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Eæiol Rhunlae

nviatra winter 2

nviatra winter 2

nviatra 5e peopled

nviatra 5e peopled

Vngdionclonth peopled 2b

Vngdionclonth peopled 2b

dthiyolgcenn 4

dthiyolgcenn 4

dthiyolgcenn 4b

dthiyolgcenn 4b

dthkiula 4

dthkiula 4

dthkiula winter

dthkiula winter

Vngdionclonth peopled 1e

Vngdionclonth peopled 1e

nviatra winter 2

nviatra winter 2

dthkiula peopled 2

dthkiula peopled 2

dthkiula peopled 2

dthkiula peopled 2

dthiyolgcenn 3

dthiyolgcenn 3

dthiyolgcenn 4b

dthiyolgcenn 4b

nviatra 5c

nviatra 5c

nviatra 5e peopled

nviatra 5e peopled

Vngdionclonth peopled 1e

Vngdionclonth peopled 1e

Cqthigoing station

Second in size only after the great station in Eaeiol, Cqthigoing is a mix of long distance sleepers, district rapids, light rail and swift transit commuters, all gathering inside of a triangle of administrative and commercial buildings which make up Cqthigoing's modern city center, rich in color, always partly in light and part in shadow, the place has a majesty and beauty whether washed in the spring sunlight or locked in the cold in chains of winter ice... indeed since 6a1495 it is the only station of the Rhunlaeic railway system that did not cover itself over, but layered its history one layer upon another for us all to see today.

Cqthigoing City

Like thin white fading snow... like a frost holding the edge of a leaf

your being Cqthigoing, the ancient city of the river.

you, as a diamond razor sharp, and yet nothing, a dream within the wraiths of forming mist in cool moist air, a product of winter,

spring you breath, even yourself the coldness of the ice...

your suburbs rise.... the bluest of all blues

                                    the lightness of the air

Dthkiula factoria

Saturday morning... moist, tinged with the fragrance of dry sawdust,    hinting, with the pungent but distant whispers of smoking peat, the inaudible, slightly melodious rustle of the far-away pine needles, the kneading of bread ...

    Sounds come, they, the shadow-like, formless things, like the sparks of sunlight glittering, lighting up the droplets of the midsummer rain.

       Dthkiula... its poor and chalky white dust, its slow-moving, dark,                      creaking large wheel, under new waters ever new eras and centuries turning... its intricate works, known but to a few, yet, in timeless many a generation of avid guilds-men.

Yes, a quiet & largely technical factoria that Dthkiula is, from simplest bolts and towards the most complex of its factory-floor clockworks, the center of its own traditional borough and city, this success story grew but as the ocean that breathes its waves upon the solidness of the shore, as a quarter millennia ago, today, 20% - 30% residential, albeit, the area still stays its vibrant same.

Dthkiula factoria

Sthtviior Eaeiol 

in close contact with the Rhunlae capital & center for the chemical, railcar/automotive and metalurgical industries,  through the last 7 decades Sthtviior Eaeiol is probably one of the most consistently working powerhouses of the region of Rhunlae, presenting Eaeiol's brand and influence to the wider world,

though formally not within the district of Eaeiol, it is a suburb that in many ways is defacto Eaeiol itself.

Eaeiol-Ulhleianmpou

The small town of Eaeiol-Ulhleianmpou,

A quiet place where dances the sun, its gold filtering through the tall climbing grandeur of fir-trees, its highway is its bane and its life, screeching, with the voice of a thousand large migrating birds, it brings its lifeblood to this distant part of the historic Kingdom of Eaeiol, hidden, a serpentine deep among the hills of the southern mountains of Rhunlae Qwminminnthrhaee.

Stanislav
Kostarnov
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                                                Me & my art​

    I am myself, I am an artist not because I wish to say something,  but because I wish to more intently listen. My art, is not a hobby or profession, it is a way that I experience the world. a way to see the magical, mysterious and at times miraculous universe in which we live. Though the world you see on these pictures exists only in my imagination, the world my art talks of is a  condensate of the real, an echo in me of colors and the rhythms  of this world. 

    By sharing the products of my free imagination, I hope that I may also pass on some of the wonder and happiness that this world in all its tones and semitones has brought to me.

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     2016 Designs by Stanislav Kostarnov site created with Wix.com and Microsoft Paint

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