MAYANA NASYBULLOVA

Gigantic airy clouds glide across the sky. Their shapes appear sharp and clear, but they are merely intangible wisps of vapor passing by. Clouds have always served as a backdrop to life and picturesque scenes. The French art historian Hubert Damisch believes that by studying depictions of "clouds," one can trace the entire history of Western European painting. "Occupying the space between earth and sky and being a physical object with undefined spatial parameters, significantly changing over time, the cloud is undoubtedly a privileged subject for the study of painting techniques."

Clouds are inseparable from our lives. They seem to embody the impossibility of comprehending the whole and the eternal with our consciousness. Memories are like clouds. They race by at imperceptible speed, change, and transform. Just a moment ago, a cloud resembled a playful animal, but now it has turned into a shapeless entity. We are constantly deceived by our memory, and it seems impossible to grasp the essence of what is called History.

Despite its apparent unattainability, we always carry memory with us. It envelops us and adapts to all our movements. Memories reach out to us. Lightning roots grow from the clouds. They want to latch onto something and ground themselves. Electricity flows through the roots for noise machines. By touching them, you can dispel the frozen illusion of a cloud and engage in a dialogue with it.

Motifs of nature, which almost lead to traditional landscape painting, serve as a diversion for the eyes. In reality, this pleasing haze to the eye conceals a charge of life’s tension that cannot be captured, but its approaching rolls can be heard.