In Soloviev's hands, we see an ordinary ax become an instrument of art. Traps, huts, snow skis ¿ the useful sort ¿ emerge from felled trees with techniques handed down for generations. One of his dogs is always at his side, as critical to a hunter's survival as a trap or a gun. There is no room for coddling here: The dogs sleep in the snow outside, and they run for miles at a time, yet the bond between the animals and the man becomes its own story. -- Betsy Sharkey
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