I don’t excel at drawing and painting. It frustrates me. All these ideas float around in my head. I basically am a giant walking cartoon. I can’t do it though. It’ll come out looking like a radioactive blob, which is great…if that’s what you’re going for and I rarely am. One person that makes me particularly green with envy is Vania Zouravliov.
Not a lot is known about this artist. Hell, up until a couple moments ago I was under the impression that Vania was a female. Wrong. He’s a Russian-born dude that lives in London. Go figure. Clearly a man that likes his privacy. His art has a macabre femininity to it, so I feel like I can’t be the only one expecting a girl.
My confusion aside, the art is superb. It has this manic grittiness but also the delicacy of lace woven by anemic spiders (that was the most delicate thing I could think of). Sometimes it makes me want to dress in leather and metal. Other times I want to sit in a wingback chair sipping tea, pretending to be a Dickensian wraith. It swings both ways and that duality really appeals to me.