Old lace, melting into the night

My name is Anya. I trace the quiet stories of Prague in oil paint, often of figures lost in thought or the silent grandeur of old buildings. The scent of linseed oil and aged stone is a comfort, much like the lingering notes of Debussy or a forgotten scene from a thoughtful film. Sometimes, words feel inadequate, like trying to catch mist in a jar, so I paint instead. I find beauty in the hushed tones of a cloudy sky, in derelict spaces, and the gentle melancholy of rain. If you look closely, perhaps you'll see a piece of my own quiet world reflected there.