Fragment of memories Nemukhin Zverev

In light exhibition at the House Nashchokina remembered. From an unpublished interview with Vladimir Nemukhin:

«Zverev I lived so many years, mainly in winter. In summer I usually went to the village, but he did not go there. Now regret not taking him back with me. When we parted ways with Masterkova, was in 1969, I had to find a workshop of non-residential buildings. Then there is my Zverev.
He died in 1986 - and all these many years we have closely interacted. He was the second group. He drank. Fell into the sobering-up stations. He had a white ticket. Money from it did not take, because he is sick. But in his Sviblova it then was afraid to sleep because the documents from the drunk tank came to the district, and the risk to go on compulsory treatment, but a beast is very much afraid of madhouse. Used to open the door, and he on the verge of sleep.
- Why do not you call?
- I do not like the old man, disturbed.
... We had one workshop with Vechtomova for two, and Zverev slept there for me on the bench or on the floor. Then we gave him a wide board, and he slept on our kitchen. Tell something about him in general I can not. I can tell you in sync, as were with him today.

Here is his love affair with Oksana Aseev Mikhailovna, in which few believe. But it was a novel. He wrote her an incredible amount of letters - bags. Brought a packet of envelopes, about fifty, he asked: "Old man, you do not have notebooks?" "Well, take it, in the box." That night he would write letters to all 50 envelopes. A short poem in 2-3 words: "The Cat in the garden, pop on the behind" or "snow fell, I drank." And so on. Sometimes, he wrote her a piece of Shota Rustaveli (a poem he had memorized), and sometimes lengthy discussion of love, which takes 3-4 pages. In the morning, get up - "Old man, help me spread the letters on the box." Feared that zasekut suspiciously. And so I walked around the Patriarch's Ponds (workshop was on the garden) and in each mailbox put on 3-5 letters. And all the morning it takes. It was not every day, of course. But often. The old woman left bags of these letters - explanation of love in the spirit of Zverev. I have his novel or story - polufuturisticheskoe proizvedernie Zverev. This is not a madhouse, it's a style, a sense. "

Photo from here: http://forum.artinvestment.ru/showpost.php?p=899771&postcount=38 From the archives of Vladimir Kurdyukova. Late Zverev.