mypaintings2014

 

 

 

         He came to me - like a visit,

        Bread - I solo all.

         I of course: Milo - please

         Well, he is a gentleman sat down ....

 

 

 

 

 

 

Princess Diaries IV

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sergei Utkin was born in 1957 in Lips, Perm oblast.V1977 graduated from art school in Moscow memory 1905 C 2004 is the Union of Designers of Russia. Currently works in the city of Grodno. By Sergey are in private collections in Russia, Belarus, USA, Germany and France.

by fabian perez paintings

 

 

Friday blinks, pigeons slowly stomp on sidewalks, in moist air froze indecision. Want something fresh, invigorating and penetration. And certainly cozy.

And all this in one word - France.

Croissants, cafe, bridge, low, throaty voice with trills wraparound "p-p-p ...", the romance of narrow streets and large squares, mutiny little people with huge showers ... So you want to wave back without looking, straight from the carotid Friday in vigorous-p-ryaschuyu vendr r-redi!

 

 

 

 

 

I resigned from the dry rocks my house

To prefer the kittens was my home,

And the mice became too sweet my house

To pigeon grain found in it,

That the sun schurilos there over all angles,

When it is my home,

To the kids play in it,

With whom -

With anyone,

With cheerful draft,

And that joy was in my house all.

 

Without a roof and it's fire, my house,

And without you, without me, my home,

And no it's servants, and asked the gentlemen in it,

And quite the contrary therein,

No items No, no there is no fear, no walls,

No weapons or threats

Neither captured,

And neither relics nor religion will find in it -

That's why he's so good, my house.

 

Andre Freneau

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life compose passing

spring rain - and in a way;

life - a breeze hundred promises

impracticable and path

hundred daring and defeats,

and again the movement, and the wind, and the life

so affectionate, if he wants.

 

Andre Freneau

 

 

Artist from France Maria - Claire Houmeau

 

 

 

 

It is like a violin on my shoulder.

And I did like the violinist,

To myself I press his hand.

And hair streaming on the shoulder,

How to mute the music ...

 

It is like a violin on my shoulder.

What does the high violin singing?

What am I - about her? That the flame - a candle?

And the Lord himself that he knows about creation?

 

After all, the supreme gift of himself does not know.

A beauty - above gifts.

She herself is no effort

And endow a never tired.

 

It is like a violin on my shoulder.

And its meaning is very complex harmonies,

But heed all and each tormented.

And for her no stranger.

 

And turn away from strife and care,

We listen in moments of lucidity

That long, slow singing.

And learn it the highest value,

Which themselves do not know.

 

David Samoilov

 

 

Anastasia Hohriakova warm and cold in 2001

 

 

 

 

 

Kevin Kibsey La Solista

 

 

 

Scott Andrew Spencer Virtuoso

 

 

Nicholas Kozlenko Girl with earring 2008

 

 

Jeanne Zutlevitss girl playing the violin.

 

 

Alexander Rozhansky High melody.

 

"Violin"

 

I - hoarse violin,

To which touch it with a bow,

And the sounds of curl in curly treble clef.

I - tired violin,

Attached prone

On the shoulder of the musician, which will not be back.

I - broken violin,

The one who holds me by the throat

And pulls out the truth, yesterday was quite a stranger.

I - Asleep violin,

No one knows how much it hurts

Throw rattle from the heart to break up with him.

I - hoarse violin,

Breaking the sounds of sadness,

You have not read my story and pages,

And in saying that I know by heart.

 

author - estrella

 

 

Jeno Medvetsky Woman with violin 1968

 

 

 

Andrei Markin Red Violin.

 

 

 

Yaroslav Krutakova Violin.

 

 

Bayram Salamov lady in a red hat.

 

 

Vitaly Yermolaev Columbine.

 

"Violin"

 

Violin sang tart sadness

Diseased an instant beauty.

It is out of the room screaming,

She stepped on his foot.

She screamed in his ear is vulgar,

Assuming that this should be singing.

She whispered something insidiously,

Continuing loud sniffle.

And she said, gasping in pain,

Continued to quietly moan

Dying helplessly on the outside

From the inability to lie.

 

Tatyana Zhukova

 

Henri Rousseau paintings

Irene Sheri Harmony thoughts

 

 

Andrew Atroshenko Music.

 

 

 

Yelena Mukhina Violin 2000

 

 

Michael Cheval Flight unimaginable harmony 2004

by Oil Paintings reproductions