Unique hyperrealism art gallery by Suzana Stojanović Suza contemporary Serbian hyperrealist artist. Original art created in various techniques including oil on canvas paintings, pencil and oil pastel drawings of horses, Arabian horse portraits, landscape, people portraits; equine artwork; hyperrealism paintings & drawings, classical realism fine art. Enigmatic short stories about life based on different life experience, temptations, events, myths, legends, mysteries and fairy tales; books.

~ You should go to the end of the world and find dew in the grass ~


The young people who want to become educators have a dream about creating a new and a better person through their work, thus making the world better, fixing everything that is bad in that world, moulding people's destiny themselves. Their aim is to create better people for the present and the future, which means to teach them the wisdom of a happy lifetime. The teacher remains ingrained in our memories for all our lives, not only by his name but also by his character, words and thoughts. We remember his eyes, face, build and voice. The light in our teacher's eyes led us into a strange world, into the magical gardens of dreams, into meadows, games of light, movements of plants, people and life, out of which we, still being kids, thought we would never come back. They led us into a life that was a dream and taught us how to make it real. A teacher spins every truth with a colourful yarn of his words, because he believes that everything takes the shape which our soul and heart give to it. The teacher is our third parent. He loved us all and was committed to everyone and that is why the photograph of him together with the friends from the class takes the honorable place in the album, right beside the mom and dad's, reminding us of past days. With his greatness in the eyes of a pupil, the teacher very often becomes a teacher to mother and father, doesn't he? They respect the parent-teacher because he corrects the mistakes they have made in the upbringing, and makes us believe that an effort, skill and caution are the magical formulas for success. His knowledge is as endless as the sea: he is an actor, a painter, a singer and a musician. Every one of us likes having a brave teacher who will be ready to stand at the beginning of our knowledge in the uncertain path of life, to inflame the fire in our young hearts. I wonder who would stand at the very beginning of our secret path into life and the world if he wasn't there. Every teacher knows that life gives us back as much as we give to it. He always radiates the internal power which has influence upon us. He has taught us that the best way is the one we do not see at once but know there is one, he taught us to read its sign in our hearts. Every real life is beautiful and hard. Life is a challenge and a game to play. Let us remember Branko Miljković and his words: "You should go to the end of the world and find dew in the grass..."
You should go to the end of the world and find dew in the grass, author Suzana Stojanović, 1998.

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Mladi ljudi koji žele da postanu vaspitači sanjaju kako će u svom radu stvarati novog i boljeg čoveka, kako će samim tim menjati svet na bolje, ispravljati sve ono što je loše u tom svetu, biti krojači ljudskih sudbina. Cilj im je da stalno grade bolje ljude za sadašnjost i budućnost, a to znači da ih uče mudrosti srećnog življenja. Učitelj se svima nama, za čitav život ureže u sećanje, ne samo po imenu, već i po ćudi, po svojim rečima i mislima. Pamtimo njegove oči, lice, stas, glas. Učiteljeve oči su nas svojom svetlošću uvodile u nekakav čudan svet, u začarane bašte snova, u livade, igre svetlosti, pokrete biljaka, ljudi i života, iz kojih smo kao deca mislili da se nikada nećemo vratiti. Vodile su nas u život koji je san i učile nas kako da ga ostvarujemo. Svaku istinu učitelj opreda šarenom pređom svojih reči, jer veruje da sve ima onakav oblik kakav mu daje naša duša i srce. Učitelj je naš treći roditelj. Voleo nas je sve i služio svima i zato je njegova fotografija s drugovima iz razreda na počasnom mestu u albumu odmah uz tatinu i maminu i podseća nas na minule dane. Svojom veličinom u očima đaka učitelj vrlo često postane učitelj i mami i tati zar ne? Oni poštuju roditelja učitelja jer ono što su u vaspitanju pogrešili on ispravi i uveri nas da su trud, veština i opreznost čarobne formule uspeha. Znanje mu je beskrajno kao more, on je glumac, slikar, pevač i svirač. Svako od nas voli hrabrog učitelja koji će biti spreman da stoji na početku svih naših saznanja na neizvesnoj stazi života, da raspaljuje plamičke u našim mladim srcima. Da njega nema, pitam se, ko li bi stajao na samom početku našeg tajnovitog puta u život i svet? Svaki učitelj zna da život vraća onoliko koliko mu damo. On uvek zrači nekom unutrašnjom snagom koja deluje na nas. Naučio nas je da je najbolji put onaj koji ne vidimo odmah ali znamo da postoji, naučio nas je da u srcu čitamo njegov trag. Svaki pravi život je lep i težak. Život je izazov i igra koju treba igrati...Setimo se Branka Miljkovića i njegovih reči: "Treba ići na kraj sveta i naći rosu u travi..."
Treba ići na kraj sveta i naći rosu u travi, autor Suzana Stojanović, 1998.

~ Connection ~

 Connection 2008.
Original pencil drawing 30x24 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

~ Beyond silence ~

Since the beginning of the world there has been an enigma, except that man had always been looking for it but had never found it. It is present everywhere but it's hard to reach its chambers - it's guarded by deep waters, dense forests and profound thoughts. Everything important began with it: architecture, philosophy, sculpture...It is, at the same time, the strongest roar, and the only thing which stops when its name is spoken. Its name is Silence. All the depths in nature are silent, as are all the profound feelings in man: love, faith, courage, persistence. Even the greatest pain is not great enough if it is revealed on our faces or if it is heard. For centuries, man has found silence in faith and prayers, philosophers in philosophy, artists in art. The great orators were turned towards the sea during their speech, looking for inspiration in the silence of that place. How can we find, in life and speech, a secret thread which will lead us along the entangled paths of our passion to silence? Do we have enough strength to resist our greatest enemies - thrills and passion? Or, are we afraid of silence and its undiscovered paths, its sparkle that has often lit our soul, its ominous stillness which has brought us tough days? And just when we think that we have found it, we are uneasy and curious again, we wonder what's beyond it. Maybe that is the end, torn down sacred monuments which we have worshipped, demolished cities which we have been building for centuries. We will always long for silence as we do for light and air, even though we, ourselves, destroy it most. Our uncontrollable passion leads us to the unknown, uncertainty, and into redemption. By making the poison, we always poison ourselves first. Out of our careless words, enemies and unease are born. It's already been said that honesty doesn't mean always telling what's on your mind. It actually means that everything you don't think should be left unspoken. You should rush slowly into silence. And quietly...If we say its name it will stop.
Beyond silence, author Suzana Stojanović, 02.12.2007.

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Od postanka sveta postoji jedna enigma, jedino sto je čovek večito tražio a nikada nije našao. Ima je svuda ali je teško dopreti do njenih odaja - čuvaju je duboke vode, duboke šume, duboke misli. Sve veliko začelo se u njenim nedrima: arhitektura, filozofija, skulptura...Ona je najsnažniji krik i jedino ona prestaje kada izgovorimo njeno ime. Zove se Tišina. Sve su dubine u prirodi tihe, a isto tako tihe su i sve duboke stvari u čoveku: ljubav, vera, hrabrost, istrajnost. Čak i veliki bol nije dovoljno veliki ako se vidi na našim licima i ako se čuje. Vekovima su ljudi nalazili svoju tišinu u veri i molitvi, filozofi u filozofiji, umetnici u stvaranju. Slavni govornici bili su za vreme govora okrenuti moru i u tišini prostora nalazili su inspiraciju za svoja razmišljanja. Kako u životu i rečima pronaći neki tajanstveni konac koji će nas odvesti po zamršenim putevima naših strasti do tišine? Da li imamo dovoljno snage da se suprotstavimo našim najvećim neprijateljima - uzbuđenjima i strastima? Ili se možda plašimo tišine i njenih nepoznatih prostora, njenih gromova koji su često palili našu dušu, njenog zloslutnog muka koji je donosio teške dane? I onda kada na trenutak pomislimo da smo je pronašli ponovo smo nespokojni i radoznali, pitamo se šta je iza nje. Možda je to kraj, porušeni spomenici kojima smo se vekovima klanjali, porušeni gradovi koje smo vekovima gradili? Uvek ćemo čeznuti za tišinom isto onoliko koliko čeznemo za svetlošcu i vazduhom, a ipak sami najviše radimo protiv nje. Naše neobuzdane strasti vode nas u mračno sutra, u nesigurnost, u pokajanja. Kuvajući otrov uvek ćemo otrovati najpre sami sebe. Iz naših nepromišljenih reči rađaju se neprijatelji i nespokojstvo. Odavno je rečeno da iskrenost ne znači reći sve što čovek misli, nego ne reći nikad ono što ne misli. Treba žuriti polako na putu do tišine. I tiho, tiše...ako izgovorimo njeno ime prestaće.
Iza tišine, autor Suzana Stojanović, 12.02.2007.

~ When gone good fairies are forever lost ~


Talking creates an illusion of life and duration - it makes one forget about transitoriness and in that way people seem to postpone death. Seneca said that life was short, art long-lasting, an opportunity quick, an attempt dangerous and that a decision was difficult. Man, finding himself trapped in that chaos, often wishes to run away into some other world, a world made of stories, fairy tales and myths about beautiful old times. Unable to confront the cruel reality, he starts believing in miracles. He searches his good fairies, looks for them in many awkward places, not knowing that the Golden Age is long gone. In ancient times, people were good, there was no sadness because fairies were helping them. Happiness came from the Gods of light and therefore from fairies because they were the goddesses of light. There was one heart unifying all the people's hearts, there was one will, one custom, one law - until they let the fairies down. Terrified and numb, they helplessly watched the saddest of all ruins in the world, the ruin of a man. The song ceased, guns started shooting and people went to war. According to the legends the unhappy fairies started wandering through the mountains and singing songs with the wind. They were trying to protect their mountain world from a man they trusted no more. If men went to pick herbs, they would throw them into the abyss from a cliff because they didn't want to share their power over herbs with others. Life of each fairy was connected with a certain tree, plant, mountain, spring, river or a lake. There wasn't a place they couldn't live in or build their fairy castles on: they lived in lower clouds and protected Perun, the god, inside thick treetops and in the sea, they fed on roe milk and rode deer. There were as many fairies as there were springs in the mountains. While they were residing there, the springs were inexhaustible and curable. They often chose caves for their home, and there only the chosen ones could see that wonderful another world and the beauty of their long undone hair. Before many visitors that world turned into a maze of rocks with no way out. Fairies loved music and hated noise. Because of the noise that civilization had brought into their castles they went to some quieter places. People drove them away with their constant comings and the destruction of their caves. The ones that lived in the springs, lakes and breams turned into swans, snakes and birds in order to hide from people. And then tireless hunters appeared from somewhere. What remained is only a story that some people still converse with good fairies. Some look for them in rare flowers, in the first dew, in marvelous circles of mushrooms that, according to the legend, grew in places where fairies once had danced. It is still believed that they could come back some day; maybe then when people finally take their garbage with them. What about the ruined caves, plants, springs, lakes and rivers? Will they come back, too?
When gone good fairies are forever lost, author Suzana Stojanović, 11.20.2007.

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Pričanjem se stvara iluzija života i trajanja - zaboravlja se na prolaznost i time kao da se odlaže smrt. Seneka je rekao da je život kratak, umetnost duga, prilika brza, pokušaj opasan, a odluka teška. Čovek, zatečen u celoj toj zbrci, često poželi da pobegne u neki drugi svet, svet satkan od priča, bajki i mitova o starim lepim vremenima. Nemoćan da se suprotstavi okrutnoj stvarnosti, on počinje da veruje u čuda. Traga za svojim dobrim vilama, traži ih na mnogim čudnim mestima, ne znajući da je Zlatno doba odavno prestalo. U davnim vremenima ljudi su bili dobri, tuge nije bilo jer su im vile pomagale. Sreća je dolazila od svetlih bogova, pa tako i od vila, jer su bile boginje svetla. Jedno je bilo srce svih ljudi, jedna volja, jedan običaj, jedan zakon - dok nisu izneverili vile. Nemoćno su, užasnute i zanemele, posmatrale najžalosniju od svih ruševina na svetu, ruševinu čoveka. Pesma je utihnula, puške su zapucale, narodi zaratili. Legende pripovedaju da su nesrećne vile počele da lutaju planinama i da pevaju pesme sa vetrovima. Pokušavale su da sačuvaju svoj planinski svet od čoveka kome više nisu verovale. Kada bi ljudi pošli brati lekovite trave, one bi ih bacale s litica u ponor, jer svoju moć nad lekovitim travama nisu želele da podele sa njima. Život svake od njih bio je vezan za određeno drvo, biljku, planinu, izvor, reku, jezero. Nije bilo mesta gde nisu mogle živeti i načiniti svoje vilinske dvorce: živele su u niskim oblacima i čuvale boga Peruna, po gustim krošnjama drveća i morima, hranile se mlekom košuta i jahale na jelenima. Koliko je bilo izvora u planini, toliko je bilo i vila. Dok su boravile na njima izvori su bili nepresušni i lekoviti. Za svoje domove često su odabirale pećine, u kojima su prekrasan drugi svet i lepotu njihovih dugih raspletenih kosa mogli videti samo odabrani. Pred većinom posetitelja taj svet pretvarao se u lavirint stena iz koga nema izlaza. Vile su volele muziku, a mrzele buku. Zbog buke koju je u njihove dvorce donela civilizacija otišle su u neke tiše krajeve. Oterali su ih ljudi svojim neprestanim dolascima i uništavanjem njihovih pećina. One koje su živele po izvorima, jezerima i potocima skrivajuci se pred ljudima pretvarale su se u labudove, zmije, ptice. A onda su se odnekud stvorili neumorni lovci. Ostala je samo priča da neki ljudi još uvek razgovaraju sa dobrim vilama. Neki ih traže u retkim cvetovima, u prvoj rosi, u čudesnim krugovima gljiva koji su po predanju izrasli na mestima gde su vile nekada plesale. I danas postoji verovanje da bi se jednom ipak mogle vratiti; možda onda kada ljudi konačno sa sobom odnesu svo svoje smeće. A uništene pećine, biljke, izvori, jezera, reke? Hoće li se oni vratiti?
Dobre vile odlaze samo jednom, autor Suzana Stojanović, 20.11.2007.

~ The call ~

 The call 2007.
Original pencil drawing 50x35 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

~ Life in clouds ~

There's a legend of a bird that sings more beautifully than any other living being on Earth only once in its lifetime. As soon as it leaves its nest it starts looking for a thorn tree and doesn't rest until it finds it. It crawls under its wild and intertwined branches and, while singing, it stabs its body at the longest and the sharpest thorn. While dying, its pain grows into a beautiful song, putting a nightingale song in shade. The price for that beautiful song is life because the best things in life can be achieved only at the price of a great pain...at least, according to the legend. We dream of our towers since childhood but the fulfillment of everything we carry inside us and the actual battles have to be fought there where destiny throws us, at some nameless space without glow and beauty, without witnesses and a judge. Life never gives us what it promises; it's always more or less than that. We are dazzled by its vastness which we use for writing our stories without an eraser. On its stage we play badly assigned roles with no lines, without being able to choose whether to act in a tragedy or a comedy, whether to laugh or cry. It is said that wisdom lies in accepting life as it is and only sometimes dreaming of how it could be. But how to resist blue dreams and comfortable white clouds which are constantly calling us, raising our looks up to the sky? We're lost somewhere between the ground and the blue sky, not knowing if we're going up or down, until the crucial moments - those which make us choose - startle us. Some souls stay trapped forever within that invisible boundary and sail through life as straws float down the river - they don't move, they are carried; they don't know what they want and even less what they are able to do. The ones with a restless spirit are constantly flying up and down; while they are on the ground they watch the clouds and while they are in clouds they search for runways to land. They always indefatigably go in circles and they're never bored. They meet various people in their lifetime: the ones in clouds, the ones on the ground and the trapped ones. There are those that are afraid of flying. They spend their entire life firmly bound to the ground. Out of great fear they never watch the clouds; they don't even dream of them. They usually understand only the things they themselves have experienced; they can't imagine something completely new and different. Some people express their strongest desires in just one word; the sparkle in their eyes leaves no-one indifferent. We feel that something important is happening. We watch them packing their suitcases and setting off in a one-way direction - towards the clouds. They are in search of themselves and their dreams somewhere high in the endlessness of the blue sky, being constantly turned towards the stars, without knowing that many of them ceased to exist a long time ago, that everything is only a game of light and time...And all of us, more or less, somewhere deep inside us, want the life in clouds without being aware that our entire happiness lies hidden in the events happening while climbing up towards the clouds. Each of us has experienced a terrible destiny and bitter inner struggles until we've realized the beauty of simplicity. The strangest thing of all is that only in the end do we get to know simple things.
Life in clouds, author Suzana Stojanović, 05.27.2007.

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Postoji legenda o ptici koja peva samo jednom u životu, lepše od bilo kog živog bića na zemlji. Čim napusti gnezdo ona traži bodljikavo drvo i ne smiri se dok ga ne nađe. Uvuče se među njegove divlje i isprepletene grane i, pevajući, nabode svoje telo na najduži i najoštriji trn. Dok umire, njen bol prerasta u pesmu koja lepotom premašuje pesmu slavuja. Cena te predivne pesme je život, jer ono najbolje što postoji u životu može da se dobije samo po cenu velikog bola...tako bar kaže legenda. Od detinjstva maštamo o svojim kulama ali ostvarenje svega što nosimo u sebi i stvarne bitke moramo da bijemo tamo gde nas sudbina baci, na nekom bezimenom prostoru bez sjaja i lepote, bez svedoka i sudije. Život nam nikada ne pruža ono što obećava, nego uvek više ili manje od toga. Opiju nas njegova ogromna prostranstva po kojima pišemo svoje priče bez gumice za brisanje. Na njegovoj pozornici igramo loše dodeljene uloge bez teksta i ne možemo da biramo da li ćemo glumiti u tragediji ili komediji, da li ćemo se smejati ili plakati. Kažu da se mudrost sastoji u tome da život prihvatiš onakvim kakav on jeste i da samo ponekad sanjaš kakav bi mogao da bude. Ali kako odoleti plavim snovima i udobnim belim oblacima koji nas uporno zovu i dižu naše poglede visoko do neba? Stojimo izgubljeni negde između tla i plavetnila, ne znajući da li ćemo gore ili dole, dok nas ne trgnu trenuci odluke kada moramo da biramo. Neke duše zauvek ostanu zarobljene na toj nevidljivoj granici i plove kroz život kao slamčice rekom - ne kreću se, njih nose; ne znaju šta žele a još manje šta mogu. Oni nemirnog duha stalno lete gore-dole; dok su na zemlji posmatraju oblake, a dok su u oblacima traže piste za sletanje. Stalno neumorno kruže i nikada im nije dosadno. Na svom životnom putu sreću razne ljude: i one u oblacima, i one sa zemlje, i one zarobljene. Postoje i oni koji se plaše da lete. Oni ceo svoj život provedu čvrsto prikovani za tlo. Od silnog straha nikada ne posmatraju oblake, čak i ne sanjaju o njima. Obično shvataju samo ono što su sami iskusili, nešto potpuno novo i različito ne mogu da zamisle. Neki ljudi u jednu reč unesu celo svoje biće, sjaj u njihovim očima nikoga ne ostavlja ravnodušnim. Osećamo da se nešto važno dešava. Posmatramo ih kako pakuju svoje kofere i odlaze na put u jednom pravcu - ka oblacima. Traže sebe i svoje snove negde visoko u beskraju plavetnila stalno okrenuti ka zvezdama, ne znajući da mnoge od njih odavno ne postoje, da je sve samo igra svetlosti i vremena...I svi mi, manje ili više, negde duboko u sebi želimo život u oblacima, a nismo ni svesni da je sva naša sreća satkana u događajima dok se penjemo ka njima. Svako od nas doživeo je šamare sudbine i unutrašnje gorke borbe dok nije shvatio lepotu jednostavnosti. Najčudnije od svega je što jednostavne stvari upoznajemo tek na kraju.
Život u oblacima, autor Suzana Stojanović, 27.05.2007.

~ In pursuit of happiness ~

An old Arabic proverb says that there are two kinds of people: those who can be happy but they aren't and those who look for happiness but never find it. Are we to look for happiness or it comes to us when we least expect it? Happiness and misfortune always go into the same direction, closely and alongside. They pass each other during our entire life; they intertwine and separate. And man, in all that chaos is always striving for happiness, sometimes even without knowing what he is looking for. He observes other people, looks back on seeing them and their happiness while turning his back to his own. With that tremendous desire to have what others do and to want what others do, he forgets about himself and doesn't know how to live on what he has already got, even though he's got plenty: a wonderful kingdom on this beautiful Earth of ours in which he can create, love, smile, sing and jump; the kingdom in which he can steal a gust of wind, rays of the sun and sea waves, without being told a word; the kingdom in which gods gave him the power to create the works worthy of describing. Yet, man spends his days playing lottery while life, being given to him only once, irreversibly passes by him and disappears into the fog of wishes. And he's never as unhappy as he thinks he is or as happy as he hoped he would be. He persistently seeks the hidden treasure and curiously pokes his nose into other people's lives searching for the source of their happiness. Even Epimetheus and Pandora lived happily until curiosity stirred Pandora's mind and led her to unlock the marvellous box ornamented with jewels and golden decorations out of which all the troubles and suffering of human beings suddenly started coming out. Hope, which came out from the box last, like a small bird, represented not only a sign of consolation to humanity but also a warning that happiness is precious and rare and that it should be kept. A moment of happiness wipes away all the days of torment in us and helps us move on again. If people knew how little it takes to be happy they would avoid the worst moments in life. We will realize whether we were happy or not only when some misfortune happens. So, before you start looking for it, check - maybe you're already happy. Happiness is small, ordinary and unobtrusive and many aren't able to see it. All that we need to achieve it is within ourselves.
In pursuit of happiness, author Suzana Stojanović, 04.23.2007.

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Jedna stara arapska poslovica kaže da postoje dve vrste ljudi: oni koji mogu biti srećni ali to nisu i oni koji traže sreću ali je ne nalaze. Da li se sreća traži ili nam se osmehne onda kada je najmanje očekujemo? Sreća i nesreća uvek idu u istom pravcu, blisko i naporedo. Prolaze jedna pored druge tokom celog našeg života, prepliću se i razilaze. A čovek, u celom tom haosu stalno juri u potrazi za srećom, ponekad i ne znajući šta traži. Posmatra druge ljude, osvrće se za njima i za njihovom srećom okrećući svojoj leđa. U toj ogromnoj želji da ima ono što drugi imaju, da želi ono što drugi žele, zaboravlja na sebe i ne ume da živi od onoga što već ima, a ima mnogo: predivno carstvo na ovoj našoj lepoj Zemlji u kome može da stvara, da voli, da se smeje, da peva i da skače; carstvo u kome može da  krade dašak vetra, sunčeve zrake i morske talase a da mu pri tom niko ništa ne kaže; carstvo u kome su mu bogovi dali moć da čini dela dostojna opisivanja. Ipak, čovek svoje dane provodi igrajući igre na sreću dok život koji mu je samo jednom poklonjen nepovratno prolazi pored njega i nestaje u magli želja. I nikada nije tako nesrećan kao što misli, ni tako srećan kao što se nadao da će biti. Uporno traga za skrivenim blagom i radoznalo kopa po životima drugih ljudi tražeci izvor njihove sreće. I Epimetej i Pandora živeli su srećno dok radoznalost nije pomutila razum i navela Pandoru da otključa predivnu kutiju ukrašenu dragim kamenjem i zlatnim ukrasima iz koje su odjednom počele da izlaze sve nevolje i patnje ljudskog roda. Nada, koja je poslednja izašla iz kutije, kao neka mala ptica, predstavljala je znak utehe čovečanstvu ali i opomenu da je sreća vredna i retka i da je treba čuvati. Jedan minut sreće iščisti u nama sve dane mučenja i pomogne nam da ponovo krenemo dalje. Kada bi ljudi znali koliko malo treba da se bude srećan, izbegli bi najgore trenutke u životu. Da li smo bili srećni shvatićemo tek kad nam se dogodi neka nesreća. Zato, pre nego što krenete da je tražite, proverite - možda ste već srećni. Sreća je mala, obična i neupadljiva i mnogi ne umeju da je vide. Sve što je potrebno da je sagradimo nalazi se u nama.
U potrazi za srećom, autor Suzana Stojanović, 23.04.2007.

~ By imagination to the truth ~

It all began out there, among the stars...On each threshold of survival, each bulwark of existence, the eternal music echoes in the warm crust of the magnificent, blue Earth. Lifeless, yet it still lives; without a weather forecast and fear, it sends its secret signals to the endless sky. Its strength is greater than infinity. Its name is Imagination. Its last name is Wanderer. It is always indefatigably in search of the values and truths. The value is relative. The truth is our nightmare. Will the absolute truth, if it exists at all at least in our imagination, satisfy our desires, or will it disappoint us to such an extent that we hate ourselves for having discovered it? Everything is so way ahead of us that we cannot reach it, but we can always chase that ‘something’ with our imagination. The day will come when we will find out that our imagination is the shortest way to the truth. And there will be more of us mortals with desires, fears and unfulfilled dreams, and all of us will die with a slight feeling of sadness. A lot of questions will be left behind; lots of sleepless nights spent staring at the stars. And once again, we won’t know where we have left our traces, we won’t know the meaning of our existence, we won’t find our homes; we will wander through the fog searching for our homeland. It’s sad that every existence is going to be only a memory and maybe some preserved image. The memory will remain for eternity, but what if there is no more eternity? Only imagination will go to eternity, taking with itself all of its secrets which have been hidden from ignorance and short-sightedness for centuries. So, let imagination lead us, at least sometimes, along the paths of our existence. Let’s try to avoid sadness that oppresses us so much and makes our insignificant lives even less significant. Let’s follow the paths of our imagination because only the feelings buried deep inside of us can take us far away from our cruel reality. Only imagination will survive; everything that exists outside of it is fragile, doomed to an end. And we don’t want the end, do we?
By imagination to the truth, author Suzana Stojanović, 01.24.2007.

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Sve je počelo tamo u krošnji zvezda... Na svakom pragu opstanka, na svakom bedemu postojanja odzvanja jedna večna muzika u toploj skrami lepe, plave Zemlje. Bez života a ipak živi, bez vremenske prognoze i bez straha šalje svoje tajne signale u beskraj neba. Njena je snaga veća od beskraja. Njeno ime je Mašta. Njeno prezime je Lutalica. Ona uvek neumorno traga za vrednostima i istinama. Vrednost je relativna. Istina nam je mora. Da li će, ako uopste bar u mašti postoji, apsolutna istina zadovoljiti sva naša htenja ili će nas razočarati do te mere da mrzimo sami sebe što smo je otkrili? Sve je toliko daleko ispred nas da ga ne možemo dosegnuti, ali to nešto uvek možemo maštom juriti. Doći će dan kada ćemo upravo otkriti da je naša mašta najkraći put do istine. I biće nas još mnogo smrtnika sa željama, strahovima i nedosanjanim snovima, a svi mi umiraćemo sa dozom tuge. Ostaće mnogo pitanja iza nas, mnogo neprospavanih noći sa pogledom uprtim u zvezde. I ponovo nećemo znati gde smo ostavili svoje tragove, nećemo znati smisao našega postojanja, nećemo naći svoj dom. Lutaćemo u magli za svojim zavičajem. Tužno je sto će svako postojanje biti samo sećanje i možda neka sačuvana slika. Sećanje će ostati za večnost, a šta ako više ne bude večnosti? U večnost će otputovati samo mašta i poneće sa sobom sve svoje tajne vekovima skrivane od neznanja i kratkovidosti. Zato pustimo mašti na volju da nas bar ponekad odvede putevima našeg postojanja. Pokušajmo da izbegnemo tugu koja nas toliko pritiska i naš mali život čini jos manjim. Sledimo puteve svoje mašte, jer samo nas naši duboko sakriveni osećaji mogu poneti daleko od surove stvarnosti. Samo mašta će opstati, sve što postoji van nje je krhko, osuđeno na kraj. A mi ne želimo kraj, zar ne?
Maštom do istine, autor Suzana Stojanović, 24.01.2007.

~ Flame ~

Flame 2006.  
Original pastel 35x34 cm 
 Series The Magical World of Horses

~ Friends forever ~

Even then when you think that everything is silent in you, when silence is the only friend, one word from far away changes your life. Maybe it is because you wanted that so much, maybe because you were just dreaming about it that very night, maybe because someone out there wants and longs for the same thing. In just one moment you are born again and start to grow, conceived just from one word, one very simple, sincere, warm and forgotten. Again you are wide awake from a long dream and you think that you are still sleeping and a tear stops in your eye one early summer morning. Yes, it is true that there exists someone, still brave to love, to share and to want, still brave to dream. My friend. I won't say your name because you know that I am writing only to you, I will not tell you thank you since you know that every my word, deep and true, is the biggest gratitude for every smile on my face, for my long time forgotten dreams, dreamt once again, for every morning full of hope. You are so far away and you are so close in the same time, whenever I need you - you are there, in my heart, patient and kind, brave and mindful. You hear me. You see me. Only you know the secret of the right word in the right moment and when you are silent - you say many things, you give a lot. Only you know how to take me to that long trip, into one unknown world where the stars are always seen. I hear you in every music we share, I see you in every our distant city we walk. And I know that something indestructible exists, something untouchable - you and me. Friends forever. I love every sunrise because I know that you are in it, I love every sunset because I know that I will be dreaming our dreams. And I have strengths, lots of strengths for the impossible. And I can, can do everything. One warm summer morning gave me you, gift that cannot be bought. I am giving you these words from the very bottom of my heart that will beat forever for you and your happiness...
Friends forever, author Suzana Stojanović, 07.18.2006.

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I onda kada misliš da sve u tebi utihnulo je, kada jedini prijatelj ti je tišina, jedna jedina reč iz daleka promeni ti život. Možda zato što si to silno želeo, možda zato što si sanjao o tome baš te noći, možda zato što tamo daleko neko je isto hteo i želeo. U samo jednom trenu ponovo se rodiš i počnes da rasteš, začet iz samo jedne jedine reči, sasvim obične, iskrene, tople, zaboravljene. Ponovo se budiš iz dugog sna i misliš da još uvek sanjaš, i zaustavi se suza u tvom oku jednog ranog letnjeg jutra. Da, istina je, postoji još neko, još uvek hrabar da voli, da deli i da želi, jos uvek hrabar da sanja. Moj prijatelj. Neću reći tvoje ime jer znaš da ovo pišem samo tebi, neću ti reći hvala jer znaš da svaka moja reč, duboka i iskrena, najveće je hvala za svaki osmeh na mom licu, za moje odavno zaboravljene snove koje ponovo sanjam, za svako jutro puno nade. Tako si daleko i tako blizu, uvek kada te trebam tu si, u mom srcu, strpljiv i nežan, hrabar i brižljiv. Čujes me, vidiš me. Samo ti znaš tajnu prave reči u pravom trenutku. I onda kada ćutis mnogo kažes, mnogo dajes. Samo ti znaš da povedeš me na daleki put, u nepoznati svet gde uvek vide se zvezde. Čujem te u svakoj muzici koju delimo, vidim te u svakom našem dalekom gradu kojim šetamo i znam da postoji nešto neuništivo, nedodirljivo. Ja i ti. Prijatelji zauvek. Volim svako rađanje sunca jer znam da si ti u njemu, volim svaki smiraj dana jer znam da ću sanjati naše snove. I imam snage, imam mnogo snage za nemoguće. I mogu, mogu sve. Jedno toplo letnje jutro podarilo mi je tebe, poklon koji se ne kupuje. Ja ti poklanjam ove reči sa dna moga srca koje će uvek kucati za tebe i za tvoju sreću...
Prijatelji zauvek, autor Suzana Stojanović, 18.07.2006.

~ My way ~

Once upon Hemingway said that happiness comes in different shapes and who's the one to recognize it. The only secret is to find out what makes you happy. There are small and great wishes in your life, small and great dreams. Every dream becomes great dream and every wish becomes great wish if it comes true. The only question is how to find happiness in labyrinth of life because of many highroads and cross-roads? In the open sky, our guide will be sun, in the open night, the stars will guide us but how to find your way in the darkness without stars? Only you, silence and darkness. For some people it is easier to find their ways in dark and silence. They see in the dark only what they want to see and they hear clearly themselves heart beating and the whispering of their wishes in silence. At the moment I write this, I'm trying to remember the beginning of my way, but I can' t. The ways have no beginnings and ends, they gather, they split, but everyone goes somewhere. Even when you come to dead-end, you can allways turn back and you are again on the new way. I remember my childhood and the morning by the window when I was thinking so long why everybody go and rush somewhere? Where do they arrive? Why birds fly all the time and where they fly? Why the rivers flow somewhere, why the roads follow rivers? I remember my sweetest dream, when I didn't want to wake up. I had wings and I was flying, so far, everywhere - left mountains and seas behind myself and get back to them again. I hadn't felt my body, only happiness without limits. I've dreamt again the same dream and one day I quit looking for my way. I found out that my way is inside me, without marks, without direction, endless. My way is my freedom. My happiness is my liberty. My way is my happiness. And I'll go wherever I want. Perhaps to follow some bird if it's feathers have enough colours, perhaps to follow some boat if the open sea is great enough, some train if there are no tunnels. I'll go to follow my wishes and I know I'll be happy as long as my way is inside me.
My way, author Suzana Stojanović, 08.11.2006.

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Hemingvej je jednom prilikom rekao da je sreća nešto što dolazi u raznim oblicima a ko je taj ko će je prepoznati. Tajna je u tome što samo treba otkriti šta vas čini srećnim. U životu ne postoje male i velike želje, mali i veliki snovi. Svaki san je veliki san ako se ostvari i svaka želja je velika želja ako se ispuni. Kako pronaći sreću u lavirintu života gde je mnogo puteva, puteljka, raskrsnica? U vedrom nebu upravljaćemo se prema suncu, u vedroj noći upravljaćemo se prema zvezdama, a kako pronaći put u mraku kada nema zvezda? Samo mi, tišina i mrak. Neko lakše pronađe svoj put u mraku i tišini. U mraku vidi ono sto želi da vidi, u tišini jasno čuje otkucaje svoga srca i šapat svojih želja. Sada, dok ovo pišem, pokušavam da se setim gde je početak mog puta ali bez uspeha. Putevi nemaju početak i kraj, spajaju se, razdvajaju, svi vode nekuda. Čak i onda kada dođete do ćorsokaka uvek možete da se okrenete i vratite i ponovo ste na nekom putu. Sećam se svog detinjstva i jednog jutra kraj prozora kada sam dugo razmišljala zašto svi ljudi nekuda idu i žure? Gde stignu? Zašto ptice stalno lete i kuda lete? Zašto sve reke nekuda teku, zašto putevi prate reke? Sećam se svog najlepšeg sna kada nisam htela da se budim. Imala sam krila i letela sam dugo, svuda. Ostavljala sam za sobom planine i mora i opet im se vraćala. Nisam osećala svoje telo, samo sam bila beskrajno srećna. Isti san sanjala sam ponovo i jednoga dana prestala sam da tražim svoj put. Otkrila sam da je moj put u meni, bez obeležja, bez pravca, bez kraja. Moj put je moja sloboda. Moja sreća je moja sloboda. Moj put je moja sreća. I poći ću tamo gde želim - možda za nekom pticom ako je dovoljno boja u njenom perju, možda za nekim brodom ako je dovoljno velika pučina, možda za nekim vozom ako je malo tunela. Poći ću za svojim željama i znam da ću uvek biti srećna dok je moj put u meni.
Moj put, autor Suzana Stojanović, 11.08.2006.

~ We will always be together when the guitar is playing ~

They say that fairy tales are only for those who believe in them. When once in your lifetime you find yourselves in a fairy tale, then it really takes you a long time to come back. I simply don't want much time to pass; I want to tell it while it still lasts, to steal that jewel from life that doesn't happen twice...In these early hours, while the guitar is playing, I'm trying to write a fairy tale about you and me but there aren't many words. I'm searching for them somewhere in our kingdom but they keep running away, keep hiding. And I don't know if I'm happy or sad, I don't know if I'm frightened. I only hear my heart beating in the rhythm of the guitar and our souls breathing and uniting while it is playing. I feel that you're with me even while you're dreaming, I hear you while you are silent, I see you disappearing round our corner while it's snowing. As my eyes are filling with tears I'm looking for words that are worthy only of you but they don't exist. My entire kingdom is reflected in your sad eyes. I live for their sparkle...and I wanted to whisper "I love you" so many times, but just saying "I love you" is not enough, so little can be done in this world to show my emotions to you. Even my paintings and this fairy tale of ours in the world in which fairy tales don't exist for a long time aren't enough. I miss you so much...I'm afraid to see you. You glow so much...I'm looking for builders to build the way to the place where stars are being born. You are so tender...I'm looking for the softest silk for your steps. You feel so much...I've spelt my pearls to illuminate the traces of your soul. The strength of my emotions makes me so helpless that I wish to run away from them, from you, even though I know that each new dawn is going to have your name. And I don't want to know if our fairy tale will last, I don't want to know what will happen tomorrow. I only want to stop this moment in which our pure souls unite while the guitar is playing. I only want to stop your look while you're looking at "Always together" and the horses that bathe in the purple sunset. And I know that we'll always be together there where we have left our traces. Our souls will tremble like soft strings while some new fairy tales are being created. Look for me while the guitar is playing, when sadness oppresses your heart and I'll always be here, beside you...the jewel in your crown, a ray of your sun, a white cloud in your blue sky, a river in your mountain, peace in your unrest.
We will always be together when the guitar is playing, author Suzana Stojanović, 03.20.2007.

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Kažu da su bajke samo za one koji veruju u njih. Kada se u jednom životnom trenu nađete u jednoj bajci onda vam zaista treba puno vremena da se vratite. Ja jednostavno ne želim da prođe puno vremena, želim da je pričam dok još traje, da ukradem taj dragulj od života koji se ne ponavlja. U ovim sitnim satima, dok gitara svira, pokušavam da pišem bajku o tebi i meni a tako je malo reči. Jurim ih negde po našem carstvu a one uporno beže, kriju se. I ne znam da li sam srećna ili tužna, ne znam da li se bojim. Čujem samo svoje srce koje prati ritam gitare i naše duše koje dišu i spajaju se uz njene zvuke. Osećam da si sa mnom i dok sanjaš, čujem te dok ćutiš, vidim te kako nestaješ u pahuljama iza našeg ugla. Dok suze mi magle oči tražim reči koje su dostojne samo tebe, ali one ne postoje. Celo moje carstvo ogleda se u tvojim tužnim očima. Živim za njihov sjaj...i mnogo puta htela sam da ti šapnem "volim te" ali malo je reći samo "volim te", malo je toga na ovom svetu što se može uraditi da ti pokažem svoje emocije. Male su i moje slike i ova naša bajka u svetu u kojem bajke odavno ne postoje. Toliko mi nedostaješ...bojim se da te vidim. Toliko sijaš...tražim graditelje da sagradim put do mesta gde rađaju se zvezde. Toliko si nežan...tražim najmekše svile za tvoje korake. Toliko osećaš...prosula sam svoje bisere da osvetle tragove tvoje duše. Toliko sam nemoćna pred snagom svojih osećanja da poželim da pobegnem od njih, od tebe, a znam da će svaka nova zora da piše tvoje ime. I ne želim da znam da li će naša bajka da traje, ne želim da znam šta će biti sutra. Želim samo da zaustavim ovaj tren u kome spajaju se naše čiste duše uz zvuke gitare. Želim samo da zaustavim tvoj pogled dok posmatraš "Always together" i konje koji se kupaju u purpurju zalazećeg sunca. I znam da ćemo uvek biti zajedno tamo gde smo ostavili naše tragove. Naše duše treperiće poput nežnih žica dok se rađaju neke nove bajke. Potraži me uz zvuke gitare kad tuga pritiska ti srce, i biću uvek tu, pored tebe...dragulj u tvojoj kruni, zrak u tvom suncu, beli oblak u tvom plavom nebu, reka u tvojoj planini, mir u tvom nemiru.
Uvek ćemo biti zajedno uz zvuke gitare, autor Suzana Stojanović, 20.03.2007.

~ People from the shadow ~

Since the beginning of time there has been a conflict between men, lions, dogs and roosters that always ends after one side loses its strength. There is one conflict that never ends - the one between good and evil. Man discovered it ages ago, probably out of boredom. People liked it so much that they nurtured it to this very day. There are people who don't want the rest of the world to know they take part in it. Those are the people from the shadow. Sometimes they are just ordinary people, people who we know and the ones we don't know, and sometimes powerful men who have never been seen, living legends only heard of, concealed from the world in their kingdom of good or evil. They lurk quietly under the moonlight, think, judge, observe. And all of them, more or less, create the future of our civilization. We often wonder how and why something happened, who changed our lives, our future. Maybe it's someone from your neighbourhood, someone you wake up with, someone you often went out with to the nearest café, or maybe someone you have never met but someone who wanted to know everything about you. People from the shadow see and hear all and their main occupation is to preserve the existence of good and evil at any cost, even if they lose their lives over it. They easily reach their aim by passing through when we are sound asleep but we are the ones who give them power by feeding them with our sincere wishes and secrets. We work, they just take credit for our labour, and without a sound, they make decisions about our insignificant lives. People from the shadow lurk into our lives, into our dreams. Those bad ones wait patiently for our first false move like snakes at the bottom of the ocean, then they silently emerge and pull us to the bottom, to their kingdom of darkness. The good ones illuminate the path for us, and we think it has been a stroke of luck. They say that happiness is only for the brave; I say that it is both for the brave and the wise. It's sad that more and more people are turning bad. Even the sun started running away to avoid their enormous shadow. Even the good ones, who until recently have helped the hard-workers achieve more, started to work. It's probably the only thing they have left. It's high time we ran away from boredom. Otherwise, we are going to become a part of the shadow.
People from the shadow, author Suzana Stojanović, 02.17.2007.

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Od početka sveta postoje borbe ljudi, lavova, pasa, petlova i one se uvek jednom završe kada jedna strana poklekne. Postoji jedna borba koja se nikada ne završava. Borba dobra i zla. Izmislio je čovek nekada davno, valjda ne znajući šta da radi od dosade. Ova borba se toliko dopala ljudima da su je negovali do dana današnjeg. Postoje ljudi koji ne žele da svet zna da učestvuju u ovoj borbi. Ljudi iz senke. To su ponekad naizgled sasvim obični vidljivi ljudi, poznati i nepoznati, a ponekad moćnici koje niko nikada nije video, žive legende o kojima je samo slušao, sakriveni od sveta u svom carstvu dobra ili zla. Šunjaju se bešumno po mesečini, mudruju, vagaju, posmatraju. I svi oni, više ili manje kroje budućnost civilizacije. Često se pitamo kako i zašto se nešto desilo, ko je promenio naš život, našu budućnost. Možda je to neko iz vašeg komšiluka, možda neko sa kim se budite, možda neko sa kim ste često odlazili do najbližeg kafea, a možda neko koga nikada niste sreli a on je hteo da zna sve o vama. Ljudi iz senke sve čuju i sve vide i njihovo glavno zanimanje je da sačuvaju dobro ili zlo po bilo koju cenu, makar ih to stajalo života. Oni lako dolaze do svog cilja, prolaze pored našeg čvrstog sna i mi im dajemo oružje, mi ih hranimo svojim iskrenim željama i tajnama. Mi radimo, oni samo ubiru plodove našega rada i bez glasa odlučuju o našim malim životima. Ljudi iz senke bešumno se ušunjaju u naš život, u naše snove. Oni loši poput zmija na dnu okeana strpljivo čekaju naš prvi pogrešan korak, onda tiho isplivaju i odvuku nas do dna, do njihovog mračnog carstva. Oni dobri osvetle nam stazu, a mi mislimo da je to bila samo puka sreća. Kažu da sreća prati samo hrabre a ja bih rekla da sreća prati hrabre i mudre. Žalosno je što je sve više loših ljudi. Čak je i Sunce počelo da beži od njihove ogromne senke. Oni dobri, koji su do nedavno pomagali vrednima da postignu što više, čak su i oni počeli da rade. Valjda im je to jedino preostalo oružje. Došlo je krajnje vreme da bežimo od dosade. U suprotnom postaćemo deo senke.
Ljudi iz senke, autor Suzana Stojanović, 17.02.2007.

~ Winner inside ourselves ~

Life is a labyrinth we must wriggle through, so many times lost and confused. The Sun is shining over you in one moment and the storm turbulents over you in the other moment. Every door will open only to those who believe and to those who keep going ahead and never look back behind them. The nature's laws are so strange - the winners are on one side, and defeated are on the other. Everyone is defeated only war and draw is possible only in chess game. It is easy to let to be defeated but how to find a tiny spark inside ourselves that leads us to victory. Where to go when there is no path? On what do we rely, when there is nothing to rely upon? Where to find a shelter if the winds blow from all directions? How to win if you are your own path, rely and a shelter? We only have ourselves, and not deliberated how much actually do we have. All our strength and belief is inside ourselves and we will reach nowhere unless we start. The winner is one who can defeat himself first, the one who has enough courage and strength to face himself, and to make the first and the hardest step when no one expect it. The winner is the one who can be born from the ashes, like Phoenix, even more stronger and wiser, ready to confront with the storm and to shout: "Let me see what you can do, because I can do that as well!" Only winner knows that route to victory is long and hard, with lot of suffering and sadness... but he is also deliberated how warm is that light waiting for him at the end of the tunnel, worth to fight and live for. With tears in his eyes and wounds on his heart, winner rushes ahead and never counts his steps and victories. Winner always carries deep inside himself story of Daedalus and Icarus, and doesn't fly too high towards the Sun, and too low towards the sea. Only the ones with big hearts win, the ones who give hand to better one as well to fallen one, the one who can believe in visions and who can hear impossible, the one who has enough courage to observe existing coasts. Winner inside ourselves sleeps and awaits to be awaken by the bells...
Winner inside ourselves, author Suzana Stojanović, 09.09.2006.

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Život je lavirint kroz koji se moramo probijati, mnogo puta izgubljeni i zbunjeni. U jednom te trenu greje sunce, u drugom te bije bura. Vrata će se otvarati samo pred onima koji veruju i koji uvek idu napred, ne osvrćući se iza sebe. Čudni su zakoni prirode - na jednoj strani pobednici, na drugoj poraženi. Samo su u ratu svi poraženi i samo u šahu postoji remi. Najlakše je biti poražen, ali kako pronaći i najmanju iskru u nama koja će nas odvesti ka pobedi? Kuda krenuti kad nema puta? Na šta se osloniti kada nema oslonca? Gde pronaći sklonište kada sa svih strana duvaju vetrovi? Kako pobediti kada smo sami sebi put, oslonac i sklonište? Imamo samo sebe a nismo ni svesni koliko mnogo imamo. Sva naša snaga i vera je u nama i nikuda nećemo stići ako ne krenemo. Pobednik je onaj ko najpre pobedi sebe, onaj ko ima dovoljno hrabrosti i snage da se suoči sa samim sobom i da načini onaj prvi i najteži korak kada to niko ne očekuje. Pobednik je onaj ko se poput Feniksa rađa iz pepela još snažniji i mudriji, spreman da se suoči sa burom i da uzvikne: "Da vidim šta možes, jer to mogu i ja!" Samo pobednik zna da je put ka pobedi dug i težak, da je mnogo tuge i patnje na tom putu, ali isto tako zna koliko je topla ona svetlost koja ga čeka na kraju tunela i za koju vredi živeti i boriti se. Sa suzama u očima i ranama na srcu on neumorno ide dalje i nikada ne broji svoje korake i pobede. Pobednik uvek nosi u sebi priču o Dedalu i Ikaru i ne leti previše visoko prema Suncu i previše nisko prema moru. Pobeđuje samo onaj ko ima veliko srce, onaj ko pruža ruku i posrnulome i boljem od sebe, onaj ko veruje u vizije i čuje nemoguće, onaj ko ima hrabrosti da posmatra postojeće obale. Pobednik spava u nama i čeka zvona da ga bude...
Pobednik u nama, autor Suzana Stojanović, 09.09.2006.

~ Dream ~

Dream 2003.
Original oil on canvas painting 50x40 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

~ Princess ~

Princess 2003.
Original oil on canvas painting 50x40 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

~ Love or a game ~

Life, the biggest of all miracles, often surprises us when we least expect it. It awakens mischievous spirits in us, restless waves in our soul and the noblest weakness of our mind called Love. And we sail across its calm seas until Eros has a hand in it and takes us on his golden wings, with an arrow through our hearts, into the sky - to powerful Aphrodite and her fragrant gardens, where pigeons play in the shadows of roses in full bloom, where love speaks and reason is silent. Is love really love if it's not deep and passionate, if it's not a foolish act and a game - the one that can hurt us but that can also take us along the way of complete happiness? Great love needs great players as well, those who are ready to come to grips with every temptation that awaits them on that long way, the players that are moderate in what they've found to be good, those who don't muddy the spring which they drink water from, who can keep secrets, the players that know when they should stop because even happiness gets tired if carries someone on its back long. Only great players know how to get a kiss without being left without it, they know how to play the game in which there will be no distrust because they know that distrust is an axe in the tree of love. Love is a game that needs patience - only those who can wait gradually get it all; a game that needs courage - courage to see the world the way we want to; a game that needs renunciation - we rarely think about what we have and almost always of what we don't have. The magic of true love is in the fact that we don't know it will end - those who think that love is temporary have never loved. Even if we don't get what we want out of love, it can be a marvelous burst of happiness - maybe some new challenge, maybe some new game because we always love more something we win with effort. If in a game we follow love too much it will run away; if we sometimes hide from it, even for a second, it will look for us. The game of love will last for as long as there are waves at its sea and tenderness on its shores; for as long as we remember with a smile on our face what should have been endured, for as long as we don't know why we love, for as long as we keep and protect love against everything, even against the truth that can kill it. As we become aware of the true taste of water only in a desert, we become aware of love only when we lose it. Are we worthy enough of a great and sincere love so that we can allow ourselves to lose it because of our caprices? Is love real if it doesn't forgive those who make mistakes out of fear not to make a mistake? Is love only a game with no winner?
Love or a game, author Suzana Stojanović, 04.07.2007.

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Život, najveće od svih čuda, često nam priređuje iznenađenja onda kada to najmanje očekujemo. Probudi nestašne duhove u nama, nemirne talase u našoj duši, najplemenitiju slabost našeg uma zvanu Ljubav. I plovimo po njegovim mirnim morima sve dok Eros ne umeša svoje prste i ponese nas ustreljene na svojim zlatnim krilima do neba, do moćne Afrodite i njenih mirisnih vrtova gde se u senkama rascvetalih ruža igraju golubovi, gde ljubav govori a razum ćuti. Da li je ljubav ljubav ako nije duboka i strasna, ako nije ludost i igra - igra koja nas može povrediti ali i odvesti na put potpune sreće? Velika ljubav traži isto tako velike igrače, spremne da se uhvate u koštac sa svim iskušenjima koja ih čekaju na tom dugom putu, igrače koji imaju meru u onome što su našli da je dobro, koji ne mute izvor iz kojeg piju vodu, koji umeju da čuvaju tajne, igrače koji znaju kada treba da stanu, jer i sreća se umori ako nekog dugo nosi na leđima. Samo veliki igrači znaju da dobiju poljubac tako da ne ostanu bez njega, da igraju igru u kojoj neće biti mesta nepoverenju jer znaju da je nepoverenje sekira na stablu ljubavi. Ljubav je igra koja traži strpljenje - samo onima koji umeju da čekaju vremenom sve dolazi; igra koja traži hrabrost - hrabrost da vidimo svet onako kako želimo; igra koja traži odricanje - retko kada pomišljamo na ono što imamo, a gotovo uvek na ono što nam nedostaje. Čarolija prave ljubavi je u tome što ne znamo da će joj doći kraj - nikada nisu voleli oni koji misle da je ljubav prolazna. Čak i kada u ljubavi ne dobijemo ono što želimo to može biti čudesan udarac sreće - možda neki novi izazov, možda neka nova igra, jer uvek se više voli ono što se osvoji sa naporom. Ako u igri previše sledimo ljubav ona će bežati, ako se ponekad na trenutak sakrijemo od nje ona će nas tražiti. Ljubavna igra će da traje dok ima talasa na njenom moru, dok ima nežnosti na njenim obalama, dok se sa osmehom na licu sećamo onoga što je trebalo izdržati, dok ne znamo zašto volimo, dok čuvamo i štitimo ljubav od svega pa čak i od istine koja može da je ubije. Kao što se pravi ukus vode spoznaje tek u pustinji tako se i ljubav spozna tek kad se izgubi. Da li smo dovoljno vredni velike i iskrene ljubavi da možemo sebi da dozvolimo taj luksuz da je izgubimo zbog naših hirova? Da li je ljubav prava ako ne oprosti onima koji greše iz straha da ne pogreše? Da li je ljubav samo igra bez pobednika?
Ljubav ili igra, autor Suzana Stojanović, 07.04.2007.

~ Language of roses ~

Language of roses 2003.   
Original oil on canvas painting 50x40 cm   
Series Temptations

~ Awakening ~

Awakening 2002.
Original oil on canvas painting 24x30 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

~ On the wings of the whirlwind ~

There's a genie from the magic lamp that is as old and powerful as the time itself, the master of space and insignificant lives. We cannot see it; we only hear its steps. It takes away and destroys our hopes and dreams, our hearths and homes. Only the windmills, ships, kites, balloons and even some birds look forward to it. Its name is Whirlwind. It comes and goes whenever it wants, takes on its wings weak and helpless birds that don't have time to grow up and that cannot find shelter. They believe that they would be better off on the wings of the whirlwind. They yield to its power and set off into the unknown. Sometimes, these birds come back. Perhaps they are afraid of what is familiar to them or they are just running away from life, from themselves. They leave behind their young that, with sadness in their eyes, watch them disappear into the whirlwind and wait persistently for some new whirlwinds, hoping they will see them again. Some birds have to fly. Everything they've got is just a memory of the burnt nest and the whirlwind that will give them hope of finding their flock. These birds never come back. Their first stop is a place where they can find a glimmer of hope. There's a species of birds with extremely bright feathers - birds that aren't meant to be in cages. They fly because they want to, and because they know where they're flying to. They know all the whirlwinds, the old and the new ones, the slight and the strong. They wait patiently for the day when they will fly into the new beginning and rush to fulfill their dreams on the wings of the whirlwind. They know their way back, the question is whether they want to return. These birds are passed into stories and legends. When they fly away, a part of us that has been aware that keeping them in cages was a sin is quite content. And, then again, we look with sadness at the nests they have left behind. Everything is too uniform and empty without them. We look forward to the slightest whirlwind hoping that we'll see them again, so we stare at the clouds. All we can do is wait for the carrier-pigeons.
On the wings of the whirlwind, author Suzana Stojanović, 02.17.2007.

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Postoji jedan duh iz čarobne lampe star i moćan koliko i vreme, gospodar prostora i malih života. Ne vidimo ga a čujemo samo njegove korake. Nosi i pustoši naše snove i nade, naša gnezda i domove. Raduju mu se samo vetrenjače, lađe, zmajevi, baloni, čak i neke ptice. Njegovo ime je Vihor. Dolazi i odlazi kad hoće, odnosi na svojim krilima slabe i nejake ptice koje ne čekaju da odrastu i koje ne znaju da se sklone. Veruju da će im na krilima vihora biti lepše i bolje. Prepuštaju se njegovoj moći i odlaze u nepoznato. Ove se ptice ponekad vrate. Možda se plaše poznatog a možda samo beže od života, od sebe. Ostavljaju za sobom svoje nejake koji ih sa tugom u očima posmatraju kako nestaju u oblacima vihora i dugo čekaju neke nove vihore sa nadom da će ih ponovo videti. Neke ptice jednostavno moraju da lete. Sve što imaju samo je sećanje na spaljeno gnezdo i vihor koji će ih poneti na put nade da će jednom pronaći svoje jato. Ove se ptice nikada ne vrate. Zaustave se na prvoj stanici gde ima bar malo nade. Postoji jedna vrsta ptica čije je perje previše jarko, ptice kojima nije suđeno da budu zatvorene. One lete zato što žele da lete i znaju gde lete. Poznaju sve vihore, i stare i nove, i one jake i one slabije. Strpljivo čekaju dan da polete u svoje novo sutra, da na krilima vihora brzo stignu svoje snove. One znaju da se vrate samo je pitanje da li to žele. Ove ptice postaju priče i legende. Kada odlete, deo nas, koji je znao da je bio greh zatvarati ih, raduje se. A opet sa tugom posmatramo gnezda koja su ostavile za sobom. Sve je suviše jednolično i prazno bez njih. Radujemo se i najmanjem vihoru sa nadom da ćemo ih ponovo videti i dugo posmatramo oblake. Jedino nam ostaje da čekamo pismonoše.
Na krilima vihora, autor Suzana Stojanović, 17.02.2007.

~ Blue blood ~

Blue blood 2002.
Original oil on canvas painting 24x30 cm
Series The Magical World of Horses

~ Memories ~

There is hidden treasure, deep inside ourselves, only we can see it, touch it, only we can have it whenever we want, to spend it as much as we wish and not to spend all of it ever. It's name is Memories. And in the moment when something is missing a lot, you go to your hidden treasure and search for the thing you haven't had for a long time and you would really like to have it once again, touch your sorrow, and again in one moment, happy like that. You remember one of those many days that changed your life. In the sea of memories you look for the answers to many questions, in only one moment you realize that many things you could not prevent and stop but you are happy that you have memories, your endless treasure house, you could carry every joy and every sorrow of your heart in it and to enjoy them whenever you want. If there had not been so much joy, you would have never known how much the life is beautiful and only one, if there had not been so much sorrow, I could not have written this to you now, there would not have been enough colours in my paintings. I return to my short childhood with smile on my face, I remember my first coloured paintings and little dreams, little wishes, first small dog, first violin that I rejoiced that much. And I would like to be a child again just for one moment, to touch all those clean and forgotten things, to be happy for small presents, for every flower in my mother's garden, every colourful bird that would by chance flew to our windows, every coulored pencil and my grandpa's big boxes of candies. Now I know that I was a child for such short time, but that short time never died in me at least a small part of every my painting I will give to my childhood - maybe to blueness of the sky, that was carrying our first kites, maybe to greenness of grass, where we were trolling so many times, maybe to silver twinkling of river, where we chased frogs for the first time and laughed for long time. I return to my first school days, to first wickedness when we did not even know what we wanted. The thing that we were young and immature was enough. I return to my first sea and its waves, first shells which I was looking for hours and hours on the other beaches. I return to those people who are not present anymore but who gave me a lot, to my grandfather, who was my voice of wisdom, who took with himself all our secrets into one world far away, who gave me a heart that big, I return to our last talk. I return to my friends and our sleepless nights. I return to my Peggy who knew how to love, to look after and to protect my peaceful dream. Every day I return to my mother and my father who live for my smile. I return to day before when for the first time I wished to write down these words. I quest for my memories, for the day when I stopped being a child and I know that I will search for it forever since it does not exist. Every new morning was brining me new drops of life that were collecting, disappearing and again falling down on our soul, heavy and inexplicable. And in the moment we do not want that at all, we hear them again persistently banging on the windows. And we can not handle with them, we can only wait for the sunshine to melt them but the Sun is not allways shining on our windows. I remember my sorrows and unfinished stories, I remember the life that did not want to give a lot and wanted to take a lot. And if there it had not been I would not have remembered one love on wheels, I would not have remembered one March and deep dark eyes in purple colour of sunset, I would have not known why I like Carmen and Forrest Gump. If there had not been that much of darkness, my paintings would not have had that light. If there had not been that many unfulfilled wishes I would not have dreamt. And again I rejoice at every new day although I know that it is full of sorrow and disappointment, I rejoice the fact that I exist, the fact that I breed, that I create, that I transform everything bad into good, I rejoice at every smile that I see in someone's face, every warm word. And I know that everything is not still lost since we exist and our memories too.
Memories, author Suzana Stojanović, 07.27.2006.

۞

Postoji jedno sakriveno blago, duboko u nama. Samo mi možemo da ga vidimo i dodirnemo, samo mi možemo da ga imamo uvek kada poželimo, da ga trošimo koliko hoćemo i da ga nikada ne potrošimo. Njegovo ime je Sećanja. I onda kada ti nešto mnogo nedostaje odeš do svog sakrivenog blaga i potražiš ono što odavno nemaš a voleo bi ponovo da imaš, dodirneš svoju tugu i ponovo si na trenutak srećan. Setiš se jednog od mnogih dana koji ti je promenio život. U moru sećanja tražiš odgovore na mnoga pitanja. U samo jednom trenu shvatiš da mnogo toga i da si hteo nisi mogao da zaustaviš i da zadržiš, ali si srećan što imaš sećanja, svoju beskrajnu riznicu u kojoj možeš da čuvaš sve radosti i tuge svoga srca i da si sa njima uvek kada poželiš. Da nije bilo toliko radosti nikada ne bih znala koliko je život lep i samo jedan, da nije bilo toliko tuge ne bih mogla sada da vam pišem, ne bi bilo dovoljno boja na mojim slikama. Vraćam se u svoje kratko detinjstvo i sa osmehom na licu sećam se svojih prvih šarenih slika i malih snova, malih želja, prvog malenog psa, prve violine kojoj sam se toliko radovala. I volela bih da samo na jedan tren ponovo budem dete, da dodirnem sve ono čisto i zaboravljeno, da se radujem malim poklonima, svakom cvetu u dvorištu moje drage majke, svakoj šarenoj ptici koja bi slučajno doletela na naše prozore, svakoj šarenoj olovci i velikim kutijama slatkiša moga dede. Sada znam da mnogo sam malo bila dete, ali i to malo nikada nije umrlo u meni, makar samo jedan delić svake svoje slike pokloniću svom detinjstvu: možda u plavetnilu neba koje je nosilo naše prve zmajeve, možda u zelenilu trave po kojoj smo se toliko puta valjali, možda u srebrnom treperenju reke u kojoj smo prvi put jurili žabe i dugo se smejali. Vraćam se u svoje prve školske dane, u prve nestašluke kada nismo znali šta smo hteli. Bilo je dovoljno samo to što smo mladi i nezreli. Vraćam se svom prvom moru i njegovim talasima, prvim školjkama za kojima sam satima tragala po dugim obalama. Vraćam se onima kojih više nema a mnogo su mi dali, svom dedi koji je bio moj glas razuma, koji je sve naše tajne odneo sa sobom u daleki svet, koji mi je toliko sreće poklonio, vraćam se našem poslednjem dugom razgovoru. Vraćam se svojim prijateljima i našim neprospavanim noćima. Vraćam se svojoj Pegi koja je znala da voli, da čuva i da brani moj miran san. Vraćam se svakog dana svom ocu i majci koji žive za moj osmeh. Vraćam se u juče kada prvi put poželela sam da napišem ove reči. Tragam u svojim sećanjima za danom kada sam prestala da budem dete i znam da ću tragati uvek jer on ne postoji. Svako novo jutro donosilo nam je nove kapi života koje su se polako taložile, nestajale i ponovo padale na našu dušu, teške, neobjašnjive. I onda kada to najmanje želimo ponovo ih čujemo kako uporno lupaju po našim prozorima. I ne možemo im ništa, možemo samo da čekamo sunce da ih istopi ali sunca nema uvek na našim prozorima. Setih se svojih tuga i nedorečenih priča, setih se života koji nije hteo puno da daje a voleo je da uzima. I da nije bilo njega ne bih se sećala jedne ljubavi na točkovima, ne bih se sećala jednog marta i dubokih tamnih očiju u purpurju zalazećeg sunca, ne bih znala zašto volim Carmen i Forrest Gump. Da nije bilo toliko mraka moje slike imale bi malo svetla. Da nije bilo toliko neispunjenih želja ne bih sanjala. I opet se radujem svakom novom danu iako znam da puno je tuge i razočarenja u njemu, radujem se što postojim, što dišem, što stvaram, što želim da pretvorim sve loše u dobro, radujem se svakom osmehu koji vidim na nečijem licu, svakoj toploj reči. I znam da još uvek nije sve izgubljeno dok je nas i naših sećanja.
Sećanja, autor Suzana Stojanović, 27.07.2006.

~ Freedom is power ~

It is said that, on a train, there is hope and fear of setting off into the world, the pain of many goodbyes and the sorrow of aimless journeys, the restlessness of youth and the uselessness of many expectations. Train journeys are long, they may represent the only moment when we feel that all the time in this world belongs to us. As the images of cities and people are quickly passing by, we are slowly thinking about our own life. On that long journey we have to choose whether to live our own life or to let ourselves lead a fake one. We meet different people, hear their life stories which are sometimes tragic and sometimes beautiful. This is a story about a man lost somewhere on the bridge between family and work, in the crowd of people and reality. I met him by accident twenty years ago when I decided to take a step into the far away world and face all its beauty and dangers. Somewhere in that world I met him, the man who reappeared so many times in my thoughts. I remember that time when we were young and brave but at the same time conscious that freedom is our greatest treasure, the priceless treasure. Our home were trains and freedom, the sky full of stars which we observed for so long, fantasizing. And then everything changed. War ruined our wishes and dreams, we could no longer see the stars. Everything turned into dust and the wind that carried lives and people into an unknown direction...We have never seen or heard from each other again. All that left was a memory and the promise we gave one another a long time ago. I’ve been keeping him deep in my heart for all these years. Now, while I’m writing this, I’m coming back to him for the last time; for the last time I remember everything with tears in my eyes...After twenty years someone from the far away world tried to refresh his memories. I don’t know how but I knew it was him. Everything seemed unreal, I thought I was dreaming...and then, suddenly, I started waking up from that dream. My memory started to fade away somewhere into the distance, in the shadow of the man who was looking at me without the sparkle in his eyes, in the shadow of bodyguards who kept his freedom...- I’ve become a powerful man - was one of the first sentences he pronounced. - And what is power? - I asked. His blurred look wandered around the black limousine with dark windows, his bodyguards were waiting like trained dogs, being quiet, listening...An unnatural smile was spreading across the room while he was telling me about his wealth, about people whose destinies he created. While I was watching a strange man in the same body, pain was ripping through my chest. He was in the clouds not knowing that greater height brings greater desolation. That powerful man I no more recognised tried to buy my freedom with gifts, he forgot that once he knew that freedom cannot be bought and that generosity isn’t in one’s pocket but in one’s heart. He couldn’t face the fact that I remained the same, that in spite of all the temptations I managed to preserve myself; the price wasn’t important. He was planning our happiness without knowing that nothing’s more hopeless than its planning. - Do you remember the promise? - I asked. He was quiet. That was some kind of an answer, too. While he was enjoying his power I was creating. I created My world and gave it to him as a present, I gave something priceless, the part of my heart where I kept and nurtured the memory and the promise. It was hard saying goodbye, not to the strange man in the same body but to the memories. I said goodbye and kissed my freedom. And yes, I felt powerful!
Freedom is power, author Suzana Stojanović, 07.10.2008.

۞

Kažu da je u vozu nada i bojazan polaska u svet, bol mnogih rastanaka i sav jad besciljnih putovanja, nemir mladosti i uzaludnost mnogih očekivanja. Putovanja u vozu su duga, možda jedini trenuci kada imamo osećaj da sve vreme ovoga sveta pripada nama. Dok slike gradova i ljudi brzo prolaze pored nas, mi sporo razmišljamo o svom životu. Na tom dugom putu moramo da odaberemo da li ćemo živeti sopstvenim životom ili ćemo sebi dopustiti da vodimo lažan život. Upoznajemo razne ljude, slušamo njihove životne priče, ponekad tragične, ponekad lepe. Ovo je priča o jednom čoveku, izgubljenom negde na mostu između porodice i poslova, u gomili ljudi i realnosti. Upoznala sam ga slučajno pre dvadeset godina kada sam odlučila da zakoračim u daleki svet i da se suočim sa svim njegovim lepotama i opasnostima. Negde u tom svetu srela sam njega, čoveka kome sam se mnogo puta vraćala u mislima. Sećam se tog vremena kada smo bili mladi i hrabri, ali isto tako svesni da je sloboda naše najveće bogatstvo, bogatstvo koje nema cenu. Naš dom bili su vozovi i sloboda, nebo puno zvezda koje smo dugo posmatrali i maštali. A onda se sve promenilo. Rat je opustošio naše želje i snove, više nismo mogli da vidimo zvezde. Sve se pretvorilo u prašinu i vetar koji je nosio živote i ljude u nekom nepoznatom pravcu... Više se nikada nismo videli ni čuli. Ostalo je samo sećanje i obećanje koje smo jedno drugom davno dali. Svih ovih godina čuvala sam ga duboko u svom srcu. Sada dok ovo pišem poslednji put mu se vraćam, poslednji put se sećam svega sa suzama u očima... Posle dvadeset godina neko iz dalekog sveta pokušao je da osveži sećanja. Ne znam kako, ali znala sam da je on. Sve je izgledalo nestvarno, mislila sam da sanjam... a onda, iznenada, počela sam da se budim iz sna. Moje sećanje počelo je da nestaje negde u daljini, u senci čoveka koji me posmatrao bez sjaja u očima, u senci telohranitelja koji su čuvali njegovu slobodu... - Postao sam moćan čovek - bila je jedna od prvih rečenica koje je izgovorio. - A šta je to moć? - pitala sam. Njegov zamućeni pogled lutao je po crnoj limuzini sa tamnim prozorima, njegovi telohranitelji su poput dresiranih pasa čekali, ćutali, slušali. Izveštačeni smeh širio se po sobi dok je pričao o svom bogatstvu, o ljudima čije je sudbine krojio. Dok sam posmatrala nepoznatog čoveka u istom telu, bol mi je cepao grudi. Leteo je pomahnitalo ka visini ne znajući da veća visina donosi i veću pustoš. Taj nepoznati moćni čovek pokušao je da kupi moju slobodu poklonima, zaboravio je da je nekada znao da se sloboda ne kupuje i da darežljivost nije u džepu nego u srcu. Nije mogao da se suoči sa činjenicom da sam ostala ista, da sam uprkos svim iskušenjima uspela da sačuvam sebe; cena nije bila bitna. Planirao je našu sreću i ne znajući da ništa nije beznadežnije od njenog planiranja. - Da li se sećas obećanja? - pitala sam. Ćutao je. I to je bila neka vrsta odgovora. Dok je uživao u svojoj moći ja sam stvarala. Stvorila sam "My world" i poklonila ga njemu, poklonila sam nešto što nema cenu, deo svog srca u kome sam čuvala i negovala sećanje i obećanje. Bilo je teško reći zbogom, ne nepoznatom čoveku u istom telu, već sećanjima. Rekla sam zbogom i poljubila svoju slobodu. I da, osećala sam se moćno!
Sloboda je moć, autor Suzana Stojanović, 10.07.2008.

~ Love ~

Our world would be gloomy and empty if it did not offer to every single epoch something new for exploring. Nature as the greatest mystery does not immediately reveal its secrets to everyone. Human brain has been forcing itself from the very beginning to find out its secrets, to touch its hidden treasures. Those who have been the most persistent and the most curious dedicated their whole lives to the quest to the unknown. There is one trip that never ends. There is one eternal mystery that lives of it's appearance, belives in miracles, greatest wisdom and the finest spirituality. The name of it is Love. It is a beginning and the end of everything. Mighty and unbeatable as such does not recognize the borders, races, religions, centuries. It recognizes only heroism because it asks for the victims. Its bravery will remain alive in Paris and Helen, Romeo and Juliet, Titanic - on the bottom of the ocean, Braveheart. True love unfortunates are the privileges of only those chosen spirits and big hearts. Great artists have found their lost peace and great inspiration in love. They have exceeded their own limits. Love gave birth to the most beautiful compositions, paintings, poems. Only those who have their souls full of tenderness can love. Love is the greatest degree of everything that carries one not sordid heart, greatest effort, total self-sacrifice, life in loving person and for that loving person, one soul parted into two bodies. Love fulfils everything and replaces everything. Patient and tender, love derives from the truth and it is always ready to trust and forgive. Quiet and tender, cherishes us like wind, we don't see it, but feel it. Is love only a flower growing on the edge of scar mountain?
Love, author Suzana Stojanović, 12.24.2006.

۞

Naš svet bio bi turoban i ništavan kada svakoj epohi ne bi nudio nešto novo za istraživanje. Priroda, najveća od svih misterija, ne otkriva svoje tajne odjednom i svima. Ljudski um od postanka upirao se da dokuči njene tajne, da dodirne njene sakrivene bogate riznice. Oni najuporniji i najznatiželjniji ceo svoj život posvetili su traganjima i putovanjima u nepoznato. Postoji jedno putovanje koje se nikada ne završava. Postoji jedna večna misterija koja živi od priviđenja, koja veruje u čuda, najveća mudrost i najfinija duševnost. Njeno ime je Ljubav. Ona je početak i kraj svega. Moćna i nepobediva ne poznaje granice, rase, vere, vekove. Poznaje samo herojstvo jer traži žrtve. Njena slava ostaće da živi u Parisu i Heleni, u Romeu i Juliji, u Titaniku na dnu okeana, u Hrabrom Srcu. Istinske ljubavne nesreće privilegija su samo odabranih duhova i velikih srca. Veliki umetnici u ljubavi su pronašli izgubljeni mir i najveću inspiraciju, prevazilazili sopstvene granice. Ljubav je iznedrila najlepše kompozicije, slike, pesme. Vole samo oni čija je duša prepuna nežnosti. Ljubav je najveći stepen svega što nosi nekoristoljubivo srce, najveće pregnuće, totalno samoodricanje, život u voljenom biću i za voljeno biće, jedna duša podeljena u dva tela. Ljubav sve ispuni i sve zameni. Strpljiva i nesebična, ljubav počiva na istini i uvek je spremna da veruje i da oprosti. Tiha i nežna, miluje nas poput vetra, ne vidimo je a osećamo je. Da li je ljubav samo cvet koji raste na ivici strme planine?
Ljubav, autor Suzana Stojanović, 24.12.2006.
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