Meeting the Cows

I started reading the collection "Baby-onuchky" ("Grandmothers and Granddaughters") from Creative Women Publishing — women's memories of their grandmothers, told in dialects from all over Ukraine. I didn't finish it: I wanted to paint. Because I remembered my own. The village, the evening, and the way I waited for the hour when the cows would be driven home from pasture. We would come out to the bench early — so there would be time to sit a while. Sometimes just the two of us, my grandmother and I; sometimes a neighbour came over. Grandmother taught me to weave little rings out of grass for my fingers. And when the cows went past, she would tell me whose was whose, which one had what temper, what the owners were like, what had happened with the stubborn ones. There wasn't much in the way of entertainment in the village. But it was enough for me. I also loved catching grasshoppers. I caught one and brought it to my grandmother — to keep it safe in her apron so it wouldn't get away. I came back for it, and she said: it gnawed a hole and escaped. And she showed me the hole. As a grown-up I understood that she had simply let it go. But back then I was afraid of grasshoppers for a long time — I thought their teeth were sharp enough to gnaw through an apron.

Technique

Canvas, acrylic, fineliner

Dimensions

30x40

Year

2025