Once, living with my parents, I painted a whole set of metal utensils in the Khokhloma style. It's been a long time. This set has long decorated the shelf in the hall and served as a business card for our guests. There was a big electric samovar, a round tray, a teapot and this tiny souvenir samovar. The height is 10 inches with lid.
But when my parents left this world, it was painful to look at this set of beautiful dishes, as if something was squeezing my soul from within. I gave a set of a good friend who collects different Antiques and art objects. I was not very sorry probably because I always easily part with things. And the heart is immediately relieved...
But for some reason I did not give this small samovar. He stood for a long time in my glass Cabinet, but one day my aunt saw him and very much wanted him to herself. I wanted to protest at first, but it was as if something inside me said, " Let go. The past is not over." And I Gave her the samovar.
Most interesting is that between his uncle's request, and parting with this thing the past few years. I already knew that the thing is not mine and all these years, though it passed the test of conscience. But I did. It was hard for me, but I broke up with this thing. There were only photos, which I will look and remember my father and mother. And my heart is calm...
Однажды, живя ещё с родителями, я разрисовал целый набор металлической посуды в хохломском стиле. Было это достаточно давно. Этот набор долго украшал полку в зале и служил визитной карточкой для наших гостей. Там был большой электрический самовар, круглый поднос, заварочный чайник и вот этот сувенирный крошечный самоварчик. Высотой он сантиметров 10 вместе с крышечкой.
Но когда родители покинули этот мир, мне было больно смотреть на этот набор красивой посуды, будто что-то сдавливало мою душу изнутри. Я подарил набор одной хорошей знакомой, которая коллекционирует разную старину и предметы искусства. Мне не было очень жалко, наверное, потому, что я всегда легко расстаюсь с вещами. И на сердце сразу стало легче...
Но вот это маленький самовар я почему-то не отдал. Он долго стоял у меня в стеклянном шкафу, но однажды его увидела моя родная тётя и очень сильно захотела его себе. Вначале я хотел запротестовать, но будто что-то внутри меня сказало: "Отпусти. Прошлого не воротишь". И я отдал ей самоварчик.
Самое интересное, что между тётушкиной просьбой и расставанием с этой вещью прошло несколько лет. Я уже знал, что вещь не моя и все эти годы будто проходил проверку на совесть. Но я справился. Мне было трудно, но я расстался с этой вещью. Остались лишь фотографии, на которые я смотрю и вспоминаю папу и маму. И на сердце у меня спокойно...
It is interesting how our memories get attached to objects, isn’t it? I still keep some things that belonged to my son who passed in 2013. As time went on, I eventually re-gifted certain items to others who would appreciate and use them, and others I have kept.
I love your art on the samovar. It is very classy. What a treasure!
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Yes, I don't think I'm unique in not being able to look back without tears at the things that bind us to a sad past. And how old was your son, if not a secret? I'm sorry that I asked.
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No need to be sorry. Michael was 34 min old. There had been birth complications, and he never got to come home with us. He was my first. (A rough introduction to motherhood if you ask me!) He now has two brothers, and they keep me quite busy. 🙂 God is Good. When Michael’s brother arrived, the healing — emotional, spiritual, physical — was incredible. “It is well with my soul,” as they say. ❤️
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What a sad story with a good ending. Then God loves you, Нeather the bard!
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