I
remember the very first time I met an artist. I was
5...it was summer... Russian South...in a little town
called Evpatoria...Black Sea splashing green waives
on a pebbled beach. A cracked, asphalt driveway, covered
with crawling shiny snails, lead me to a small plywood
shack. I look into the half-opened door. A man with
a beard was sitting on a small chair. He was painting
something on canvas. I was amazed by his ability to
paint, to make things and faces with only strokes of
a brush. I liked the smell of the paint. I thought that
the artist was a magician, even though he was only a
poster-maker, working for the local movie-theater. But,
I didn't know that. He could paint - that was the most
important thing to a little boy. The desire was awakened
inside of me. I wanted to be like him - to draw, to
paint, to be a magician, to make tricks with colors
and lines. At that moment I learned something about
myself - I am an artist too. That ordinary meeting with
the local poster-maker was a very important event leading
me to the future.
I spent first three years of my life living in the territory
of a St'Petersburg mental institution named after Mr.Skvortsov-Stepanov.
My Grandma worked there as a nurse. She was taking me
to her work very often. I was small and could not understand
what was really going on in there. I remember a big
fish tank with greenish water in it. Within the tank,
fat striped Scalars Fish, with distorted proportions,
swam silently in slow motion. Strange taciturn people
were stumbling along the corridor. My mother, Grandma,
Dad and I were living together in two small rooms in
a big two-story building. Quite often, my memories carry
me back to that house. I hear the sound of big trees
rubbing against each other in the wind, and the sharp
noise of black crows. I can see people in their gray
hospital uniforms taking walks in the yard. The aura
of an unreal world was behind it - dreams, desires,
passions, strange events Everything that has happened
to me in life seems now to be continuation of this mental
image.
My ancestors were priests, church community leaders,
peasants, and Dukes Levasovs but only one of my ancestors
had a hidden passion for painting. My great grand father
was an icon painter (or "bogomas" as Russians would
say). He was good at mural paintings and made frescos
for the church of Ostashkovo village. That church was
leveled in the Second World War. However, by some miraculous
circumstance, people saved one icon, painted in his
workshop. I have that icon hanging on the wall in my
studio. My Mom and Dad didn't have a talent for painting,
but they were taking me to the Hermitage and Russian
Art Museum in St'Petersburg very often. My imagination
was completely taken by art works of the Russian artist
Aivasovsky. I was looking at his pictures of the sea
and waves for hours. I was particularly fascinated by
one huge green wave. It was ready to fall on me and
take me to the depth of the sea. Aivasosky's pictures
reminded me of big fish-tanks. The only thing missing
in them was big-striped Scalar Fish. Soon, I got my
own aquarium. I was sitting in front of it, looking
at the silent and flowing movements of the fish. The
world of water was fascinating, pulling me closer
It was 1974, the year of the Tiger. One day I came back
from school. I didn't see my aquarium in the room. The
hundred liter vessel had fallen to the floor and was
broken. It was considered as a sign of misfortune. But
I didn't know that. In a couple of days my friend and
I went to swim in Sunny Bay ("Solnechnoye") not very
far from St'Petersburg. I remember that place very vividly.
It was a children's playground with a small lake, and
a castle with strange looking statues. They reminded
me of those from the Easter Island. Almost thirty years
passed since then, but strangely enough those statues
are still there.
It was a hot sunny day. I wanted to swim, so I jumped
into the water. I remember a greenish yellow turbid
light coming through the thickness of water above me.
I was under the water and I could not move. I was looking
at the rays of light, and could hear people laughing
on the shore and music playing. But all that was happening
on the other side. I was observing the world from the
other side. I wanted to breath, but I couldn't get up.
And there was nobody to help me. I realized that it
was the end. I saw the face of my Mom, Dad, and Grandma
and felt such pity for them. They will learn soon that
there is no more me. But surprisingly enough, I didn't
feel horror or fear. The feeling of sadness was flowing.
And I died.
Then I was born. It was a different life, even though
still mine. I woke up from hearing the shrill screams
He drowned! My friend got me out of the water, to the
shore, and to the island with strange looking statues.
Somebody leaned me against one of the idols. The images
of these statues are imbedded in my memory. I went into
oblivion.
My spinal cord was broken - complete and total paralysis.
From my hospital bed I saw the faces of my doctor and
nurse above me. My Mom was crying. My Dad's expression
was dark and ashen from sadness. All this was like an
hallucination. It was like a dream from which I could
not awake. The only real thing for me was the ceiling
of the room with cracks and water spots. This ceiling
was the only thing I could see. I was looking at it
for hours, trying to find fairy landscapes, cities,
people, animals...anything! One pattern reminded me
of the tiger trying to jump. A fantastic crystal ship
was floating on the other. I wanted to get up, to go
up the stairs, to swim away from this bad dream. My
parents were told that there is no hope for me to survive.
But some Force Above us holds the strings of our lives.
Someone from Above looked at me. Within several months
I started feeling some movement in my legs and hands.
I asked for a pencil to be tied to my fingers and tried
to draw. I wanted to draw the Tiger I saw on the ceiling,
but could only produce a scrawl.
Many years passed and I went to West Berlin to have
my personal exhibition. I saw another tiger there. I
was invited to see the circus show. It was very nice.
I cannot say how it happened, but suddenly I found myself
very close to the tiger the real tiger with my hand
in his jaws. My fingers could feel his hot palate, his
rigid tongue, his fangs, his warm breath. His cold merciless
eyes were staring at me, but I felt no fear whatsoever.
His black eyes were telling me: Remember that I'm here,
very close to you. My fangs are ready. You have to be
worthy of my gifts. I let you go. And he let me go.
Real creativity begins when you feel the power of that
merciless "tiger" inside yourself!
Anatoly Kudreavtcev, 2001
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