FLUX

by Alina Shalukhina April. 17, 2019 134 views

It has been raining for five days. For no valid reason, with no apparent meaning. It's like dark, forlorn clouds sailed, obstructed the sun, and settled down to embody the abstruse nature of unpredictability. The picture is mostly about humble witnesses of an unstoppable flow of changes which are this neatly arranged strands of soft, though frozen almost to a fragile condition, grass. This is the way nature keeps its ear to the ground, and this ear stood still in anticipation. Although being alive, the ear doesn't even tremble – it is absolutely pensive, petrified, stupefied, stunned, anesthetized... I always think of rain as a period of forefeeling and presentiment. It smells of damp premonition, putting you in limbo or exposing you to ridiculous suspense of a feeble play. Something mysterious is present in the rain. But the most confusing issue is still that of having no reason for it to pour down here. It should be somewhere else, putting out a blaze: saving, justifying its existence, serving to a higher goal. Still, the rain is spilled here and that's how things go, we can't redirect them. And therefore, the only possibility remains – to observe the elusive pattern and hopelessly try to crack its riddle.

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