yulia strukova walked around the exhibition., writes mark shagal in the novel “my life.” and now, under the lullaby , lyulka’s trough sways. the artist’s paintings from private collections, his texts are here along with interactive installations that you can touch, you can play everything, and isn’t this a miracle, the birth of a person, thoughts, ideas is a great miracle, and we went from this miracle, the miracle of having a family, to be happy in the family, a wonderful place where you were born, you can find yourself on the roofs of the houses of vitebsk, chagall’s hometown, sad and cheerful, in the fish shop of the artist’s father on the streets and in courtyards with animals, of which there are many in his paintings, here they turn into shadow theater actors. this son, boxes of monsoon, eyes shining on a pale face, just open the window she is here, with her azure, love, flowers, this is abella, shagall’s wife, who hovers in his paintings, here she is in his parisian workshop, where he worked.. . almost without sleep, it wa