same. All about one thing - that shaped as letters that color. All about one thing. And go as they please themselves want. Clicks, promptly inserted a lot on a plate - and leave everything they did one or two. Blue leaves. Red leaves. And - but the drop. But those two - a lot. Perhaps because the sea was something blue. And the sun pours into it red in the evening.
And so - who knows why. It is - no.
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Draw she could not. Well quite. When it was 30, a little before that, something in his head became - she paints and bought. And the canvas. And what occurred was included - faded. Blank canvas stood, looked at her white. And it was very scary. It was a white spot on the black piano. Although the piano - is the word red, the piano he stood, but it was black. Black and upset.
What to paint - a long time did not know. And then a friend's birthday happened. Others - not a lover - not a husband - it is another. They were friends. And what to give - about gifts she ever think she could not. Then we drew the first. Drew - and the most frightened. Color-color-color. And with colored canvas white spot face - non painted canvas. And his face hard. Not him. Draw. And if you speak the truth - that it, but after forty years, and his father - today.
And then drew the second. Delicate purple boy. Simply. But not terribly already. And brought both. Show. He had offended - asked - you and me so you can see the truth - and she could not do anything. And really. First it was - and the second he gave - gave.
It probably happened. And then went to study. Little. Many failed. Bare.
And as a child she drew. Or draw - but more and more characters for their stories. On the narrow yellow cardboard, on punched cards. For a country Boltovnyandii that he and his sister came up and talked to each other for several years in a row. And the drawing cards for her - what a country without a map. None. But she still faces painted. And the stories they imagine.
Even then - once - have painted - or write - paints, much has been. And even some pictures purchased. She asked her mother - could one day? And that and said - no. No. No. No.
The word is a stone and heavy. And do not run away from it - once - and have hanging on their shoulders - is - pressing. Like took off - and it's all there. Lying dwarf pokrehtyvaet - pohihikivaet. No. No. No. Yellow ugly dwarf. And he - he did.
When the paint falls - she begins to live. In the tube it is thick and viscous - a lie - a matte velvet, the shining and the hill. And with each conversation is - blue red green. Orange. Cherry. Ochre. Strange. Like it had not, she does. Or she. My head is spinning image, lives - and on a sheet - very differently. Like it or draws. Strange. Strange. Although the texts she also was. Write - but then does not remember - and do not know - she wrote - or anyone else. Sheet white - all the same. All about one thing - that shaped as letters that color. All about one thing. And go as they please themselves want. Clicks, promptly inserted a lot on a plate - and leave everything they did one or two. Blue leaves. Red leaves. And - but the drop. But those two - a lot. Perhaps because the sea was something blue. And the sun pours into it red in the evening.
And so - who knows why. It is - no.
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