As the first pages of Natalia Kazakova’s Album of Selected Artworks give rise to the expectation of encountering something extraordinary, sublime thoughts gently but insistently, even peremptorily, cleanse the soul of the grey clutter of the mundane. You move from one work of art to the next, finding your initial impressions further confirmed. Sometimes, however, there is a paradox. Her ideas are most obvious, there are no dramatic scenes and no pomposity—everything seems very familiar and straightforward—ordinary flowers, ordinary pebbles smoothed by waves, snow-covered streets and courtyards. Everyone has seen such things countless times. But suddenly these images capture your full attention, as you savour their details and let yourself be carried away by the lines, the distinct patches, and the refined transitions of colour. Your memory helps you to find the reason for such absorbed contemplation, aptly summed up in the lines of a Japanese haiku, like Isshō’s verse also dedicated to something ordinary and familiar, “My eyes have seen everything / And have returned to you, / White chrysanthemums.” So the point is not the scene or what is portrayed, but how it is portrayed, which opens the door to the most complex and fundamental questions of art.

Actually, there are two such questions: the first is the what question—what is the concept, the idea the artist embodied in the picture — and the second is the how question—how the concept is embodied, how the artistic means were found and used. There are many works of art that claim to express a great idea, but they are so artlessly and sometimes sloppily executed that one steps away from the painting and pushes away the impressions it has made. On the other hand, there are works whose artistic form is striking. Every detail is so garish, so expressive, and so colourful that it is impossible to understand what the whole point is.

There may be no point at all; the centre of attention is the artist himself, who does not care much about the opinion of the viewer, and the latter steps away from the painting, overwhelmed and ashamed of what he thinks is his ignorance. Which of these two situations is the better one? The answer is obvious: a work of art is complete when the what and the how come together in unity. That makes a work of art coveted. So when such a work is found, it holds our attention for a long time. Still-lifes, especially those with pansies, eucalyptus and blackberry branches, pink peonies, belong to N. Kazakova’s main genres. They are painted with great love and taste and remind us of Joseph Brodsky’s lines, “I’ve been to the hills / And now I’m busy with some flowers. / Must find a jug / And give them water.”

Although your gaze is fixed on the flowers, you see more than what is in front of you—you watch them being plucked and then assembled, branch by branch, flower by flower, observed, unwanted elements discarded, highlights added. It is not just the assemblage of a bouquet of wild flowers that you regard, or its depiction, but as if you were having a conversation, tender, kind, unhurried, and above all, soulful. And because this is the most precious and desired thing in our time, you want this silent conversation to never stop. You think about its development and feel yourself calming down and straightening up deep inside.

A steady rhythm is the hallmark of N. Kazakova’s landscapes. Life goes on leisurely there; stone lions lie in snowy streets against the background of a sunset sky; the surface of the water is motionless under budding water lilies; snowflakes fall slowly outside the window, hiding buildings and church domes; everything is very distinct, and for a while, you can’t help thinking that you see a snow-covered street while also hearing an uncharacteristic silence that hangs in the air during a snowfall.

Aleksandr Fet’s verse comes to mind: “The wind is sleepy and all is silent / Drowsiness is everywhere. / The clear air is submissive, / Fearful of the cold.” This rhythm in N. Kazakova’s art, on the one hand, evokes poetic associations, but on the other, it reveals an expressive technique whereby an image is not confined to paper or canvas but materialises on the white as if brought to life by a steady and compelling rhythm.

Poets often have literary collections with the word selected in the title. The same is true of this album. N. Kazakova’s poetic landscapes and still-lifes will help us to understand the artist who is kind and compassionate to everything in the world. Her works are poems in colour.