Still lifes by the talented Russian artist Yevgeny Mukovnin (1976–2019) — luminous and tinged with delicate nostalgia — capture with remarkable precision the quiet charm of a fleeting summer at the dacha, drawing us into a world of serenity, warmth, and rich autumnal scents.

As promised, without deception,
The sun slipped in one early morn,
A slanting saffron ribbon stretching
From curtain’s edge to sofa worn.
It covered with a burning umber
The neighboring forest, village homes,
My bed, my pillow damp with slumber,
And part of wall behind bookshelves.
I thought: why was this pillow wet?
I’d dreamed you came to see me through—
In single file, in pairs, in groups,
You walked the forest path in view.
Someone recalled: today, the old way,
Is August sixth — Transfiguration.
A flameless light, as on that day
From Mount Tabor, brings revelation.
And autumn, clear as prophecy,
Now holds our gaze, so still, so certain.

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Boris Pasternak, "August"

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