Collage, graphic, 2017.
"The formation of light", collage, graphic, 2017.
"Abstract joy", canvas on oil, 90х90cm, 2017
"View", canvas on oil, 90х90cm, 2017.
"Peaple and leaves", canvas on oil, 80х60 cm, 2017.
"A unity of many", canvas on oil, 100х90cm, 2016.
Do I have a freedom of choice? Can I select or everything is already predetermined, prescribed, programmed? It seems to me that I am free in my decisions, however not quite conscious of the responsibility. Let's say I have a freedom of will every second, starting from that of choosing the direction in which to release thoughts. So I am a creator of my live and can take those decisions, which consequences will make me happy or unhappy. But sometimes there is an impression that there is no choice. Everything happens on its own and I do not influence thoughts and actions. Like a puppet, I am guided by an invisible hand, and it's only an illusion that I live my life. Actually the scenario had been written long ago, the parts are casted and I simply remain blissfully unaware that I am just a doll. Something made by me I assume as made by my own hands and another I bind with fate, karma or something else. If the book of life exists, and there is no freedom of choice, I am just one of her characters. But if the freedom of choice exists, then I write the book myself and am responsible for everything written. I become the central character. The whole life is under my thumbs and then everything is possible. But it may be a trap: the scenario may contain another story line: suddenly I realized that I decide everything myself and it's beginning to feel like I am the central hero. "One of the book figures decided that he is the main hero..."
I liked the graphics, when I first saw a reproduction of Dürer's print "Melancholia". It was in early childhood. At that moment I saw a definite beauty of black and white images. Graphics became for me not just a way of expressing the idea of an artist but a state of mind. A special kind of art, which you would feel first mentally, and then emotionally. When I was contemplating the "Melancholy", I have realized that what Dürer wanted to say was possible to express only in black. Graphics became for me a melancholic art. This is a state of mind when your emotions and feelings disappear, meanwhile your thoughts become clearer. Your view of life become impartial and abstract. Time stops and the world freezes. Colors fade and shade away. At this point the world design becomes visible, the mental design. There are no feelings here. There are only outlines of objects, pointing to them. This is a kind of world lattice, to which the color spots are stripped. And when the world becomes colorful, it starts to move. And this time the world comes alive.
Everything starts with a thought. When you are thinking you create the view from which you act. That is, first you are thinking over everything you saw, heard and felt. You are analyzing this. But we all see and feel differently. So everyone looks at the world through a kind of prism, a glass or a window. Let it be a window. And the glass in this window changes all the time. It is dirty or clean. Colored or transparent. Maybe a large magnifying glass is placed instead of a usual glass. It reduces or increases what is seen in the window. Perhaps the glass is actually broken and shards are sticking up the frame along its perimeter like knives. Or a mirror has been inserted instead of glass. And then you see only yourself and have no idea that there is another world. You are looking through a window. You are observing. Something is hidden from you under a thick layer of dust, or you don't look through the window at all, because you are fascinated by snowy pattern after frost. But it also happens that there is no glass at all. And you can see absolutely everything in the window opening. So you are amazed and keep silence. Perhaps at this moment you have no thoughts. And no opinions even more so.
Fragment out of the picture "Glass", Merkulova Irina, oil and canvas, 2016.
If time is space. How does it look like? How could it be imagined? Is this space going by me or am I passing by? If it is moving, it is like watching a movie about your own life in cinema or sitting on the riverside and observing how the water flows and makes a pattern of ripples, gleaming river bottom, light and my reflection. What if I move through space? Am I going or runing? Or flying? Along a straight or smooth road? Maybe this road goes somewhere far away with decorations exposed by its sides. I am passing by, looking upon them and trying to see something or somebody.
Maybe it is not a road, but a going up ladder. Maybe the ladder is going down or wandering like a snake and one could not see its beginning and end. Yes, I think it is a ladder. Its stairs are glassy. They are narrow and it is impossible to see something clearly on them. I am peering on them and wanting to see my reflection, but I see only of light and space reflection. My movements turn into a game of color patches and gloss. Every step the stairs are getting wider and in hope that soon I will be passing and seeing myself I move faster. No chance. Stairs are tapering away. Again I am fascinated by the beauty of glassy surface and already see some images in flicker color mosaic. It is so beautiful, that I forgot where I am for a number of stair.
"Ladder", Irina Merkulova, pen and paper, 2016.