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Russian Paintings gallery - painting gallery dedicated to the contemporary Russian fine art: painting, graphic arts, batic, art object, sculpture, icon, mosaic, art embroidered painting, art dolls, art glass, art enamel, hand-made copies of paintings, wall painting, аpplied arts, aerography arts, prints, giclees, posters, portrait on order, photography.

Сompetitions

20 July 2016 03:05:38  Competition 'Romanticism of Rain'

Time of carrying out of the competition: July 20, 2016 - November 1, 2016.

I hear leaves drinking rain;
I hear rich leaves on top
Giving the poor beneath
Drop after drop;
'Tis a sweet noise to hear
These green leaves drinking near.

And when the Sun comes out,
After this Rain shall stop,
A wondrous Light will fill
Each dark, round drop;
I hope the Sun shines bright;
'Twill be a lovely sight.

William Henry Davies,
Poem 'The Rain'

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Competition 'Romanticism of Rain'

19 September 2014 06:48:15  Competition 'Glorious Autumn'

Time of carrying out of the competition: September 20, 2014 - December 1, 2014.

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou mayst rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.

"The narrow bud opens her beauties to
The sun, and love runs in her thrilling veins;
Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and
Flourish down the bright cheek of modest Eve,
Till clust’ring Summer breaks forth into singing,
And feather’d clouds strew flowers round her head.

"The spirits of the air live on the smells
Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round
The gardens, or sits singing in the trees."
Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat;
Then rose, girded himself, and o’er the bleak
Hills fled from our sight; but left his golden load.

Sir Walter Scott

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Competition "Glorious Autumn"

03 January 2014 17:35:21  Competition 'My Native Land'

Time of carrying out of the competition: January 1, 2014 - April 1, 2014.

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

Sir Walter Scott

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Competition 'My Native Land'