I think it saved our family that, in his speech at the beginning of the war, Stalin among the great names that gave the world the Russian nation, called the two artists - Repin and Surikov. It is revered as historical, we made it into the category of untouchables. Because my grandmother, Olga, the language is often very immoderate, sank what others would never forgiven. When was the Minister of Culture, she snorted: "Oh God, that he is!". The Soviet authorities treated quite clear. Lifestyles, which he and his grandfather were clearly given to understand it.
My grandfather lived in the hills, a hundred and ten kilometers from Moscow, to move closer to never have wanted: he knew, if banished, will be here to stay.
Grandfather could well not to return to Russia. In 1924, he had in Paris was a very successful exhibition, began selling paintings, he might have to work and earn, and exhibitions. But he came back, went to Novgorod Novgorod people to write, and then some time traveling, Russia is never left, but always longed for Europe.
My grandfather was a European, who was to live in Russia.
In his house I always felt a special pre-revolutionary westernized world, the adults with grandchildren always spoke in French, was full of Spaniards.
During the revolution the family lived in the studio Konchalovsky Petr Petrovich on the Garden Ring at the Triumphal Square, in the very entrance, where Bulgakov lived. Workshop, incidentally, survived and is still owned by Konchalovsky.
Among them were Khlebnikov, Burlyuk. This came Mayakovsky in his yellow shirt, with a carrot sticking out of his pocket handkerchief instead. My grandfather was a "Jack of Diamonds", by the time the futurists bubnovovaletchiki quarreled. "Futurists nothing to do here," - said the old man and slammed the door in front of the Mayakovsky. Here he painted. Here lived the family. It was cold. Been heated stove. Mom on her cooking.
Konchalovskie were familiar with Chaliapin, visited them in Capri. At the same time there lived Gorky. With son Fyodor Chaliapin, Fyodor, mom very friendly. Then he was friends with him and I, he was shot in my "inner circle" and was the only guest at my wedding with Irina. We returned from the registrar's office, sat down to dinner, came Fyodor ... Now he is no longer alive. I can not forgive television director, erased record his interview. Six hours later he told us so unique!
Life in the family Konchalovsky was labor. My grandfather worked from morning till night - if not written, it was making stretchers, pulling on his own canvases, nailing wallpaper young studs, very grounded. He was a passionate hunter. Had a pointer, a real hunting dog, and not one. There were hounds. Sometimes he took me with him, the dog ran ahead, I went back. The gun was muzzle-loading, cartridge laid the front, rear poured powder, percussion cap was placed. With a gun my grandfather went to snipe. I remember when he first allowed me to shoot out of it - my whole jaw discourage.
In addition to painting and hunting, my grandfather had two passions - juniper sticks and garden knives. And of those, and others had done the whole collection. Sticks made of juniper, the handle carved from the root. How wonderful they smell! Handles for knives made of curved cherry wood blades - from the spit, acutely sharpened off with copper - very beautiful obtained knives all dressed very simply, in the manner of American farmers. From the cheap blue linen material (denim at the time we did not know) sewed suits - for my grandfather, for his uncle. Artist such clothing is very convenient: pockets for tools, easy to wash, easy to remove. Legs put American soldiers' boots leatherette, in the early postwar years, they were sent under Lend-Lease.
It was a Russian house, enlightened house, the house Russian artist, one of the few who remained of the old way of life. Unfortunately, the institution of large families around the world die. In this house he was alive. Grandpa, Grandma, Uncle Misha (his grandfather's famous painting - "Misha, go for a beer") and his wife, their two children and a third, from his uncle's first marriage, mother, I, my sister Kate, Nikita, Nikita nurse - Twelve people lived permanently house in the summer. And how many more came and the guests arrived!
My grandfather loved to eat, like Spanish food. He built a smokehouse, he smoked ham, made a ham, Spanish - jamon. I still remember the feeling of the mysterious shadow of the pantry, smelled smoked ham, hanging bundles of onions, peppers, honey is in banks, in bottles - Georgian wine. These ham, onions, peppers, bottles of wine my grandfather wrote in his canvases. Classic set for still-life paintings are very popular with Zurbaran, other Spaniards. The house smelled of these living still life, smoked ham, turpentine, paint, leather and tar.
My grandfather lived as a Russian petty nobleman end of XIX century: bred pigs and cultivated by lilacs and apples, took med. We had a horse, "Little Star", I was able to harness it. There was a cart. There were two cows and sheep. The way of life was severe, but of quality, solid.
My grandfather is a picture of the "Window of the poet": a candle, table, window, outside the yard, just piled snow. I do not know why such a name. But everything in the house breathed Pushkin's grandfather adored him, he knew all by heart.
His famous portrait of Meyerhold with the tube, against the background of the carpet, my grandfather wrote when he has been robbed of the theater. That is, in fact, instead of a portrait of Stalin, he wrote a portrait of the man on whom had been hung from the ax, which all shunned, which ran. I think this was a political challenge. Although my grandfather did not dissent was typical, the man he was soft enough, not dwelt on the principles - it was simply in the best sense of the word Russian artist, which in itself is a system already hated.
Grandfather is very appreciated by Prokofiev. Funny, but in the house were reticent about Shostakovich. It would seem that now situation is the opposite: Shostakovich was erected on a pedestal, Prokofiev consider opportunistic. I think Prokofiev world music critics underestimated.
When my grandfather wrote a portrait of Prokofiev, he composed "Visions Fugitives", suited to the piano, played pieces. Once during a music-making grandfather said:
- Sergei, here would be a little longer, to extend to more ...
- That's the trick. Just because you want to here longer, I change my tone.
My older sister of my mother's first marriage, while Katya was still quite small. Once, when his grandfather with Prokofiev went to dinner, she went to the portrait and it was dirty - the bottom where I could reach. My grandfather came back, saw the bungling and waved his hand and drew where she nagryaznila, pine cones on the ground. This portrait of Prokofiev's very well known, especially because of its beautiful portraits very much. Nobody knows that Peter Petrovich was a co-author - Katya.
For studies grandchildren and children in the house were not serious. Serious thought only the business of his grandfather. We were forbidden to draw
His main and sole judge in all matters concerning the paintings, considered the grandfather of my grandmother, Olga. If she said: "Here remake", he reworked. None of the canvas did not let go without her approval. If she says no, he could safely take a knife and cut the canvas, throw. Usually in such cases, it simply perenatyagival it on the other side. Grandmother's verdict was final.
My grandfather was an interesting character. He never belonged to anyone in the conflict, everything said ironically, in the first place - about the Soviet regime. Of course, the patient had a wound that he had any of his solo exhibition, and Alexander Gerasimov - almost every six months. When, after Stalin's death, his show finally took place, he smiled and chuckled: "Well, yes, so here ..." I understand how much of it was hidden. After all, he was a very great artist!
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