{"id":5761,"date":"2016-08-18T11:35:00","date_gmt":"2016-08-18T11:35:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/?p=5761"},"modified":"2020-06-15T17:11:05","modified_gmt":"2020-06-15T17:11:05","slug":"contest-stories","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/en\/contest-stories\/","title":{"rendered":"Competition “THE ART OF WRITING”"},"content":{"rendered":"

Kvartira S Gallery has decided to bring writers and artists together!<\/h3>\n
\n\t

Poets and prose writers, dreamers and inventors, scribblers and masters of the word\u2014we invite you to take part in the \"Art of Writing\" contest.<\/p>\n

The rules are very simple:
\n* visit the website of Kvartira S Gallery - https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/,
\n* open the catalogue and choose any painting or photograph,
\n* write a piece inspired by the work you have chosen: a poem, a short story, an essay, a fable, a play, a fairy tale\u2014whatever your inspiration allows. Please note: no more than 2,500 characters including spaces!
\n* send your creation to info@kvartiras.com, stating the title or article number of the work you have chosen.<\/p>\n

The contest runs until 19 September.<\/p>\n

And then comes the most exciting part: in the new season, Kvartira S Gallery will host a vernissage where theatre and film actors will read the best works aloud amid the paintings and photographs.
\nWe promise to publish every piece you write on our website in the Blog section https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/blog\/ and on our social media pages.<\/p>\n

And who knows\u2014perhaps all of this will grow into a wonderful book-album!;)<\/p>\n

Good luck!
\nStay tuned for our announcements!<\/p>\n

Official contest hashtag #stories_kvartiras<\/strong><\/p>\n

\n

So, let\u2019s begin!<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\"\"\n\t\t\t<\/a><\/div>\n\n

YADRO, author: Tanya Klyat<\/h3><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
\n\t

***<\/p>\n

Nadezhda Sabadash<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

About happiness, about purpose,<\/p>\n

About love\u2014or about pity?<\/p>\n

About the way things are,<\/p>\n

Or about what remains?<\/p>\n

About piecing yourself back together.<\/p>\n

How to grow a goal and reach it truly.<\/p>\n

To raise yourself up and steer toward victory.<\/p>\n

And whether happiness lies in career and in children,<\/p>\n

In family and in the one you love.<\/p>\n

In your convictions.<\/p>\n

You must set your life spinning in a single direction.<\/p>\n

With friends, with your beloved,<\/p>\n

At peace with yourself.<\/p>\n

So that all\u2026 your children follow after you.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\"\"\n\t\t\t<\/a><\/div>\n\n

YELLOW TULIPS, author: Gago Rushanyan<\/h3><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
\n\t

***<\/p>\n

Yuri Averchenkov<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Life is strangely arranged,<\/p>\n

Cut not to my measure.<\/p>\n

Suddenly I met Anna,<\/p>\n

And I was not on my horse.<\/p>\n

I had no armor, no sword,<\/p>\n

No titles, no coats of arms,<\/p>\n

But a heart full of courage, \u2014<\/p>\n

And I was ready for anything.<\/p>\n

Armed with a brush,<\/p>\n

Clashing shadow and light on the canvas,<\/p>\n

With but one thought of Anna<\/p>\n

I painted a bouquet.<\/p>\n

With a painting of yellow tulips<\/p>\n

I hurried to her:<\/p>\n

To a girl out of novels,<\/p>\n

Destined to be mine...<\/p>\n

But life is strangely arranged.<\/p>\n

Words like a slap in the face:<\/p>\n

\"I'd rather have a Dolce & Gabbana bag<\/p>\n

And a shih tzu with a haircut.\"<\/p>\n

Everything collapsed. Glances, plans...<\/p>\n

No knights, no Dulcineas...<\/p>\n

I sell the tulips<\/p>\n

For two hundred thousand rubles.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\"\"\n\t\t\t<\/a><\/div>\n\n

FISH LIKE PEOPLE, by Olga Mashkina<\/h3><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
\n\t

***<\/p>\n

Ekaterina Bandakova<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

Fish are like people. They live in cities
\nof fish.<\/p>\n

They go to work. They stand in lines
\nlong ones.<\/p>\n

Only they do everything in silence
\nand smoothly.<\/p>\n

How well everything is arranged for them!
\nHow splendid!<\/p>\n

Each fish swims in its own
\nthoughts.<\/p>\n

Silently writes poems, multiplies in its head
\nnumbers.<\/p>\n

And if it sees another fish,
\nthen at once,<\/p>\n

Without needless words it winks at her
\nwith one eye.<\/p>\n

Fish have no debates and long
\narguments.<\/p>\n

There are no heart-to-heart talks at night in the kitchen.<\/p>\n

Fish have no gossip, rumors
\nand idle talk.<\/p>\n

At night fish in the kitchen wash the dishes without a sound.<\/p>\n

And in all else fish are like people:
\nTo hear one another is, as for us,
\nhard.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\"\"\n\t\t\t<\/a><\/div>\n\n

ICE SCISSORS, by Mikhail Sazhaev<\/h3><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
\n\t

***<\/p>\n

Yuri Averchenkov<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Carefully, along the contour, without breaking the edges,<\/p>\n

I cut out what I once was as I:<\/p>\n

An embarrassed curve of a smile, a surprised brow,<\/p>\n

A great heart that stands for love,<\/p>\n

A lightbulb as a symbol of ambitious ideas,<\/p>\n

A little cross that once helped me believe in people,<\/p>\n

Clock hands that taught patience and waiting,<\/p>\n

A handful of tears I would not let myself cry through.<\/p>\n

Everything has frozen, stiffened\u2014not living water.<\/p>\n

I cut the past with scissors for ice.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\"\"\n\t\t\t<\/a><\/div>\n\n

I WILL MEET YOU HERE, by Galina Semenova<\/h3><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
\n\t

***<\/p>\n

Sergey Logvenkov<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

I walked along the darkened pier,
\nWhen even waves dared not break.
\nI turned around... The seagull fell silent...
\nNot daring to stir its wing.
\nI lowered my feet onto the water
\nAnd suddenly knew I would not sink!
\nMy breath caught as I gazed into the water!
\nI waited for her! For her alone!<\/p>\n

Only a pale silhouette appeared<\/p>\n

Amid the mingled spray of waves and clinging mist.<\/p>\n

I stood there until morning,<\/p>\n

Not daring to utter a word or even blink.<\/p>\n

Only a gentle breeze arose,<\/p>\n

And everything vanished that very instant,<\/p>\n

I cried out: \"Do not go, oh no!!!\"<\/p>\n

But only silence answered me...<\/p>\n

\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\"\"\n\t\t\t<\/a><\/div>\n\n

MY EYES, by Olga Mashkina<\/h3><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
\n\t

***<\/p>\n

Alisa Yagubets<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Sometimes you realize that nothing will ever be more precious than this moment.<\/p>\n

It holds everything. Air at just the right temperature, night diluted by the glow of streetlamps, and you yourself. A playground, where several children out late are engrossed in some game. Nothing distracts them, just as nothing distracts you from your contemplation. The day has been lived.<\/p>\n

During the day, you failed... It happens. But you have reached the end of this day with what you brought into it, and it is foolish to dwell on the past. That day is gone. Night comes precisely to wipe our accounts clean and allow us to begin anew. To grant us respite. A blessed time that we usually squander on regret and guilt. Instead of relaxing and drinking deeply of this night. It is a life in its own right, the other side of life.<\/p>\n

On this side, no one is rushing anywhere. If your haste was not left behind with the departed day, there is something you have failed to understand about this life. Smile.<\/p>\n

The end of a day is like the end of a life. That is all, the screening is over, and the lights come on in the cinema. Thank you, it was interesting. And difficult, and painful, and magnificent. But we move on. Why not drink wine with friends and share the silence?<\/p>\n

Thank you, night, for erasing the traces of my failures like a wave. Thank you for the way everything is arranged. For letting me draw obscure signs in the sand and build illusions. To be disappointed and to die. To lose and abandon hope. And then the wave comes\u2014and once again a blank page lies before me. Thank you.<\/p>\n

Stay where you are. Stay where time has placed you. Here and now. Speak with God. Be silent. And listen. In the inexhaustible silence of the night, you will find your haven...<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\"\"\n\t\t\t<\/a><\/div>\n\n

UNFADING TENDERNESS, by Anastasia Bunina<\/h3><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
\n\t

***<\/p>\n

Kristina Zyblaya<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Not once, but every time,
\nI searched the crowd for the one
\nWhose beautiful eyes and their hue
\nWould cast their light upon my face...<\/p>\n

But the crowd seethed with anger,
\nFilling me with sorrow and fear,
\nAnd now a tawdry deception
\nHas settled in their hearts.<\/p>\n

Do not search, simply become the crowd\u2014
\nA passerby called after me\u2014
\nIt is your chance to find peace
\nUntil the end of your mature years.<\/p>\n

Hurry home without delay,
\nThe essence of the crowd is to return twofold<\/p>\n

The tenderness and love
\nThat were denied to you.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\"\"\n\t\t\t<\/a><\/div>\n\n

THE BIG WOMAN, author: Olga Mashkina<\/h3><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
\n\t

***<\/p>\n

Darya Ermakova<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

Hello! I am a big woman.
\nMy city is Jericho.
\nThey lean ladders against me,
\nI weigh dozens of tons.<\/p>\n

I stand here half-undressed,
\nI stand and try to keep silent,
\nIn this little world as if a captive...
\nHow hard it is to stand alone!<\/p>\n

Passers-by point their fingers at me
\nAnd rush up closer to look,
\nGrimacing, contorting their faces,
\nAs if I were a circus bear.<\/p>\n

\"You could have been a meter with a cap,
\nBut look \u2014 a cliff!\"
\nOffensive remarks rain down,
\nAnd I am neither alive nor dead.<\/p>\n

I endure and live on hope
\nThat after I am gone,
\nI will be new, not the same,
\nWalking in a heavenly garden.<\/p>\n

A tear appears in my eyes,
\nBut my gaze grows brighter.
\nYou know, it is foolish to grieve
\nWhen you are a sister of the mountains.<\/p>\n

[And here I am filled with love,
\nI decide that this is providence.
\nA vast soul lives within her,
\nAnd so mercies await].<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\"\"\n\t\t\t<\/a><\/div>\n\n

LYRICAL DIGRESSION, author: Leonid Senyushkin<\/h3><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
\n\t

***<\/p>\n

Evgeniya Plokhikh<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

And we settled by the sea,
\nFor a couple of months exactly.
\nBehind the house \u2014 a boundless field,
\nIn it \u2014 the wind, juicy as peaches.
\nBy the house \u2014 a hammock and tree stumps,
\nOn them \u2014 fresh tea, a pair of cups,
\nOn them \u2014 our daughter's little socks,
\nA dog collar and ours .
\nThey are not needed here at all,
\nWhile it is so warm and empty of people,
\nWhile autumn has not yet dawned,
\nWhile you cook me dishes \u2014
\nOne after another \u2014 on the grill,
\nWhile there are hours for reflection,
\nAnd a place where for mother
\nWe will set out wicker chairs,
\nAnd next to them \u2014 a climbing rose
\nWe'll plant, and sit closer,
\nWhile the frosts have not yet struck,
\nWhile we love and breathe.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n
\n\t\t\t\n\t\t\t\"\"\n\t\t\t<\/a><\/div>\n\n

THE RUN, author: Olga Mashkina<\/h3><\/div><\/div><\/div>
\n
\n\t

***<\/p>\n

Sveta Romashkina<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

The water seared her with cold. After somehow enduring the icy streams, Kira began drying her hair. Getting ready took a record-breaking 28 minutes, which meant she still had time to buy coffee at Starbucks. In her lonely life, burdened with problems, it was her only solace. Dashing out into the raw autumn air, with solitary leaves drifting on the wind, Kira realized how closely her state of mind echoed that capricious, ill-tempered lady\u2014autumn.<\/p>\n

Near the metro, an elderly woman always sold Antonovka apples. She lovingly sorted through her rosy fruit, wiping some of the apples with a cloth that was none too clean. The sight made Kira shudder. Noticing her grimace, the woman looked at her and suddenly held out an apple. Kira recoiled in surprise. In a low voice, the woman said, \u201cTake it, dear! It\u2019s from my own garden!\u201d Too flustered to squeeze out even a couple of words, Kira merely sprinted toward the metro entrance with the speed of an Olympian. Swept into the human maelstrom, she sat down, intending to read. But the letters swam before her eyes, the headlines danced a tango, and although the pages kept turning, she absorbed none of the meaning. The woman with the Antonovka apples remained before her mind\u2019s eye, and waves of burning shame washed over Kira for having fled so disgracefully without even managing to say thank you. That evening, Kira decided to buy a cake, find the woman, and ask her forgiveness.<\/p>\n

By evening, Kira was somewhat nervous and dismissed her morning decision as a mere impulse. Emerging from the metro, she stopped, thought for a moment, and decided that she had to approach the woman. But the woman was nowhere to be found. The shawarma vendor was busily drizzling ketchup over his creation for a customer waiting nearby. Kira asked him about the woman, and the vendor, whose name\u2014Misha\u2014was scrawled on his badge, smiled broadly and said that she lived on the second floor of the nine-storey building over there.<\/p>\n

The entrance hall was dimly lit, and no one had painted its chipped railings for years, yet watered flowers in new pots stood on the windowsill, striking a discordant note against the general state of the place. Intuitively, Kira headed toward apartment 7. That apartment smelled of kindness, comfort, and cabbage pies. As a little girl, Kira had loved them because her grandmother\u2019s were truly exceptional. To give the crust a golden glow, Granny brushed it with egg. Timidly pressing the doorbell, the young woman heard the bright bark of a dog. Brisk footsteps announced the imminent arrival of the lady of the house. The door opened, and there stood the woman before her.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is for you,\u201d Kira said, holding out the cake. \u201cAnd I wanted to apologize. What happened was awful.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome in,\u201d was all the woman said. \u201cWe\u2019ll have some tea, and you, Barsik, stop pestering our guest,\u201d she added, addressing the lively little dog.<\/p>\n

Sitting in the kitchen and stirring her tea with oregano and thyme, Kira felt like crying for the first time in two years, like a sliver of ice melting in a hot glass. She sensed that she would become a frequent guest in this home that smelled of cabbage pies, where a woman with kind eyes and a generous heart lived; inwardly, she gave thanks that, amid the daily bustle and the endless race around the metropolis\u2019s vicious circle, she had managed to discern a spark of human compassion and had followed its light.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Poets and prose writers, dreamers and inventors, scribblers and masters of the word\u2014we invite you to take part in the “Art of Writing” contest. The rules are very simple: * visit the website of Kvartira S Gallery – https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/, * open the catalogue and choose any painting or photograph, * write a piece inspired by […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":5706,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-5761","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5761","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5761"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5761\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5706"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5761"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5761"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kvartiras.com\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5761"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}