7 April 2010. Beauty sun, spring... Mother with young child tucked to her breast, another on it's way...
Beginnings. Sergei Orekhov, performing informally, in a room with worn walls, tall brown wardrobe just behind, painted decorations--a Russian shape, like an egg or an eye, black and dark dark red, moving towards gold. Sitting casually, legs crossed, the precision all in his hands...and face. A woman alongside, listening intently, head to one side. Warm, muted light...
Zhavoronok...
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