certificate from the personal archive of the artist
Ryasnyanskii Mikhail A. born May 17, 1926. Taganrog, Rostov region.
He graduated from Kiev State Art Institute in 1956. He was awarded the Order of World War II degrees, medals: "For Bravery" and "For Victory over Germany", "Veteran of Labor", 6 Jubilee Medal, Diploma of the Central Committee of Komsomol MSSR 1957., Diploma of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR 1986.,
Honored Artist of USSR 1976., People's Artist of Ukraine 2001.
From September 1943 until April 1944 - Private 305 Infantry Regiment, 108 Guards Rifle Division, who was fired in connection with serious injuries and concussion.
1944-48gg. Study in the Rostov Art College. 1948-1950gg. worked in the Rostov branch of art fund, participated in 3 regional art exhibitions. 1950-56gg. - Training at the Kiev State Art Institute. He graduated with honors. 1956-57gg. worked in partnership Cherkassky artists. In 1957. moved to Kishinev, where he was received in the Union of Artists. He started to teach at the National Art School and was chairman of Arts Council at the Chisinau-art manufacturing plant Arts Fund MSSR. 1968-1970's. taught at the Kiev State Art Institute.
In 1970. When created Nikolaev regional organization of the Artists' Union, was invited and he moved to Nikolayev.
Michael Ryasnyasky participated in regional, republican, union and international exhibitions. Only personal exhibitions (Chisinau, Kiev, Ordzhenikidze, etc.) in his work more than three dozen. His works are in many museums around the country and repeatedly reproduced in magazines, albums, calendars including abroad. Only the painting "The Communists are ahead!" reproduced 18 times.
Michael Ryasnyanskii but active creative work carried great social work. He was a board member of the Union of Artists Nikolayev, chairman of Arts Council, a board member of the city council of war veterans and labor, the president of the regional sports club "Ring", a board member of society "Memorial"
On his initiative, based on creating and submitting 2 secondary schools Mykolaiv gallery of portraits of fellow soldiers, which has more than 50 works, a museum 108 Guards Red Banner Order of Suvorov Nicholas Infantry Division. In this work, and work on thematic pictures Mikhail Ryasnyanskii created a gallery of portraits of writers of the Soviet Ukraine. He posed for O. Gonchar, P. Zagrebel'nyi, P. Glazovo and many other writers.
Memoirs of 1997. zachitelno more of these, yet nowhere else entirely unpublished. Intend to publish the memoirs of 1997. in May 2011.
Memoirs (2001)
May 17, 1926 I was born. This momentous event occurred in Taganrog, Rostov region. Ironically, print, radio and television this issue somehow silent. Ah, yes, television, we did not yet exist. All the same unforgivable. My father was a carpenter, worked at an aircraft factory. Mother - housewife. Even in kindergarten I was called a "painter", probably because I could draw horses so that you can learn the Arts in my horse. At the same time (I was 3 years old) learned to read.
Our apartment was very close to the club's fliers and my father took me to izokruzhok at the club. Was me then age 8 or 9. Supervised izokruzhkom Sergei Orlov. He is a bright memory of him, and instilled instilled in us the love of realistic art. The words "old masters" gives us a little if not prayerful state. The people in izokruzhke was "solid", year on 17-18-20. He was among us a true artist, he made posters for the cinema, called his bones, the name can not remember. As he did watercolor still-lifes! These still-lifes, he wrote to the regular school exercise books for the painting, the same as now. A father once brought to the factory a few pieces of this drawing paper, dense, tough, ideal for watercolor .. So I took the paper and brought in izokruzhok. There timidly as suggested Coste change my sheet of paper on the flyer it. Surprisingly, he agreed. What I have on this, Kostin paper turned out - I do not remember.
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It is well to remember this moment: somehow Sergey said: "Not bad to get a skull and piss, to paint." Fellows said, "will be done" and the next lesson dragged the skull and bones with not quite the remains of rotten meat. This was my first still life oil paintings. He is still in my store. Somewhere, when I was 10 years old, in Moscow there was an exhibition of amateur aircraft builders union. Aviation was then an elite kind of industry. And suddenly, in this rank vselyudnosti, I awarded the first prize. And exhibited adult uncles and aunts ... I am learning but still-lifes gave a few more fantasy battle with different riders, etc.
After that, we can say, the triumph of our izokruzhka our administration of the club was supposed to appreciate. She appreciated. Izokruzhok been eliminated. We had to relocate to the Palace of Pioneers. There was no longer something. Mazal who in had. Meanwhile, I finished 7 grades of school and dreamed of art school in Rostov. But my parents decided otherwise and sent me to the aviation school. I did, though, and graduated from high school with honors (medals did not exist), but the exact sciences was not adapted, and classes in college was for me to torture. "Rescued" Hitler.
War. Germans rod seemed irresistible. This is the approach to Taganrog. Father urgently evacuated from the plant. My mother and remain in Taganrog. My father had only a burning warehouse in the port to bring a burnt bag of wheat. I do not know how we prozimovali, if the employee is not familiar art-historical museum Basil Mitrofanovich Bazylevych. He helped get me into this museum. Alas, it did not lasted long. He was a Jew.
When the Germans drove, I was 17 years old. I was drafted into the army. Popal in the 108-th Guards. Rifle Division. Fought long. Was seriously wounded and bruised. He lay in a hospital in g.Chkalov (Orenburg). Lain there 7 months. The hospital "hudozhnichal. Wall newspaper, inscriptions, etc. In yet unhealed wound left by his father. My father was at this time with its factory in Tbilisi. I was discharged with disability 2 groups, and three times he was on crutches for his father. He lived in the barracks-dorm. He lived with his father a few months and went to Taganrog. I saw how hard my father, and me too. Came to Taganrog, and soon re-opened in Rostov Art College.
Now I have no one let me, thanks to good preparation in izokruzhke was adopted at the second course. Studied for 2 years and together with teachers Bout Nikolay Y. (later one of the most colorful figures of the studio. Grekova) and Zherditskim (after a professor of the Kharkiv artist. Institute), have forged our matriculation certificate and went to do in Kharkiv artist. Institute. Passed the exams have been received. I, along with one boy, forgot his name, shared the first place. This guy was a hunchback, a very capable, but not long lived. Whether hit by a tram, or under a train.
And I study it failed too. Somewhere I had to go, I went on his crutches on the tram, and then I pushed, pushed through the whole car and pushed to the front platform of the car. I tried to enter again, and now a policeman. A trailer that I want to enter the front court. It is now invalid (and not only disabled person) may enter into the car in front. And then - no, no. But most likely the policeman just wanted to make fun. He took me all the money which I had. I had nothing to buy my bread ration. Friends were also penniless. I have no choice but to climb onto the roof of the train and go home. Thus ended my first attempts at admission to the institute.
When he returned, he graduated from college. Life in the meantime to normal. Friends have gotten "hack" - to draw the holiday bazaar. I got to do portraits of the Politburo dry brush. During the day, night and another day I rubbed a tremendous 15 portraits. But got a lot of money, bought a suit, coat and still have money. I decided to go to Leningrad, the Academy of Arts. I went, but just in case in the biography is not stressed out stay in the occupation. Examinations rented with glitter. Behind him stood the other applicants. The head of artist's model and wrote the one that was required, and the one that for the next group, general education for all 5. Only songs 4. The then President of the Academy Gerasimov prior to admission to general subjects mentioned eligible for further examinations circles. All my works have been awarded (including the one that made optional). The list was not taken by me. I went to find out. Zam. Rector, remember the name of Sokolov, says: and you were in the occupation. All estimates have reduced me to score and I did not went through the competition. At the same time to deal with me of Rostov Tokarev, who had been in captivity was adopted. I still do not understand this.
He returned to Rostov, began working in zhudozh.fonde, participated in exhibitions, was admitted to the Union of Artists (.....) then was, married. But I have always pursued the idea that not finish my studies. Somewhere I stalled the feeling that's not right with the composition. I ventured once more to do, this time in Kiev, the more so because at that time had already become known masters such as Yablonskaya, Melikhov, bubbles, ends the Kiev Institute. At this time everything went smoothly. Passed the first number. Perhaps because Kiev, as I too was in the occupation. By this time I parted with his crutches, with a stick and went in for sports. The Institute, things were going well. Receive an increased grant, and then the so-called Repin. There was also the Stalin - higher than Repinskaya, but I was neither a communist nor a member of the Komsomol. Stalin received Ada Rybachuk, which is the first year was volnoslushatelnitsey - did not pass the contest, and the second, third, already shaking the institution quickly and clearly to developing talent, especially in the composition. And in my first year I had told her what the painting and how to fight it.
From the teachers I was lucky. The second and third courses, we had TV Yablonskaya, had already Stalin prize-winner for his film "Bread", and 4 th, 5 th and 6 th diploma Grigoriev - also winner of the painting, "Admission of the Komsomol" and "goalkeeper". A first course - it was a sad anecdote. Conducted first-year professor Erzhakovsky. I remember we wrote the old man's head. I did not dare to advise the professor, but to Nicholas Storozhenko (now a professor at the Institute) came up: "Let me get better." Corrected, corrected ... Kohl stood, looked, then growled and jumped out into the corridor. Professor sighed, and also left. The work was masterfully spoiled. Storozhenko then became my main competitor and friend. Then, after a 4-year student, when they began to develop virgin lands, he went to the east, and when I returned, the institution was shocked! How much plot and plastic finds! But the most striking figure among the students was absolutely Viktor Zaretsky. God, how he drew! He was on the 3 rd year older than me and for some time, when I had learned from Grigorieva, assist him. When he first appeared among us, I was happy - well, now I'm still going to paint! But it turned out that we have with them different approaches to drawing, and with all my admiration for the master I do anything with him and not learned.
Yes, come back a little back. At the end of the first year I'm so fed up that we are required to carefully lick the image that I had the audacity to last job (the head of an old man with three hairs on lysom skull), decided to overact requirements; solidly painted, wrote a background, against the background of the three hairs and it began to add his forehead, eyes, etc., and all around just drawing. How I was taken aback when, and for this I was given a five. What a holiday for us was when we learned that the 2 nd course we will have to Yablonskaya! We were delighted by the fact that it is the author of "Bread", by striking on the painting "Spring" (kiddies swarming in the garden), and from which only took an understanding of color, pattern.
And at the end of the third year I was on a tip Ada Rybachuk sketched picture that haunted me all my life, "Dream" - the ancient Rus', the old man and a boy graze their horses, the moon appeared from somewhere flying geese. The boy reached out to them. The dream of flight. This tale of a flying carpet, aircraft, missiles, and the conquest of space. This was the last job on the songs of the 3rd course. Assessment. At this time, Zaretsky finished institute, taught and was on the assessment. Then, we became friends and he told me that the evaluation Grigoriev (at that time rector of the Institute) and Yablonskaya seized on my sketch. Grigoriev, - I would not write such a picture. Yablonskaya - and I would. I was given a five. Then he gave me a sketch Institute School of Music. When I finished the institute, he went to photograph this sketch, to somehow paint a picture. And, oh, horror! I read a lot of different benefits and before you write, in red ocher soil added to increase the feeling of the evening. A powder was with some chemistry and red paint soaked through the painting. The sketch was ugroblen. Then I wrote several versions of this picture. But the feeling of music that I wanted to invest in it was lost. I destroyed done. The latter option much closer to the idea. However, not sure that is what was meant. Although, of course, we must note that over the years, the requirements of the artist to his rise.
Yes, not everything in my institute went so triumphantly. I had a triple and a drawing. Also at the end of the third course. Grigoriev somehow came to us and began to tell how useful copy. I am under the impression he went to the Institute's library and copied a Rembrandt etching (or rather part of the etching) - naked figure in the production of "changed the lighting, done and received three strokes. The whole institution was running triple watch Ryasnyanskii. I did not realize that etching and pencil, completely different technology.
So, went to the fourth year. I wanted to go to the studio Shovkunenko, but Grigoriev (rector), took to himself. Until now, I do not know better it was for me or worse. Grigoriev arbitrarily imposed on us by our attitude to art. At this time, everywhere, at all shows, someone someone criticized, judged, branded and we had to do the same. I have years of practice brought a sketch, where the fishermen pull in the evening to launch the network. A sort of romance, showed Grigoriev, he has broken and I destroyed. Until now, sorry, there was something.
Yes, lest we forget: as everywhere in those days the Institute was wall newspaper. Guys might and main drawing cartoons. Attracted me. But the cartoonist I was no, but suddenly erupted ability to compose rhyming signature. After many years he returned to poetry, but in a serious plan. Luckily I came across in the eyes of someone saying: "if you can not write - do not write" and then just kropal be different rhyming nonsense. Although not sure what yet narifmoval, is not nonsense.
To return to Grigoryev. Not so bad all I had. He taught us to think. In its own way, in Gregory, but the idea that later came in very handy. In the story the picture without logic can not get away.
I can not say that interfered with, and as far as I know, now also prevents the Art Institute to become an artist. This so-called social sciences. Our institute, we called the Institute of Marxism, foreign languages and other arts. Went so far anecdotal. We had a professor (forgot his name), he has lectured on art history, talking about a picture Kramskogo "Unknown", so far as to that, wishing to keep pace with the demands of the time, told us: she is a woman progressive and revolutionary-minded, she lucky bomb. A lecturer at the Department of Marxism Selivanov, Ivan Vasilyevich (incidentally, looks terribly similar to the current speaker of the Ivy) has enriched our stock of knowledge that has given us the historic phrase: You certainly know that Copernicus, when he was burned at the stake, he exclaimed, - " And yet the earth revolves. For which we are very grateful. We have something, because of his half-taught thought that burned at the stake of Giordano Bruno, "But still, the earth revolved" said Galileo, Copernicus also died alone and without hindrance. In the end, leadership institute apparently realized that bad so high intelligence torment in some Art Institute, and released him on voluntary bread. According to rumors, he became director of a radiotehnikuma, unfolded there was trade in equipment and sent to rest in a room with barred windows. In my uneducated opinion, the Art Institute to train artists. Well, that "Unknown" received a Kramskogo bomb luck as a gift Copernicus, the artists and learn without the institution.
Be that as it may, the study continued. Somewhere in the fourth or fifth year learned that we changed the director. Started "restore order". Donavodili to the fact that by order of the Director-Chairman of the Union was Chernikov latecomers "do not let go." Wall newspaper has responded and it appeared under the signature of a caricature: "He tries Chernikov, all in a lather and foam, but the administration does not see, but the authorities did not appreciate. And the zeal of such a trade union of his mind. Up to nine more minutes - he locked the doors of the Institute . It probably guessed, the author of these immortal lines I was. The above fact actually occurred.
For these and for other literary masterpieces of reasons not to drive it, but at the end of the Institute for revenge. They gave me a diploma with honors, but sent in Cherkassy, where I Storozhenko promised apartments. Apartments was not, the work was not there. We lived in a shed at one of the artist, but when it became cold, we were lucky. For our diplomas, we were taken as candidates for members of the Union of Artists and the Union of Artists gave us vouchers to the House of Creativity. He was on the outskirts of Kiev. We spent two months the situation there. In Cherkassy go? Where? Asked for more. Dali another two months. Asked for more. Daly for another month. Asked for more. We have to politely made it clear that the best that we can do - is go to the devil. Kohl Cherkasy is not issued before, and I was discharged. Where?
Just in the House of Creativity coming artists from Moldova. They were advised to go to Chisinau. Somehow I completely forgot about his Rostov and went to Moldavia. First he went to art school. There, the director was kind-hearted man, a talented sculptor Alexander F. Majko. He received me with open arms. They gave me a Moldavian group, consisting mostly of Russian, Ukrainians and Jews. Lived at first in the courtyard of the school's former student of the Kiev Institute, also teach. In Moldova, I was transferred from the candidates for membership in the Union of Artists. Work was in bulk. And since I work quickly, and in Chisinau firmly trained professionals was not enough, for many years, I have what is called, otelsya. Because Michael, who I initially added a wife about to give birth, he helped me find an apartment, though far away from the school, but I was there alone, his own master.
All would be good, but I was dragged into a showdown between, so to speak, Russian and Moldovan clans of the Union of Artists. As I resisted, but then they will click, these and had to climb. Since I am an artist a realistic direction, then had to join the Russian clan. Well, gone. These will come on foot, then those. Despite the fact that they both knew how to do shit to me, as I realized over the years, is almost the main creative collaboration, my affairs were more or less successfully.
I participated in all the national exhibitions. At the same-union will not let me. To penetrate even outright mischief. One had yet to select one of my work at the all-Union. But suddenly she disappeared somewhere. When the work had already been sent, my appeared. Art Museum, where vystavkomy held, under the stairs. Yes, all this time I lived alone, without his wife. Unsuccessful left my family life. In this my fault. Married without love, and although his wife was a good, careful, I was indifferent to it. And immediately after the institute had parted. Living is in Moldova, divorced. The children we did not.
Turning to relations with the Union of Artists of Moldova, will not be reminded of the countless nasty, I will quote another example: I wrote a picture called it the "villagers" - in the evening the men were sitting on something talking. No story there. Just images workaholic. She went exhibition of Moldovan artists in Estonia. I am certainly among the messengers was not, but I have at that time was money and my wife (he was already married a second time) went at their own risk. Estonians took us to the highest level, making no difference, - negative, we face or not. A discussion on the exhibition so touted my picture! We return to Moldova. Flushed with success bear picture at the exhibition. I announce that my painting - creative failure and reduce the contract price.
Something like that happened with a decade of Moldovan art in Moscow. In the Literary Gazette reproduced on the first page of a half-sheet of my painting "Moldovenyaska" - in Moldova or syllable. I was afraid to paint, knowing that the next picture - this is just another trouble.
It was eleven years old. During this time, my father, arriving in Chisinau, I built a house. I participated in the construction of mainly money. Son. But due to the fact that few know how to write, draw, has amassed many enemies. There were, of course, and friends, but enemies were in power. I can not say that so very bosom friend, but treated me well, Lazarus Isaevich Dubinovskiy, great sculptor, where else takes any positions. He was the author of the beautiful monument Kotovsky. Very easy figure of the artist Grigorashenko. Such complex graphics on plastic sheets, such a workshop for the songs sometimes made in one night. I was taught at the institute a single step without a model. He also drew freely from himself - without a model, from any angle. I began to learn it somewhere in the past twenty years. Alas, while outwardly sympathetic to me (Grigoriev, when I went to Moldova, gave me a letter of recommendation to Grigorashenko), where he could only trying to come to my toes.
Yes, I can not mention the familiarity with the great masters VP Bubnov. Even before the birth of a son I was lucky - I got on the creative base in Lake Senezh. Bubnov was artistic director there. I went there with his second wife. There, I wrote a small picture of the "unknown places" and, as the Moldovan exhibition not able to get me there, the picture came on the All-Union Exhibition and was even purchased. So, this artist with a capital letter, the author of one of the best paintings in Soviet painting "Morning on the Kulikov Field", paid attention to me and promised to give me an artistic framework, akademichku where going to the elite of Soviet art. Alas, it did not take place. After I returned to Moldavia, two months later I find out: Bubnov died. He had a weak heart.
I had to leave. Once I was in Kiev. Went to the institute. On the wall hangs my thesis. Near the manager's office, one of my good training performances. Conversation with Deputy Director of Studies. He asked whether I knew there in Moldova Ryasnyanskii. Said that it was me. Agreed that it would take me to teach. From Moldova, I went and dwelt in Boyarka - 22 km. from Kiev. The hard subscribed. His wife sold the house that my father built. I spent a year, renting a flat. Then he bought a small apartment near the railway station. It was easy to get into the train. I began to teach schedules watercolors. Strangely enough, things got going. My kids got high ratings. In the evenings, I have organized classes in drawing. Before he applied to the assessment of student work, and that the estimates were higher and that the guys looked at how to make art ... (inaudible written). I had to leave the institute and leave. And then my father died. I buried, and began to gather.
Sent letter to a friend of Moldova. He at that time moved to Nikolayev. In Nikolayev, I went and saw a house built for artists, workshops and went. In Nikolayev daughter was born ... After the divorce, I began to work more productively. When divorced wanted to go somewhere. I was well received in Cherkassy. But longed for children and returned. How long lived in a dormitory. Then, after eight years of the artist died VO Bondarchuk and I gave her apartment. Alas, the apartment is on the same staircase, where I lived before.
Somewhere about five years ago I got sore again. Again, go with the stick again naughty heart. But they work even more. Time because there was little left. Oh, I forgot, in 1976 (I turned 50) received the title of Honored Artist, and in 2001, People's Artist.
Few contacts with the artists. About Yablonska I have already written. Is it a good, bright people can be judged on a point. I was on a creative basis of the Union of Artists of Ukraine "Sedna" in the 15km. From Chernigov. Once with a friend, an artist from Cherkassy Viktor Klimenko decided to crush the bottle. But Victor, the guy, unlike me, matey, invited Tatiana Nilovna. I myself am not for that it does not dare to. For drinks Tetyana asked me, as someone from contemporary artists, I put above all? I take it and say - Yablonsky, but the one who wrote "Bread", "Spring". At this time, Tatyana Nilovna already suffered to the left. This is the very Yablonsky, who arrived in France on the question of journalists, as it relates to Picasso is rumored to have replied - a swindler. Then it stopped to let in different abroad. I expected Yablonskaya for my question snarled. And she was justified. I then became even more respect for her. What a pity that it acted fashion, that she began to resemble an infinite number of "geniuses". But what was a unique talent. Her paintings of the early period, it is life itself, but finely made poetry, fair and humane. Such a unique talent ruined Joe Blow-art. Who is sending the art? They do so - art. And who are the critics? This Unsuccessful artists. Should we be surprised that they strongly advocate the kind of activity where possible and even encouraged the replacement of the creative skill of intricate verbiage. Far away times of Igor Grabar-brilliant painter. He still had the right to write on art.
But back to the masters with whom I had somehow kontachit. Sergei Alekseevich Grigoriev. Personality in the art. Fierce supporter of the genre of art. Twice winner of the Stalin Prize. Is this good or bad, but one time, many artists from all over the USSR in the whole of someone dismantled at meetings, someone tried, condemned, digging in the home. I Grigorieva was done masterfully. Followers have not always. But he was a brilliant draftsman, a fierce proponent of working with nature, a great technician. We can not say that it was cool hanging tongue. What is worth at least this aphorism. Smart loves to learn, you fool - to teach. Just about me said. How many people I learned the basics of craft artist, I can not count them. More than a hair on his head, especially now, when my hair has faded badly. Grigoriev could speak on any subject., And very interesting. I remember once we heard Grigorieva, and the shop looks a laboratory assistant. We must go to the lesson of Marxism, and Grigoriev nightingale poured. Peeped and vanished (Sergei Alekseevich was then the director), and we are happy! Over the years, my mind had not increased. And now in my studio is constantly working 2.3 young talent. My studio - the shortest way to the Union of Artists. It's all free.
Constantine Lomykin. Odessa. In my opinion, a unique talent. A painter with a capital letter. I'm quite familiar with Impressionism, and quite honestly I can say that few of the most prominent figures of the Impressionists could surpass Lomykina. Narrative painting - it was not his specialty, but the painting with its decorative features of Art, color and tone of surprise and showiness solutions shaken. Dancers, nudes, landscapes - are beyond all praise. I visited with him in Sednief. So every time we got to his studio, then at the sight of his landscapes we have forgotten my native language and our vocabulary is reduced to Wow. Color, ringing, poetically. And these are the same place, by which every day we passed. Passed and not seen.
We still do not adequately appreciate what scale was the master of bubbles Victor G.. Enough to see his painting "Black Sea" and can no longer watch anything from a great many paintings of World War II: Romance, truth, harsh reality. Not a drop of falsehood, dragged. And what were the sketches in Sednief! Small in size, but what is truth and subtle poetry. The man was restrained. I was lucky - I found myself among his friends. Some of what he has learned, namely, to achieve a bright sound pictures, not necessarily reap the bright colors. In late enough black, brown, blue, and if red, then the dough. And, of course, have the talent of the painter. In one of the races in Sednev artistic director was Glushchenko Nikolai Petrovich. His French style of painting (he lived many years in France, where in addition to painting was a scout). He had the tact to our art does not interfere, for which we were grateful. Then, after his death in Kiev was his show. Magnificent exhibition. Painting is not so much from nature, as with nature. I saw and decided that the way it should write. Fortunately there I saw a bubble. It chilled me. Impression: paint open, almost without mixtures - it paints Glushchenko, it is his face, and I do not necessarily.
Kryzhevsky Gregory Zinovievich, Odessa. I do not know these words that could describe the breadth of soul, sincerity of this man. Once back in Moldova, I spoke in defense of the exhibition Kryzhevskogo and Vlasov. They rolled the barrel Mihail Grecu (the last winner of the USSR State Prize, when the persecution began on realism). I butted and, although the Greeks was a local idol, but with a wide throat to the same, and rebuffed the attacks on real, rather than short-term artists. With me later counted. But Krichevsky not forgotten. When I moved to Nikolayev, we had a real male friendship. Kryzhevsky, above all, a wonderful man, a real Odessa, witty, podelchivy, was a great painter with his hand, his vision, thinking, subtle and precise sense of color. An excellent draftsman, he skillfully used in the painting line, which is not dovlela over the painting, and heightened expressiveness. A man! When I got a heart attack, was lying at home, suddenly a phone call from Odessa: do you have in Nikolaev landscape space? And we in the north, under the Pervomay is a fabulous beauty - Miguet - a sort of Ukrainian Switzerland. I said there. The next morning, arriving at their Zhigulis Kryzhevsky, immerses me to paint the car and drove off. I already knew where to stop. Pitched a tent near the water. It flows through the rocks Southern Bug. And what do you think, brilliant artist with me as a caring mother with a sick child 10 days fussed, he almost did not write, but then brought in Nikolaev almost healthy person. And when I received the title of Honored Artist (incidentally the first in Nikolaev), for this reason that I gave a banquet in a restaurant near my house. The weather was terrible, was not rain, but something, which has no name, only 5 meters can not see anything. And only just begun, suddenly appears with the artist Gregory Zinovievich Tokarev. As usual - the wide-open arms and a smile. It is impossible in this weather drove 150km. To congratulate each other. Alas, I came to his funeral. This friend I have not been and probably will not be. Eternal memory to a remarkable artist, a warrior tank corps, a man with a capital letter.
In conclusion, a bit about their everyday concerns. Last time in art are strange and terrible things. Unrestrained enthusiasm: Oh, there they moved to the west is all reasonable limits. We have completely forgotten their history, have forgotten that such a brilliant painting, as it was at Repin, Serov, Bryullov during their time in the west was not blessed. In such paintings as "Ivan the Terrible", "The Cossacks" Repin, in which there is a brilliant and beautiful painting and drawing sharp composition, citizenship, the best Western artists could only dream of. Yes, but there is all sorts of sneakers, diapers west than us. In the multiple quarrel totalitarian, etc. etc. painting yes, were Nalbandian and Ko. But there were Yablonskaya and Johanson and reservoirs and many more brilliant painters, graphic artists, sculptors. What's "Defense of Sevastopol" Deineki - court totalitarian picture? A painting ... ????? - The court? But now, when the art of all the cracks climbed "genius" and the artists turned out to be very little on art threatened with elimination of professionalism. In times of high art (renaissance of the nineteenth, twentieth century) geniuses can be counted on the fingers. Now all the ineptitude turned into a genius. With their abundance of call at least one work written by one of the geniuses. Yes, and how it will be taken if the main thing now is the art of beard and over, and without cause, his beard moving forward, I scream - a genius. Cockroaches, rats, spiders, bedbugs humanity fight once learned. Now it is time to connect the art in addition to art, proven harmful, sanitation, to think of some powder against the "geniuses". Art in danger!
In conclusion, some of the children. My son graduated from Odessa Art College - sculptor. He has his own handwriting and his own, original vision and thinking. No, no - not "genius" of the eyes climbs gut, not horned shapes of angels, and others that such nonsense, and simply works on its own. Daughter - painter, graduated from the Kiev Academy of Arts Bubble. Also has a face unlike any on me for a bubble and, as talented, well then do without genialnicheniya.
his fellow soldiers, soldiers of 108 Guards, twice Red Banner, Order of Suvorov II grade Infantry Division dedicate.
For those who are with us.
Sing the song, but the song did not catch on ...
Of bullets whistled past.
Nightingales sang guardsmen.
Do not sang. Stopped. Asleep.
And some would hopak we ottopali!
But it is impossible, prohibited the soul:
In forest near Melitopol
Dancers are daring
Ignoring the ridiculous prohibition,
Blazes solemn poppy
Above the unsung great poet,
What struck from the district center Tokmak.
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City glory shipbuilders.
Region brides, pigeons and poems.
We-b such there svadbischu handed!
Pity, we had to bury the suitors.
Vesela like "Apple" song
And elegant, as a society lady,
Everywhere beauty Odessa
Affectionately called "Mama."
Sons of mothers stubborn.
Die, but a step forward.
He remembers every city mom
And for every tear shed.
We will for the large and small,
And strangers, and relatives to pain
Cities, war-weary
They fought death, desperate battle.
And do not sleep in the graves of soldiers.
Hard, not enough bullets.
In the melee, a bayonet and mat
Tearing Nazi defenses.
And we are here on May 9.
Festival, the crowd no end in sight ...
Anyway, we sing, but first
Let us drink standing up, fellow soldiers,
Silently, drink, friends, remembering
Who has now passed into eternity fighter.
-----------------------
Lead in March
The devil himself is working for the Germans:
That wet trash waters,
It sprinkles the top with something nasty.
Impossible to go swimming impossible.
But still go Guardsmen,
Come on you with your off-road!
Calls for help Nikolaev!
The soldiers are all in the world.
(Though people too and tired).
But until something interferes w wind
Entirely of the fire, lead and steel!
Divisional Commander for us!
Had replied
Dunayev, why get stuck?
In hell, in delirium must see,
In teeth from death to visit,
To feel, to understand
So that is called the "Ferdinand"
From the power of their own zvereya,
Under the roar of engines and firing
Pret straight to the battery
Their armored herd.
Fascist - a skilled fighter, clever,
Trained to shoot and smoke.
Suddenly burst into three-incher, but it
It seems as perepalo:
Two "Ferdinand" flared up.
Avalanche thunder, fire can be heard.
Roars, vexed with a devil war.
Once again, blinding flash!
Suffused with the blood of silence ...
As Well, this is the essence of military service.
But only where there is much to sing,
Give to somehow wheeze.
But still need to tell,
As of guns and guys
Only one left gun.
Yes, only one soldier alive.
But the infantry went boldly:
Death was raging, burning death.
In the blood, without legs gunner that
Summed up by the victorious.
She went to "fun" work.
Forward footguards!
"Merry"? Well say ...
Another cemetery must take.
Pinned to the ground mortars.
Beats from the bell tower machine gun
But climb Company Commander:
"Forward footguards!
Next, for the Motherland! Forward!
Above pozabroshennoy tomb
At polustersheysya plate
These pure, holy
In their pristine simplicity
The words "Sleep peacefully our son."
They have a hole in his head
Another son lay Warrior
At the premature peace.
But zalyazhet larger company,
Neither platoon or regiment or battalion.
Through the howling and whistling, the sound of explosions
There is footguards!
And shook the enemy, not that he.
Now, as some would escape.
Hurry to the bridge, to Odessa, to hell
Throwing all, saving lives.
And the city strangely clean.
And, strange to say, --
That's it thrown out as a fascist,
Smoke, fumes, and the sky brightened.
They're coming weary troops
A little bit relaxed, thawed.
And not a tear, a snowflake,
What was lost at the temple,
Furtively wiped out Dunayev.
------------------------
New Year, holiday
Proud and stubborn
Celebrate the New Year alone.
She waited and waited for mom,
Cattle was the son.
Not so, so too does a drunkard,
And now everyone just drinks.
I let's clink with a mirror as a friend.
(Oh, sorry, that this friend is not lying!)
Alas, I see the old man,
Life flashed, the song is sung ...
And only in a dream again, the river,
You laugh you laugh summer
Are you available and close.
And so much sun, so much light!
I seem to myself a poet.
(Lord, have mercy on the fool!)
--------------------- Queen-raven
Crow old fool from idleness,
Prev mirror ryadyas in Palin feathers
She decided that she was beautiful and intelligent
And, therefore, reign in the forest should be.
Himself admires, spinning, --
Chic I'll be the queen,
Effective than Carmen, a luxury than Firebird.
Oh, how I impatient, oh, how I wish the authorities!
And so that was more irresistible form,
I need a favorite on the part of the tender passion,
Then it's in front of me no one can stand.
Hanyga, gentleman - any useful to me.
Apply here love! Agree and Prince.
But is everything in life is always smooth?
Roamed the woods kid with a slingshot.
He looks - on the tree God knows what is sitting.
Why do some jumps, ridge, screaming;
Without thinking, aim, and, behold,
The old lady with the mirror fell off the branch.
Oh, these kids!
Goonies foot threw the corpse of the unfortunate bird, --
Who need it. What it is suitable.
He's gone. But carefully collected peacock feathers.
What a pity that it all ended so badly.
And besides, even now I
I'm afraid this sad story is hardly realize
Without a corresponding moral.
The moral is simple - since you're a crow,
Do not croak, that he wants the throne.
--------------------------
On the dangers of pedantry
It is a cliff over the abyss.
At the rock the eagle's nest.
Bottom left ass.
One solemnly taking off;
Another of this idea began.
Well, let them be conceived as an eagle!
His honor, his flight;
Me-Well, anyone from the top, beats.
Life is like acid the cranberries,
And all because of one letter only.
He - P, I - P, but only to continue
I will not tolerate this.
And I, I, since I want,
Not worse than fly.
Here are just climbed on the podium.
(Sorry, not in rhyme) on the rock.
All envy donkey.
Clambered vzbryknul and, behold,
Dreams come true, went into the flight.
Night came. On quiet weeping
Doctor appeared - Professor Grach.
Grumbles sullen chiropractor:
"For your foolishness you scolded:
Now do you understand what is wrong
Do you understand that it is not in the letter matter?
He is a predator, may eat carrion,
Pull, grab, claws to tear,
But at the same time, as a bird
It is adapted to fly
And stay on top forever.
You Well-laid work.
Thirtieth counted I fracture
And rightly so - do not be such an ass. "
Moral. Need morality? There is a fable without a moral?
Listen, what are you bothering me?
And, for that matter, where some saw themselves,
To live well, in honor, die
Those who seek to live by the rules of morality.
---------------------------
Bel canto and pans
Have you heard Mademoiselle you beyond the grove an hour a night
Singer of love, the singer of his sadness ...?
Nonsense, we'll Pushkin met.
Miscellaneous other tenors and nightingales! Old, not the century
Today we must listen to turkey
Spoken turkey, pout so that burst can
What pens from me! And look solemn and honored.
Unless I want to, oh, how solidly mumble.
Compared unless nightingale
Let alone with me, with my turkey.
Thoughtful animals.
Cows, horses and poultry
Drove out with a bang nightingale
In fact, would be over and my tale,
But it so happened that right from the capital
Arrived in the local region
Well-known musician, a great lover of singing.
Turkey, our here-as here, all the time in plain sight.
He was not spared in the form of promotion
Let the pan.
And here the night. Scarlet, a large
The moon. From the table, getting up
He said the guest of honor: forgive an old man
But I traveled from afar is not for the sake of a turkey.
I confess a weakness, friends,
I love to listen to the nightingale.
Well, it does not.
Search! Found persuaded to give a positive answer
And the gray kid singing, not sparing the throat.
But please, for the morality of this fable.
Arrogant turkey is good for frying,
But the songs better than a nightingale.
-----------------------
Son, who saw the elephant
With respect and a certain weight,
Elephant habit climbed to the podium.
"I TREPOV of moth had enough:
Oh, it took off! Oh how beautiful villages!
Well, times have something to sit down, I'll cattle, creator,
The handsome and wise man, father and chairman.
I am not a camel, but I spit on you.
Freeze, listen to the decree:
Idler, pacifier moth
Turned over to the spider.
I am wise, and some of whom sign.
So I supreme moth
I ordered take forever now.
Well, what? Do you follow? That's it, and yet
Remember - obstinate dislike.
Random povernus - in cake crush.
I hope there are no fool
So that was to protect the butterfly? "
But it turned out the opposite.
Rooster yells ahead!
Deer trumpeting the alarm
Arose, all animals
From aphids to the rhinoceros.
Flooded from all sides
And suddenly all-powerful elephant,
Though not wanted
Take it easy moth flew from the podium.
But what about morality,
So if you did not become an elephant,
To thee not izmarali,
Forget about the fact that I have read.
----------------------
talent and envy
Creeping time without any difficulty
Can strangle and swallow thrush.
But even praise it, even stepped on the tail,
Oh never sing like a thrush.
So what is the secret? Mystery not seek.
The question is quite simple and easy to answer:
The cold, slippery body has no soul,
And where there is no soul, and no songs.
---------------------
Talents and paskudniki
Herd is rushing down the street
With whooping and whistling;
"Geniuses" smoky,
Catch a realist.
Hand Pull legs,
R-Rastak mother!
Classic nedorezanny --
Can draw
So that was just
And it is understandable to people.
Breaking the, suroduem, unscrewing the head!
Bulk crowded ...
Hey! Fear God
This is not Tretyakovka you -
This is a synagogue.
Boobies, listen smart Rabbi:
Tear Wizard --
I even half
Though a little bit of give for storage ..
Soap become cheaper - rot "genius"
It is bad will be rare
Return birds
In wiser time
Master handy.
---------------------
The novice genius
Selflessly loving
Peerless himself
Airs no hurry
Are you a nature popishi.
In the morning, night and day,
When cold, rain,
Spare no effort, labor,
It is hoped that if
If you're not an idiot,
Conceit will.
And for all honest people
In the garden there in the garden
You worship nature!
Victoria, thank you, that placed an autobiography of the pope. (read with great interest). She found friends in common
And for poetry! (a talented person, talented in all!)
Thank you, NATA NOVA
My name is Victoria.
Go on a few photos
Photo2 (2001)
Victoria Ryasnyanskii, Vladimir Bandaliev, Hope Pinchuk-Voylenko, Jaroslav Ryasnyanskii in a chair Michael Ryasnyanskii against the backdrop of paintings of Michael Ryasnyanskii "knights of the Steppe" and "For the grace"
Photo3 (2003)
Michael Ryasnyanskii on the background of the picture "Dream"
2003. May (Kiev)
Academy of number 18 "(Congress Hall of the Tax Administration of Ukraine)
Issued an electronic catalog of works by Mikhail Ryasnyanskii. 2004.
February (Nikolaev)
"Michael Ryasnyanskii. Painting" (Exhibition Hall of the city centrum, culture and leisure)
May (Nikolaev)
Academy number 18 "(Nicholas Regional Art Museum im.Vereschagina)
Issued an electronic catalog of works by students of Michael Ryasnyanskii.
June (Kiev)
"77 portraits of writers of Ukraine" (gallery "University")
August (Nikolaev)
"Michael Ryasnyanskii. Graphics" (Gallery of the Savior, 45)
September (Kiev)
"77 portraits of writers of Ukraine" (Cultural Center Mistetskiy Національного університету "Kyiv-Mohyla академія" gallery мистецтв)
2005.
May (Odessa)
Academy number 18 "
Exhibition Hall of the Odessa regional organization of the Union of Artists of Ukraine,
Exhibition Hall Ukrainian Skarbnytsya "
2006.
May (Kiev)
Michael Ryasnyanskii
Exhibition of the 80 th anniversary of the birth of the artist
(Cultural Center Mistetskiy Національного університету "Kyiv-Mohyla академія" gallery мистецтв)
Publishes catalogs of Mikhail Ryasnyanskii:
"General Directory"
"Narrative paintings"
"77 portraits of writers of Ukraine"
"Landscapes"
Etudes
Graphics
Issued collection
Memoirs, drafts, poems,
Quotes from the memories of 1997.
Scans of pages directory "Narrative paintings"
... Well, studying, I would say was automatically, without teacher intervention, if, would not be in any way in the walls of the school captain Borschev - a former theater artist. He also spent the night in college and I can not remember, taught, whether something. It was rumored that he is simply hiding from the war. What happened in reality - I do not know. So this Borschev (name - surname, unfortunately, have forgotten) a lot of fussing with me, explaining and showing how construction composition of the painting. From him I learned that the picture - this is not an element in it all are subject to the laws by which it finds expression. Somehow, he quietly disappeared to nowhere. Then there were rumors that arose in Simferopol, already under the name Borsaev. Kem-it was, in fact, not for me to judge, but what I know about the composition of paintings, mostly obtained from him ...
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... Over the years, writing more than one picture, I came to the conclusion that the painting, from the idea, finding a solution to the songs of psychological accuracy of the images gives more than a course of study at the institute. There is a difference, not in favor of the institute, drawing, whether with the greatest of zeal, but quite pointless to draw or artist's model artist's model for the film, knowing what you paint it whatever you want, then try to get from this picture, what kind of expression. Drawing more than once or twice, until you feel that finally got what you need ...
... And before that, at the end of the third year, still have Yablonska I made a sketch, called it a "dream", so on this sketch, as I was afterwards told Zaretsky, a battle with Grigoryeva Yablonska. Grigoryev said: "I did not, would write such a picture, and Yablonskaya, -" and I was-to. The plot was this: pagan times, the grandfather and boy graze their horses, evening, creeps huge moon and a sort of flying geese, swans. The boy reached for them - fly-like. Incidentally, this picture has become my pain. First of all, himself sketch: I am having read all the literature made a colored ground. I bought a brick-red powder, and primed them. When writing, it helps a lot to me - without any special efforts have been feeling in the evening. But then, when he finished institute, decided to photograph, I found this sketch, I hardly recognized him. Red soil slipped through the entire painting and killed, completely killed it. So on this matter with this picture is not over. Pictures I somehow did. But then, after a few years, when life has taken me to Moldova, I collected and painted, and even, I think, managed to give her the spirit of the time. I went and showed her a good artist Oscar Kocharova Abramovich, whose opinion I very much considered. He spoke priblizetelno so: let it be one, clear thought, - fly, so fly, a fairy tale - as a fairy tale. I foolishly took it and destroyed the already finished painting. Since then, it took many years, I returned several times to this theme, but alas nothing. Feeling lost pictures ...
... The school year ended. A month later I had to go with a group to conduct summer internships, well, and this month I decided to try to paint a picture which has long harbored "Communists, forward!" The last thing I care about the issues conjuncture. It was based entirely on my memory of the war, when to get up and go forward was impossible, but we got up and walked. To some extent this was a tribute to the memory of those who remained on the battlefield. Decision paintings did not come immediately. I had a lot of options, including, as though to say, something like a monumental, with slow motion, stretched horizontally. When I finally reached a deadlock, decided to show Shatalina. He immediately, pointing to the option that I implemented on canvas. Of course, as Victor was right. "Monumental" decision carried a false, false histrionics, posturing. Thanks for visiting and painting, I was very surprised at how quickly and how easily it I went. I wrote it not even a month, and for 20 days. However, all the pictures were ready and the question of how to draw a hand or fold for me did not stand. Then there was the old practice. We spent it in the village Kozheniki. Miraculous is a place on the shore Ros. 100 km from Kiev. I remember that with me were painters. In this same summer, came to me and my wife. She sold my share of the house in Kishinev. I found in Boyarka close to the station some pimped to the mistress of the old Jew, something always scared, but in general nice woman. She had 2 rooms. First, we took her one-room, and then bought both. I myself was once engaged in repair and I hired a man who once repaired. In any case, did not flow. Since earning the same things to normal. Again, thanks to the Bilan. He introduced me to people who organized orders and since I work in customer trash never made them the same impact as the exhibition and never tore period of performance, as well as satisfied by any, even a very modest fee, a job I vodilas. Soon we room with Bilan gave a workshop on the street. Cossack, where the manufacturing plant Arts Fund. In order not to waste time on the train, I bought a moped and ridden to the studio and back. I went in any season and in any weather. Not one Republican exhibition of painting, I did not miss, participated at all. But with the painting "The Communists are ahead!" Get somewhere is already familiar to me history. The contract for her with the Ministry of Culture was at 2 thousand rubles. Closing the contract, I have reduced the price to 1500 rubles. And then, within a few years it repeatedly reproduced. In total, I myself counted 17 times. This is what I saw for myself, I know, he did. When I once was in Chisinau, went to an exhibition devoted to no longer remember anything, and saw a tremendous picture Grigorashenko under the same name as me. God, what a silly picture. Talented artist so debased his talent, which depicted Brezhnev, leading soldiers into battle. Brezhnev in Grigorashenko was in a leather jacket, pistol in hand, in a very heroic pose. I do not know how anyone, but I have this picture did not cause any feelings, but feelings of disgust ...
07.08.2009, 16:23
People's Artist of Ukraine, Mikhail Ryasnyanskii (1926-2003)
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