Galina's Paintings

Painted Box # 2

2011-11-17T19:12:00.004+10:00

acrylic on wood

Painted Box # 1

2011-02-22T12:04:00.003+10:00

39x21cm, acrylic on wood

Napkin Holders

2010-12-07T08:16:00.002+10:00

Rocky Mountains

2010-11-13T11:08:00.003+10:00

oil on canvas 49cmx69cm

Finished landscape (copy of painting by I. Shishkin)

2010-05-12T22:01:00.005+10:00

acrylic on canvas 20.3 x 25.4cm

Work in Progress

2010-03-16T16:39:00.004+10:00

Painted Box with Pentamino Game

2010-03-04T17:13:00.003+10:00

After the rain

2009-11-27T19:05:00.003+10:00

40x40 oil on canvas

Sunflowers

2009-11-27T18:48:00.002+10:00

26x37cm acrylic on cardboard

Wooden Painted Stool

2009-10-03T18:50:00.007+10:00

Fisherman (copy of painting by Perov)

2009-10-03T17:25:00.002+10:00

Oil on canvas 30x40cm

Exhibition in the City Hall

2009-09-30T11:03:00.008+10:00

I will be participating in the Fifty Plus annual exhibition/sale to be held in the City Hall on 5, 6 and 7 October. The opening time for the exhibition is from 10am till 4pm.
Everyone is welcome to attend!

Pencil Box

2009-08-01T16:38:00.005+10:00

Still life with birch twigs

2009-07-13T08:44:00.002+10:00

Oil on canvas 20x25cm

Russian church

2009-06-29T21:53:00.002+10:00

Oil on canvas 35x45cm

Microcosm

2009-06-08T13:05:00.004+10:00

Oil on canvas 30x40cm

Little painted tray

2009-05-21T21:33:00.007+10:00

Hohloma (or Khokhloma) is the name of a Russian wood painting handicraft that originated in 17th century. I've always wanted to try this style. I find it truly amasing.

Winter

2009-05-01T09:03:00.001+10:00

Oil on canvas 30x40cm

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost (1923)

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Dahlias

2009-04-11T08:21:00.000+10:00

Oil on canvas 30x40cm

The Crocuses

2009-03-23T19:58:00.000+10:00

oil on canvas 30x40cm

THE CROCUS
Harriet Beecher Stowe

Beneath the sunny autumn sky,
With gold leaves dropping round,
We sought, my little friend and I,
The consecrated ground,
Where, calm beneath the holy cross,
O'ershadowed by sweet skies,
Sleeps tranquilly that youthful form,
Those blue unclouded eyes.

Around the soft, green swelling mound
We scooped the earth away,
And buried deep the crocus-bulbs
Against a coming day.
"These roots are dry, and brown, and sere;
Why plant them here?" he said,
"To leave them, all the winter long,
So desolate and dead."

"Dear child, within each sere dead form
There sleeps a living flower,
And angel-like it shall arise
In spring's returning hour."
Ah, deeper down cold, dark, and chill
We buried our heart's flower,
But angel-like shall he arise
In spring's immortal hour.

In blue and yellow from its grave
Springs up the crocus fair,
And God shall raise those bright blue eyes,
Those sunny waves of hair.
Not for a fading summer's morn,
Not for a fleeting hour,
But for an endless age of bliss,
Shall rise our heart's dear flower

Cockatiels

2009-03-09T15:43:00.000+10:00

oil on canvas oil 40x30cm

Airlie Beach #2

2009-02-26T13:15:00.001+10:00

oil on canvas 30x20cm

Airlie Beach #1

2009-02-24T21:44:00.000+10:00

oil on canvas 30x25cm

Lassitude

I LAID me down beside the sea,
Endless in blue monotony;
The clouds were anchored in the sky,
Sometimes a sail went idling by.
Upon the shingles on the beach
Gray linen was spread out to bleach,
And gently with a gentle swell
The languid ripples rose and fell.: Mathilde Blind

Bay of Martyrs, Port Campbell, Victoria

2009-02-19T18:26:00.000+10:00

Oil on canvas 40x30cm

Yeppoon

2009-02-18T07:46:00.001+10:00

oil on canvas 40x30cm

The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls

THE tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town: And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on the roofs and walls
But the sea, the sea in darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands: And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,: And the tide rises, the tide falls.
: Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Yellow Roses

2009-02-18T07:24:00.000+10:00

Oil on canvas 35x30cm

They say a yellow with long and thorny stem, stands for friendship's of which we may not amend.

They say its flower petals collect a human dew. One tear of gladness one of sorrow, in a light a sharing, to best pronounce its hue.

They speak of gardens as long as lifetimes, where many yellow roses grow.

Where we tread carefully, yet graciously, among the myriad of friends we know.

They say the paupers gardens, are where the hardiest flowers may be. For there they grow abundant both wild and free.

They also say, if I picked just one, and handed it to you my friend. It would mean a whole new garden for me!

Author : Bob Morrow

Pansies

2009-02-17T19:15:00.001+10:00

oil on canvas 40cmx30cm

Tufted and bunched and ranged with careless art
Here, where the paving-stones are set apart,
Alert and gay and innocent of guile,
The little pansies nod their heads and smile.

With what a whispering and a lulling sound
They watch the children sport about the ground,
Longing, it seems, to join the pretty play
That laughs and runs the light-winged hours away.

And other children long ago there were
Who shone and played and made the garden fair,
To whom the pansies in their robes of white
And gold and purple gave a welcome bright.

Gone are those voices, but the others came.
Joyous and free, whose spirit was the same;
And other pansies, robed as those of old,
Peeped up and smiled in purple, white and gold.

For pansies are, I think, the little gleams
Of children’s visions from a world of dreams,
Jewels of innocence and joy and mirth,
Alight with laughter as they fall to earth.

Below, the ancient guardian, it may hap,
The kindly mother, takes them in her lap,
Decks them with glowing petals and replaces
In the glad air the friendly pansy-faces.

So tread not rashly, children, lest you crush
A part of childhood in a thoughtless rush.
Would you not treat them gently if you knew
Pansies are little bits of children too?

R.C.Lehmann

Central Australia

2009-02-17T18:58:00.000+10:00

oil on canvas 30cmx25cm

This is my very first painting!!

2009-02-17T16:51:00.000+10:00

This is Goulburn Valley, a region of Victoria, Australia.