illustration Haruki Murakami

A v-e-r-y special sheep

May 20, 2024Posted in LivresTagged A Wild Sheep Chase, Haruki Murakami, haruki murakami pencil, illustration Haruki Murakami, sheep murakamiLeave a comment

“It is a special sheep. A v-e-r-y special sheep. I want to find it and for that I will need your help.”

“And what do you plan to do with it once you find it?”

“Nothing at all. There is probably nothing I could do. The scale of things is far too vast for me to do much of anything. My only wish is to see it all out at last with my own eyes. And if that sheep should wish anything, I shall do all in my power to comply. Once the Boss dies, my life will have lost almost all meaning anyway.

A wild sheep chase H. Murakami

Waiting for the cat

Sep 8, 2017Sep 21, 2018Posted in LivresTagged Хроника на птицата с пружина, Haruki Murakami, haruki murakami aquarelle, illustration Haruki Murakami, May Kasahara, the wind-ub bird chronicle watercolor, The wind-up Bird Chronicle, watercolor Haruki Murakami2 Comments

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Looking for the cat,” I said.

“Are you sure? It doesn’t look that way to me. You’re just sitting there and whistling with your eyes closed. It’d be kinda hard to find much of anything that way, don’t you think?”

I felt myself blushing.

“It doesn’t bother me,” she went on, “but somebody who doesn’t know you might think you were some kind of pervert.” She paused. “You’re not a pervert, are you?”

“Probably not,” I said.

She approached me and undertook a careful study of the nested lawn chairs, choosing one without too much dirt on it and doing one more close inspection before setting it on the ground and lowering herself into it.

The Wind-up Bird Chronicle, Haruki Murakami

Хроника на птицата с пружина

Sputnik 2

May 26, 2017Nov 22, 2018Posted in images, LivresTagged Acquerello, Haruki Murakami, illustration Haruki Murakami, Les Amants du Spoutnik, Sputnik Sweetheart, watercolor Haruki Murakami4 Comments

Ever since that day, Sumire’s private name for Miu was Sputnik Sweetheart. She Loved the sound of it. It made her think of Laika, the dog. The man-made satellite streaking soundlessly across the blackness of outer space. The dark, lustrous eyes of the dog gazing out of the tiny window. In the infinite loneliness of space, what could Laika possibly be looking at?

Sputnik Sweetheart, Haruki Murakami