Legend Bulldozer Exhibition

[Kurushin]

Alexander Kurushin

                            Legend of the Sparrow

          Mid-80s, as I remember now - this time, general secretaries of the wire-old deaf and gnashing of iron rusted car breaks down, fostering one-sixth of the planet. Simple cogs like us who have studied hard for engineers, not hoping to get to the remaining five-sixths. We were so proud and hope that the scientific work itself is grace being that determines consciousness. Not to say that we were so very lohami - as I remember, the first exclamation escaped a graduate student, when he was informed that the next selected Gorbachev was "can the leopard change his spots!"
       And in those years that we were looking for bolder and friends again and again come across a singer, a poet, artist, and even former spies.
     So my friend was a spy Jora. After graduating with honors from Moscow State Institute, and then two years who studied English bezaktsentnomu in different rooms of Moscow, removable KGB, where he became accustomed to his new biography. Then came dozens of trips to different countries of the world, and finally somewhere in Venezuela, he fell into the hands of the police.
      Really do not know on what was caught. Sam just did not understand. Laxity let down. In prison. That same evening, and the court verdict: death by shooting.
        At night, he managed to pass a note to the Czech embassy (he was a legend: a Czech citizen). After 2 hours, bring the package - a suitcase full of dollars. And the information: we will not know what you will get out. At night, managed to get out of jail. Gave 200 thousand dollars. Entire protection purchased.
     Almost naked at night making his way to the airport. No documents, no money left. Managed to crawl onto the tarmac. Saw our plane sat. For luck the pilot was familiar world-class pilot Vlad's brother George. They pushed George into the luggage compartment of Tu-104 and so he flew to Moscow. More abroad, he did not go. But he worked in the 9th Division of the State Security. In the rank of major. Different orders are executed, happened on apartments dissidents snooping around. Some powders were thrown, placed listening devices. But no more. Friends of Gagarin, and Fidel Castro, he was fired.

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And then I met Zhoroj and came to his guests in Lyalin lane. He lived then with Olga Silver, and their life was the fact that they rented a room at Olin Kolkhoznaya area at the beginning of Prospect Mira, and guzzle it all, having a point in Lyalinov Lane, in the apartment, to tell his father received Jora, who before the war worked as chief engineer of the plant VMS.
     In general, this sweet couple ahead of time, and raise money as now received half the population of Moscow.
    The main interest of this sweet couple was to maintain itself in a state of prostration, flooding a port city and Moscow. Jora sometimes played chess, not for nothing was a master of sports of chess, winning in Sokolniki ruble per game.
    Finally, after a while they did castling, and passed an apartment in Lyalinov lane, and went on drinking on the collective farm, or Sukharevka.
    Then I began to walk to them, in their seven or eight rooms communal. Olga takes a couple of walk-through rooms, and at first there were shelves on which were pictures without frames.
    I already considered myself a novice painter, and already thinking about a picture of the hunchback in his grave, so I am on the first visit to Olu Sukharevka asked about these pictures.
      She pointed to a pencil drawing on the table, splodgy port.
 -This is a sparrow. His paintings. He himself was in Paris.
I carefully poshurudil picture. It was a bold multi-colored with an almost abusive labels, arrows, pointers, triangles. Clearly not socialist realism. In general, what is more criticized in the official press, and among the so-called "The people".
   -They are worth big money - said Olga confided, pouring a glass of thick liquid from a large bottle, called the people a fire extinguisher. Empty bottle extinguisher could pass for 19 cents, and regular half-liter of vodka - for 12 cents. Five empty bottles were already under the rack, and were accumulated for the next trip to the store. He worked as the law of conservation of dishes.
   George also asked me what do you think these pictures can really sell? I do not believe, but Olga says that they cost money.
   I shook my head, from which you can understand, yes, you can sell, and they cost money. Although he is not much in it believe. Anyway, I realized that they can only buy a bit too brave man, and for resale, or the collection of future centuries.
       During the feast of repeated, often over a dirty table and with a minimum of snacks, Olga, whose face still remained traces of former beauty, and it was connected and even honestly can say, clever and interesting, and so, during this feast Olga told his story connected with the artists. According to her, gentlemen, avant-garde artists exploited her knowledge of English (spoken, it really smooth), and run it to communicate with foreigners. After the bulldozer exhibition, they all merged in Paris, and Ole given a year for communications with the aliens and sent to sew clothing in the Eagle.
       After spending a year, she still came back to Moscow quickly licked the wound and continued to be friends with unrecognized artists. So she idolized Toll Zvereva, and the most solemn occasion showed two paintings donated by Zverev oilcloth.
It's not so easy to remember, that for what went on in the early 90s. One thing is solid - the ruble inflation was accelerating steps, we first became rich, then - the millionaires in then got to the point that a bottle of vodka was worth 2 million rubles.
  I myself strongly moved into the category of artists who started making this hard bread, standing on the Arbat, so all the stories about Olina artists were quite interesting. In 1991 a magazine published as an example of a non-Soviet art photo of my painting, which was the most running in the Arbat - namely, the dollar bill glued to the dilapidated brick wall, and on the basis of this publication without a squeak I allied avant-garde artists, which was called Then "Little Georgia". Simultaneously with the entry in the Little Georgian was the selection of works on regular exhibition in the basement, and took the work entitled "The watchman Sergeev," and "Black Dog on the Arbat." In general, I joined the guild, avant-garde artists, passed the 50 000 rubles. membership fee and received a gorgeous card, the text of which was in English.
      Then a familiar friend from Prague, who also cried on the Soviet prison, sent me an invitation, I got me a dilemma: either to go to the Czech Republic to earn the crown, or go from the mailbox A-1326, in which I worked at that time and stood in a queue house, and my queue number was just the second in 1326, so it was easy to memorize.
     After a very short hesitation, I chose the latter - that is, away from n /I lose, so the legal waiting list for housing. I wrote out the whole Prague, especially I was able to swans flying across the Charles Bridge, just like in the picture Rylova, and drawing once and for all Charles Bridge, I just modified a picture on cardboard, inscribing it in a different number of swans. This gave considerable money, which, after transfer of CZK dollars hidden in socks and carried home, where the notes were very much appreciated. From Prague, as one might assume to be within reach of Paris, but there were still two boundaries, and in general to the artist Vorobiev, 50 paintings which were on the preservation of the Silver Olya was yes-le-to. With each of my arrival in Prague and Nuremberg, and going to George and Olga, pictures on the shelves as a withered, going, apparently from solid to liquid and then gaseous state.
     Olga served as a model for good reason Zoe Kosmodemyanskoy sculpture, and surprised all the friends of alcoholics die-hard partisan nature, but even its iron the body can not withstand the years of perestroika, the glass every day flooded with nostalgia for a day or fun, and it is time for an ambulance for the last time took her in Sklifosovsky, the benefit that the hospital for Sukharevka was almost home and is on the other hand Prospekt Mira.

    Then there were the funerals. Yard friends tearfully watched the homeless in the hope that they will be served for the repose of the souls of the deceased girlfriend.
    Then it turned out, she signed for with money from some Georgian, so that the Georgians went in circles, kind of like, too, wanted to participate in the funeral to get a death certificate, and therefore entitled to an apartment, so Olina's sister and George were able to drive away. What is the story of "man" is over I do not know, but under the mattress at Oli found a lot of money, which she just received for this marriage of convenience. That's what time it was!
    So these six paintings I took to my funeral day. It seems it was so that the remaining pieces of 10 works apparently we have divided so much as they could carry. I then rented a room at the three stations, and even then he was strong, and after the memorial services took off six works of Valentin Vorobiev to yourself.
  To maintain, according to the terminology itself Oli Silver, which has even had a name yet, and Danne. I thought - you never know, because of these pictures will find a rope to the great artist. These pictures were in my closet, which was called "Solovki" for three years, came to me when Nikolai Mikhailovich Rotanov, the artist who led the art room. I showed him the work Vorobyov, and it is without any argument, and advised to hand over to the Tretyakov Gallery. Photograph, show pictures and tell about the author. Maybe I would not hurry with this, but room for three stations, which I rented from prospector from Bodaybo Vladimir Ilyich was my temporary housing. And it's time to get out of me in Zhukovsky, where did I for his services to the Fatherland was still room area of ​​6 square meters. m
     And now - I went to the Tretyakov Gallery. The woman - art once said to me, we know Vorobyov, and recently we have sticking that in our collection has no members bulldozer exhibition, and general second-wave avant-garde. How does the market relations come into full force! Grabbed Well ... the next director of the Tretyakov Gallery to the Jewish name for the fact that he sold everything from the store. So, she hinted, we have empty! And we'll be happy!
    I thought and thought and then wrote a letter to the director of the Tretyakov Gallery can not remember with what name, and a week later brought six canvases, after wiping the dust. I really got from them act of delivery and reception, and then two months later - evidence, which were part numbers.
    This is a paper and I drove to Paris to make friends with the legendary artist Valentin Vorobiev, and "dip" in the artistic world of Paris.
    I drove from Germany to a certain train, reminiscent of our trains at night. There could not sleep, so it was a lousy mood, especially since the morning began to rain, but such an unstable and unpredictable.
   When I uploaded a Soviet sketchbook and went to the attendant station, addressing him in broken German, I got such scorn in return. And I look and bark furiously in the purest dialect of Napoleon and laughed openly, clearly showing the location of French and Russian teacher janitor of the university.
    I nodded sympathetically and went to where he sent me, dirty smiling and agreeing with everything he told me.
 The whole day after that I went in circles around Paris, then drenched in rain, basking under the sun mercilessly baking. Of course like any borscht. And in my pocket I had a Deutsche-mark. But that was too bad. And the prices at the cafe, which were on every corner and between corners of Paris were very much smarter than in Germany. To those that I'm used to prices.
    So I decided to solve the main task - to find the address given to me once and found Olga Silver legend and this bulldozer, Parisian Valya Sparrow. And I must admit that an hour in a rainy weather, I began to look for municipal toilet. After giving her a blood exchange procedure for the well-known for the Russian artist - is nonsense. Despite the wealth of experience, not summing me in any city in the Czech Republic and Germany, I realized that in Paris to make such a simple procedure is almost impossible - under every bush met me understand all swarthy Arab in a police uniform!
   Control of these Arab and a game of cat and mouse with a view to escape from the rain and remained mostly a memory of his visit to Paris. I even double ruined new jeans because that was already in full readiness, but here as nowhere - another team of humanitarian negritoska police!
    Finally I got (on foot) to a specified on the envelope at home. The house was old, floors 4 and then with a confusingly numbered apartments.
 Then I remembered the legendary words "Sharshe La Femme" and began to pester all with the question "Sharshe Sparrow." And lo and behold - they brought me to the door on which was written not Vorobyev, and something like «Davyd Annas". There was much to ponder. So I decided that our Russian artist changed his last name, then go to the Promised Land. Clicking on the button to no avail, and eventually a neighbor told me on the fingers, a Russian painter is resting on the islands. Well, I'm even a sigh of relief and went on to wander around Paris. I had several options how to proceed further, and even call Sapgir Cyrus, whom I had just smoked in the Central House of Writers. But my shoulder was a sketchbook, and I'm not losing hours. So my feet have led to the Eiffel Tower, and did not thinking I was the tail of the Bronze Horseman, facing the Eiffel Tower and opened his sketchbook. I wrote the essay for three hours. During this time, three times the rain came, and I at this time ran into the bushes, doing the same thing to everybody for free.
    In the bright sunny moments, I noticed sightseeing buses are slow, driving past, and once even poured a group of tourists, and the girl-guide, in Russian with an accent, began to show the pointer and tell me that this is Paris, it's the Eiffel Tower and a French artist. So I am on the day I performed the role of decoration in Paris. In the evening I boarded the train and pulled to the side of Germany, has not tasted any of the French rolls.



August 20, 2011