Portrait of Joseph Brodsky

Poet Joseph Brodsky, pronouncing this name, I involuntarily purse my lips as if Im ashamed. And its also a shame for 1972 and 65, when my country, castrated in 1917, first used this divine diamond as a junk stone, and then completely threw it out of the cart flying along the road.
A little monotonous, like an alarm, with a cute nasal, the voice reads poetry. Brodsky. And the word became flesh, like the Creator, materializing space, the new Job the Long-suffering, thrown out as unnecessary, did not grumble, but reduced his life to a lapidary formula, which he repeatedly used: “I am a Jew, a Russian poet and an American citizen”
When I was painting this picture, I listened to his poems, of course this is a portrait, he is like Venetian plaster, this style I call Nobby. several assistants always participate in the work: my guardian angel, the one I am writing, I literally feel their presence, the strokes sometimes lie completely contrary to my will and it turns out very beautifully! The paint spreads like mercury, shimmers covered with varnish and sparkles when applied in layers like patterned, precious jasper.
It is absolutely impossible to accurately repeat these bulk textures, how to enter the same river twice. But I love to rethink the topic and another gem is born.
The power and amazing effect of my Nobby is that any, the most unpresentable interior becomes ultra-modern, the space acquires brightness and aspiration for the future. The brain starts to work at triple speeds and the picture begins to nourish you with positive, creative energy.
Sometimes my autograph, in the lower right corner, as Titian taught, is written in Russian, but here I decided in Latin, because He is a citizen of the world and taking off my hat to a genius, I apologize and express my delight.

And an eternal battle.
Rest only in our dreams.
And let nothing
will not disturb dreams.
Gray night,
and dozing birds
swaying from the blue silence