“before, the paint I was using was getting to me from the north.
-03.04.22 in the art museum in Lviv, I was told that the fabric of art supplies in Chernihiv was wrecked, in Kharkiv was wrecked and the one in Volyn was the only one left.
have you heard, they’re going to burn down the reserves of petersburg-based Master Klas-Ladoga-Sonet
/ they’ve already been bought anyway, I’m telling you. they are accepting it /
Kostyrko cared only about mars umber, sienna, ochre, terre verte brulee—burned green earth
I’m going to Moshchun, grabbing the soil from a crater. in Hostomil, everything is blended together: the ground and parts of buildings are all covered in soil
I’m sifting it, grinding it with oil and wax”