Сообщение от Tana
Tatiana Yablonskaya - People's Artist of USSR and Ukraine, member of the Academy of Arts of the USSR and Ukraine, Professor, Hero of Ukraine, winner of three State Prizes of the USSR, two medals of the USSR Academy of Arts, the National Prize of Ukraine. Shevchenko.
Personal Exhibition of Tatiana Yablonska held in dozens of cities in the USSR and the world. Her paintings are in the State Tretyakov Gallery (Moscow), State Russian Museum (St. Petersburg), the National Art Museum of Ukraine (Kiev), many other museums and private collections.
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Already in the early 70-ies had to teach Gayushu for admission to the Art Institute. Give it to art school I did not want to - decided to teach myself. Olga said that I have no right to teach her art. Since it did not understand. I was, of course, very disturbed. How so? What kind of arrogance on her part! On all sides I hear quite the opposite. It is not cooled down and praise my decorative works from the "best artists". And praise is always pleasant, even if you yourself in these works disappointed - weak people. It turns out that in the eyes of the majority, I - "one of the most talented painters, but according to his own daughter -" Nothing in the painting is not sense. The scandals and squabbles.
But as the summer I was close with Olya wrote in Sednief sketches and saw the tremendous difference in the approach to them. I have all turned out very easily, quickly and empty. Once illusory and decorative. Olga, on the contrary, worked on each sketch with a very high voltage. Color it was always very material, at the same time remaining color paint. The surface of the canvas was filled with intense vibration. In addition, the color feature in-depth manner, density. I felt a huge difference between her strong, physical and at the same time, color, considerable work and mine - lightweight, empty, filled. started suffering, tears, disbelief in its strength. Olga explained scolded. And I was of seeing. Began to arise long forgotten feeling of living, tangible, beautiful paintings, when he suddenly begins to turn color in the precious flesh, while at the same time actively playing on the canvas with paint. This feeling arose not every time, but more and more frequently. I was waiting for him, sought. And waited.
There is nothing more beautiful than this feeling. It's hard to describe. But this is - now. This is a precious painting. And I'm so sorry that I long ago it lost, 20-30 years ago. At best, the most active years of his life. I now think: how much better would have been full all my pictures, if they were really written. Only this can give painting paintings intrinsic value.
If I did not forget, do not lose this feeling, perhaps, and my decorative and ethnographic things would have been more valid and real. And most likely, I would have them and did not come, and all work would have developed otherwise.
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