The Sanctuary of Art

Irisha in Blue

For two years I watched the lass, for the last six months I watched her get up before the Russian dawn to do her show, for six months I watched as her performances came to carry more and more of the passion that drove the other half of her life, her passion for law and justice.  Soon enough those of us with eyes and a heart came to understand what we witnessed: she was putting all of the pain and misery and human suffering she was being exposed to in her study of law into her act, letting it have a silent voice for the world to see, giving herself an outlet to balance her heart and clear her mind before heading out for the new day to resume her studies. 

She'd begin with the bright lights on, chat for a bit, jokes and pretty things, she delighted in Disney cartoons.  Then the talk would shift to the lessons of her studies, thoughts on what she'd learned, she'd recall them all to her mind before she'd dim the lights to nada and set about converting them, translating them into her art. 

There was a streetlight outside her window, she took to taking manual control of her camera, soon enough any third frame of the illusions she produced were works of art worthy of hanging on the wall of your study, the feminine shape in highlight and shadow set almost into abstractions that somehow still carried the essence of the feminine forms of courage. 

It almost seemed as if she were saying to the world "no, I'll not take a mate until my children can grow up free of fear," and folks, I have faith that by now somewhere in Russia there is a young lawyer I'd not like to face in a courtroom, a charming innocent smile and a mind that misses nothing of what passes her sight, and little of what simply passes thinking itself unseen.  In the years I watched her grow she went from a girl where my first thought was "no sweetheart, no, I don't see enough of a hard shell to protect yourself in this, you shouldn't be here," to a charming young woman, self contained and confident to by the end a full Lady at the great age of twenty two and a newly commisioned dreamweaver.  An impressive human being by anyone's standards. 

What is pictured was a signature pose of hers to close her show, as she is pictured she's halfway or so into the pose, she'd fold herself until in the shadows she came to seem the beautiful flower she truly is awaiting the first light of dawn to open and greet the new day.