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Paintings and poems of Mikhail Lermontov

Запись от Про искусство размещена 06.05.2019 в 19:40

Mikhail Yuryevich Lermontov (1814—1841), Russian poet, novelist and playwright, throughout his short life he was fond of drawing and painting. Love for art was revealed he had from a very early age:" ...he was happily gifted when it comes to arts@the semicolon was already watercolors pretty decently sculpted and painted wax whole картины..." — wrote Akim Pavlovich Shan-Гирей, reminiscing about his childhood years.

self Portrait

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His first teacher of drawing was the artist Alexander Stepanovich Solnicki, Lermontov preparing for admission to the Board. Later, Lermontov took painting lessons from Pyotr Yefimovich Zabolotsky, the author of two portraits of Lermontov painted in oil in 1837 and 1840. In his youth the works of Lermontov the influence of Rembrandt, especially in watercolor portraits where Rembrandt applied the system of black and white contrasts.
Aleksandra Mikhailovna Vereshchagin in the letter to Lermontov in Petersburg in 1835 wrote:" ...as for your drawing, you say that you do amazing success, and I am willing to believe; please, Michelle, don"t throw this gift, the picture
you sent Alexei Lopukhin, очаровательна".

Works Lermontov-художника according to theme and genre signs are divided into the following groups: 1) military theme; 2) landscapes; 3) portraits; 4) cartoons; 5) genre scenes; 6) sketches and drawings, without a specific story (heads up, you horsemen, the military and horses, etc.); 7) illustrations, including several autoindustry, for example, the frontispiece to the poem" Кавказский prisoner" gouache sketches for the poem" Вадим", drawing on the autograph poem" На the North диком...".

the Turning point of Lermontov"s biography became 1837 — the death of Pushkin. Behind the famous poem" Смерть poet" there was a link to the Caucasus. In the Caucasus, most fully revealed the creativity of Lermontov — and poet, and artist. The most interesting landscapes, made with oil, —" Вид Pyatigorsk"," Кавказский view from a hut"" Военно-Грузинская road near Mtskheta"," Вид mountain Cross"," Вид Tiflis"," Окрестности village Elm" ("Кавказский view with camels") and other. his Best works are connected with the Caucasus and interpreted in the spirit of romantic painting, created during and after the first link.

Preserved series of paintings Lermontov, oils, numerous watercolors, drawings in pen, Sepia, pencil. However, many of the drawings and paintings of Lermontov is considered lost.

the Gifts of the Terek river

Terek howls, wild and evil, Between rocky communities,

the Storm of weeping similar Tears fly spray.

But, on the steppes of running around, He"s the evil one took the form of a

And cordially seizes, the Caspian Sea murmurs:

"Расступись, elder-море, Let the shelter of my wave!

perestrelka (581x458, 144Kb)

I Walked in the open, it"s time to Relax me.

I was born Kazbek breastfed clouds,

With alien power of man ever to argue was ready.

I, thy children in fun, Destroyed his home Daryal

And boulders to them, the glory, the whole Herd drove".

But, leaning on the soft shore, the Caspian sea was stanul"s sleeping,

And again, seizes, Terek Elder ear gurgling:

"Я brought you a present! The hotel is not easy:

From the battlefield Kabardian Kabardian daring.

He"s in the precious chain mail, steel elbow pads:

From Holy Quran verse Written in gold on them.


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He grimly frowned, And his moustache edge

Put hot blood of the Noble stream;

Eyes open, unresponsive, Full of old enmity;

At the back of the head forelock cherished Curls black Cosmo".

But, leaning on the soft shore, the Caspian sea and silent sleep@the semicolon

And worrying about violent Terek Elder speaks again:

"Слушай, uncle: a priceless gift! What other gifts?

But it from the entire universe I have kept hidden until now.

I primchatsya to you with the waves the Corpse of a young Cossack,

dark-бледными shoulders, With a light-русою oblique.

Sad face, her misty Eyes so softly, sweetly sleeping,

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And on the chest from minor wounds Trickle of scarlet runs.

At beauty-молодице Not pining over the river

Only one in the whole village Kazachina Greben.

he Saddled the black, And in the mountains, in a night battle,

the dagger Chechen evil into the head свою".

Silent stream of angry, And over it white as snow,

Head with oblique fuzzy, Colipase, surfaced.

And the old man in the Shine of power Stood, mighty, like a storm,

And put moisture passion Dark-синие eyes.

He leaped, fun full @ -

And into the arms of their waves

took with a murmur of love.

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You, the Caucasus, the severe king of the earth...

I dedicate again verse careless.

As the son he bless you

And the pinnacle of autumn white;

From a young age, to you my dreams

Chained fate is inevitable,

in the North, in a foreign country, you,

I"m your heart – always and everywhere yours.

Still a child, timid steps

I Climbed on the rocks the proud,

Twined vague turban,

As fans head Alla.

There witting wind waving wings,

There to spend the night eagles flock,

I visit them flying dream docile

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And there was a heart – comrade of air.

Since then, it took many years of heavy,

And again between my rocks you met her,

As a child once, your Hello

Exile was a joyful and bright.

He shed in my chest oblivion troubles,

And I together amicably answered the call;

And now here in the midnight edge,

All of you dream and sing. 3868582 (626x458, 141Kb)

Cross on the rock

In the gorge of the Caucasus, I know the rock,

to fly There, only the steppe eagle,

But the black wooden cross over it,

he is Rotting and stiff from storms and rains.

And so many years have elapsed without a trace

Since then, as it is visible from the distant hills.

And each up podjeta hand,

it"s Like he wants to grab the clouds.

About if I managed to climb there,

As I was praying and crying then;

And after I lost the chain of being,

And with a storm brother, I would call I!

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Circassian

I saw you: hills and fields,

a Variety of mountains, bushes,

Nature wild beauty,

Steppes deaf people happy,

And manners of quiet simplicity!

But where the Terek flows,

the Circassian woman I saw,

@- the Eyes of the virgin heart is chained;

And the thought flies

to Wander amid the cute, distant, as the rocks...

So, the spirit of repentance, sounds

Poslushav Paradise, flying

to Behold even the heavenly sight:

@- So the groan of love, passion and anguish

To the grave in memory sounds.

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45058711_1244834846_Vid_Tiflisa_Lermontov (700x558, 136Kb)

Painting. Poetry.



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