The Firebirds

A firebird unfurled on a red background, painted in gold and blue, like a story told at dusk.

The firebird flies through childhood tales: you never catch it, you only keep a feather. Painted on a pre-marked wooden panel, it turns on itself, surrounded by flowers, scrolls, and small blue birds that adopt the grammar of folk painting—Khokhloma, Gzhel—without ever copying them.

The red is not a background: it is a warmth. The gold is not an ornament: it is the share of wonder that is passed down. Each scroll is painted freehand, like repeating a gesture learned from someone else.