Alla Goniodsky - artist and her world

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“I have both of your drawings in my bedroom, right above my side table. Every night, before going to bed I use to look at them... It has become my habit in time. I am captivated by the dynamics they bear inside ...They make me think about our seemingly long, but actually very short, travel through life..., how we desperately need support, love and fun...”

I.G. Bellevue, WA

“...My son was in college and nothing kept me in the house I happily shared with my late husband for more than 20 years. I left within an hour, taking almost nothing. My only companions to my new life were your paintings. They are still with me. They always make me feel content with what I am, and what I do   ...” 

Ruth Hollander, New York, US

“The very moment I saw this painting, I knew - it will be mine. Because it’s just ME - so emotionally charged, loving life, laughing and crying at the same time, falling down and rising again to life, a warrior, a survivor... Now it’s the central piece in my house... Believe it or not, every new person who looked at the painting for the first time asked the same question - Is it you?”

I. R., Bellevue, WA

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theatrical art
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“Your painting is the best birthday present I’ve ever got. It was a real surprise for me when my wife and my friends unveiled the stand, and here it was - the painting I always  looked at while visiting your studio... “

Peter N. Fox, Sherman Oaks, CA


Прекрасно в нас влюбленное вино

И добрый хлеб, что в печь для нас садится,

И женщина, которою дано,

Сперва измучившись, нам насладиться.


Но что нам делать с розовой зарей

Над холодеющими небесами,

Где тишина и неземной покой,

Что делать нам с бессмертными стихами?


Ни съесть, ни выпить, ни поцеловать.

Мгновение бежит неудержимо,

И мы ломаем руки, но опять

Осуждены идти всё мимо, мимо.



Как мальчик, игры позабыв свои,

Следит порой за девичьим купаньем

И, ничего не зная о любви,

Все ж мучится таинственным желаньем;


Как некогда в разросшихся хвощах

Ревела от сознания бессилья

Тварь скользкая, почуя на плечах

Еще не появившиеся крылья;


Так век за веком - скоро ли, Господь? -

Под скальпелем природы и искусства

Кричит наш дух, изнемогает плоть,

Рождая орган для шестого чувства.


“This painting of yours is like the perfect illustration of my favourite poem by renowned  Russian “Silver Age” poet Nikolai Gumilev.

I can’t help reminding it to you. I’ll try to find it in English translation.

Rita Gruzman, Redmond, WA

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