In a hint of unfinished is essence.
In a flourish- whole life.
What's it, without vivid colours and emotions? A picture or a sketch?
Impossibility of determination is an essence of mystery.
Rustam Khandamov's lines - music of unfinished.
From a shoe painted hundred times, imagination unerringly creates an image. Hundred images.
Impersonality of women, almost alike, by miracle of mastery are personalized. Immaterial, imponderable world is submitted to women's faces, multiplied like in mirrors. World, in some sense, without life- impossibility of taking a breath in the world of absolute beauty.
Mediocre being does choke in this world. He has to put a weight , deteriorate,fracture, to feel more restful, comfortable.
beauties weaved up by an artist from a web. They are secure on the paper only - impossible exist without. They would have melt here, burn or be trodden down. Would have been killed if touched., you have to be careful even to look at through eyelashes. One inaccurate breath of excitement and they will fly away!
The paintings of Khandamov, not paintings at all. They are something other.
Leaves whirling in the wind?
Khandamov is enchanting you with weightless perfection, submerging you into his own fantasies... Astounds you with purity, with an air permeated by aroma of non existing perfumes.
It might be somebody else's dream.
You are left only to catch it, if the wind will not interfere.