Autumn steppe. The mountains 

Editor: "Autumn Steppe. The Mountains," by Mikhail Olennikov is just so evocative. It feels very grounded and expansive to me, with all of the horizontal layering. What jumps out at you? Curator: Ah, yes, Mikhail. To me, it’s about the in-between spaces, isn't it? That meeting of earth and sky…or, in this case, the foothills becoming the horizon. The painter seems less interested in topographical accuracy and more in the sheer poetry of a landscape yielding to time. Does the texture of the impasto contribute to that sense for you? Editor: Definitely! It feels less like paint on canvas and more like… the earth itself. Sort of aged, and cracked. It definitely strengthens the connection for me to the land, but why those specific colours, do you think? Curator: Autumn holds a peculiar magic, doesn't it? It is the 'golden hour' stretched across an entire season. There's a melancholic beauty here – that burnished palette echoing the dying of the light. Imagine walking there; the smell of dry grass, the whisper of wind... But let me ask you: does this “realism” fit with the romantic brushstrokes for you, or do they contrast? Editor: I see what you mean... there’s a tension. The strokes themselves almost seem too joyful for such a stark scene. But maybe that tension makes the landscape all the more engaging. Curator: Precisely! Isn’t that the nature of memory and landscape - the inherent push and pull? A landscape that at first glance can feel quiet, is perhaps more chaotic on further consideration. What began as calm viewing reveals internal dialogue, both human, and natural. Editor: It makes you wonder about the conversations within the earth, doesn't it? That there's stories hidden beneath, so to speak. Curator: It reminds me that paintings can be time machines of feeling; it connects our breaths with everyone before and after us who stands in this dialogue with the earth.