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Kukharkina Lubov Alexeyevna (1961 - ...)  Click to play

Not only is Lubov Khuarkina a wonderful artist she is a poet who approaches her writing with passion and intensity. She is even the president of the Palekh Poetry Club. The club is composed of other lacquer miniaturists/poets who meet a few times a month. They share their writings, discuss theory of poetry and literature, and constructively criticize each other's works.

As she is a poet and an artist she uses her own literature for thematic material in her paintings. She will, along with her painting, write the poem on the interior of the lid or on the bottom of the box that directly relates to what has been painted.

She is a fan of a palette saturated in red, and likes to contrast this red with bright whites and blues that make her paintings come alive.

Bratchikova Ye. K., 1996, "MINIATURISTS OF PALEKH. NAME REFERENCE", RUSSLIT, Moscow, 5-7739-0001-7, 5-86508-035-0

         "The Sunbird"
    We live at the mercy of God,
    Sinning with you hand by hand
    We are not married in a white day
    But the soul is rushing above the night.
    We are closer than ties of muse
    As two Siamese twins.
    But our union in hopeless -
    It is a union of a blind and a deaf.
    Take my hand to your hand,
    Imagine near your hot eyes
    That the fire is a reverence,
    Near the strength of a candle's mystery.
    I won't struggle as a winged prisoner
    In a noose
    My hand is in your hand
    As a Sunbird.
        "One More Word About Love"
    This eternal freedom,
    This eternal widowhood,
    The witchcraft of poor old women.
    This is a river without ford and bottom...
    The boundless circle,
    Insatiable mouth of  fire,
    That is my imagination,
    Swallowing up all of me...
         "Above The Cradle"
    The crystal voice at night
    What sirens sang a song for me?..
    And angels near the cradle
    Kept the brocade bed-curtain.
    That cradle is a threshold of everything,
    In it the light and measured rocking
    It reminds me of the majesty,
    Dispelling the fear and darkness.
    Forgotten old gamayun
    Draping above the cradle.
    Even the air is magical here,
    The childhood's sleep is sweet and young.
    And now, just touching the sleep,
    Different music is charming me -
    Unshakable silence,
    Making magic above the dark bed-curtain.

    Near the mirror as near the altar,
    I'll understand everything, -
    I'll think about it and I'll see, -
    I'll tell myself: we'll die with you,
    God had been prepared niche for us
    A long time ago.
    My split mind is strange:
    I'm alive, but half dead,
    I look to my own eyes and wisp:
    Exist, live with my soul,
    When I'll be dead.
    The blueness of a cold glass,
    Twisting the space of removing distance,
    Will show, how my life was streaming
    As a river of loss
    To Zazerkalye valley.

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