Press

“The emotional structure of Natasha Bakovic’s canvases carries its own tension: the artist uses juxtaposition and contrast, and when attuning the viewer’s eyes, there is a feeling of deep breathing of space. In this ability – combination of the personal, individual and fragile with the impersonal, extra-human, natural, elemental, juxtaposition of the small and the immeasurable, near and far, tender, like the first snow, the instant with the timeless, the unsteady with the structural, light – with gloomy – the peculiarity of her spiritual poetics is reflected, giving through contrast a subtle and precise cut to the visual image.

Reflecting on the polyphony of the registers of the painting “Red Birds”, by the will of the author’s creative imagination sprinkled bare branches of trees with feathers in the foreground and burning like sparks of ash from smoky clouds in the valley and around the distant mountains, I felt the charm of the following lines in a new way:

The earth is getting cold, the haze is approaching,
The lost distance has gone to the gate …
Somewhere the wind in the woods sings the dawn, –
Or sings it in my heart?
(„In the Evening”, Boleslav Lesmyan)

Natasha’s light and colors are like the a movement of the bow along the restrained embroidery of the landscape, and this bow, flexible and sharp, now soft and flowing, now striking the strings with a clear melodic pattern. The artist’s gaze, attentive to the details of things close to human everyday life, sees through them not only what is approaching the horizon, but also other, currently invisible planes of being, and it is with them that she strives to sew with her brush in paintings such as “When light snow is falling „, and pomegranates and apples on the windowsill tell us in the language of archetypes about what coexists in human destiny („First Snow”, „Winter. Vlado’s Portrait”) become symbols of a timeless mystery. And then the heart shrinks from the feeling of the preciousness of the moment
And I can’t understand life without age-old separation
With a consanguineous willow, with the secret of a forest flower.
(Boleslav Lesmyan. „I’m lying on my back in the clearing …”)

A bush glowing with amber and lemon light over a mountain panorama („April over Grand Bornand) – is this music of the lines” Memories „by Julian Tuwim revived?
… And only the autumn month was pleasing –
May mimosa is at a loss.

I fell asleep with him at dawn,
There were spring dreams – and tears
Smelled of willow bitterness, like these
Golden sprigs of mimosa. „

From the article „Seven Colors of the Rainbow / Consonance of Pure Joy” by art critic Valeria Ismiyeva, Moscow

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