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Yuri Viktorovich Tryapitsyn
Yuri
 Viktorovich Tryapitsyn
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Dear friends!


Suppose:
Here the artist arrived in a picturesque place.
He came with a muse, a canvas and paint with him.
He waved his hand, dipped it in the paint and smeared canvas, the genius began to create.
And now the creaming of the sketch begins to boil, it can not be called work.
Here the field draws, throwing shades, he brings the world to a lifeless canvas.
And the canvas comes to life, in it the burning sun flooded the expanses of boundless fields.
Creation, fine, there is no objection, there is no censure, artist, creator!

Still suppose:
Location and time and the other. And again here is the genius of conveying the plot, ideas and emotions,
judgments, and anger, of which there are many, it has accumulated.
He is gloomy, he is cocky, a cold artist is ready to share, he is looking for his canvas.
The truth is based on the picture, here the tears are truthful, that lady in the shade.
The artist in agony tells us a tragedy, the red draws a fragment.
And here, we do not argue, he is unquestionably a genius, there is no censure, an artist, a creator!

Still suppose:
A new artist. Instincts. The bodies here are beautiful, impressive postures.
There is a smell of sex and dreams on the canvases. On that, on the canvas, a woman in a pose without a vital, vital that sucks.
And on the other, just a crumpled dress, again with a hint of the same instinct.
Now, group painting with an artist's brush paints the last thread.
And the colors gracefully flow through the picture, falling into a single erotic sketch.
And seeing all this, we will agree. The artist is a genius, there is no censure, an artist, a creator!

Now, here, in the presence of a place that is next to where we are together, now, here we sit.
Now suppose that you can, perhaps, draw another artist, which is not.
There is no person who is firm, sure, weak, or spiteful or joyful person does not exist.
And the canvas is different here, blurryly considered, here everything that fits is him.
In the artist's paintings, there is much that is vast, alive, real, in the general presence of images.
If you touch the word "idea", what are the sketches about here? What the "worker" thought was, I take off all the shavings, with a fl ash which afterwards will bring life to life.
He simply created, offering space, to leave his identity in the canvas.
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