Dedicated to Anton Dolynsky
Magic is like an aura around things, a soft glow or halo that we rarely notice—unless we’re enchanted or disenchanted. But great things allow us to glimpse it: look at how people gaze at the sea, or the way they share joy in common achievements. Many grow accustomed to drama and are wary of disappointment, yet there’s something deeply captivating about people who never lose their sense of wonder.
It seems that magic grants things their fullness — their lasting presence, shape, and meaning.
Yevhen Hulevych
When we, travelers, return to our written homeland, we feel a deep joy of recognition—the joy of meeting something so well-known that it almost goes unnoticed. Especially now, when each visit might be the last; when we know its dearest cost.
Yulia Dolynska walks with a careful eye, looking closely until she finds the Main Character. Then comes an overwhelming silence: nature, with its hidden laws and connections, falls into place under the artist's touch, where compositional lines—wires, fences, and shadows—draw the gaze deeper.
This atmosphere feels cinematic: someone has just stepped out of the frame, or is about to step in, and the air hums with anticipation. The scent of tomato vines and fallen apples drifts in the air, cowbells ring softly in the distance, and birds chirp. It’s cloudless, deserted, pastoral. Nothing has been destroyed here, and everything is even more beautiful than usual—painted beauty.
This is a story of travelers in our landscape. Of those who came here and remain forever inscribed. And of those who left, leaving traces in every familiar line. This is a story about us, the living, and about them, already gone, who remain forever in our sight.
Olexandra Kushchenko
Yevheniia Nesterovych