The book of memoirs of Mikhail Chernyshev Moscow. 1961-67 "

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Book Misha Chernyshev Moscow 1961-67, was published in New York in 1988, the circulation, presumably, was small, most likely, it can be considered a rare book, and in Moscow to find her, I think, difficult. So I decided to hang out here a few heads, even all, if the spirit be enough.
Warnings: First, remove all responsibility for the views expressed in this book, they are not mine, they are - Chernyshev, even though quite often I agree with them, and secondly, the book has interesting illustrations, but the print quality is very poor, even in book to understand them with great difficulty, so I did not even try to scan them - nothing will come of this can not, and thirdly, lexicon, in particular, inappropriate, too, not mine


By the beginning of the sixty-second year, the second year of a daily walk to the Library of Foreign Literature on the street. Razin, there was a qualitative leap forward in my perception and evaluation of modern painting. All these thousands of names and reproductions decomposed in different regiments, and the necessary information to give me an instant. With Edicom Lubnina and V. Shifrin, I played in a win-win for me the game. Any reproduction, including some where Esteban Vicente and Oliver Debre, recognize me on the dispute. Bring anything from "foreign" was not possible, the books Gorky Street I had not afford it, and my memory is sharpened in the process of working with the material.

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At the time, on our street, Malaya Bronnaya, lived a lot of interesting people - Mischa Dorokhov, Pavlik tzolkin, Garik Superfin. Garik in their 16-17 years old was a man-guide to literary matters, very energetic fellow. He introduced me to the Left Shipmanom, Shipman and Lubnin were my close friends. They could talk about Mondriane and Klee, Malevich and Kandinsky, but then they pulled. For sixty or sixty-one, it was the limit, people even with this level of knowledge one could count in Moscow more than a few dozen.

Sv through continuous attentive work with periodicals I am too broke forward and discuss the "classics" to vremenmi I was tired, and talk and argue about the momentary was almost no one with whom. After two or three specific questions of any started to mumble. "Intellectual" conversation about the bush with me not pass, and the man had to confess to his incompetence. I am simplifying, of course. To admit defeat in discussions with sixteen guy was not easy for many, some, somehow on the defensive, but in the end, my awareness and logic prevailed. I was focused on only one, I was not interested in the so-called "common culture" and intellectual of those years, as a rule, know little about many things.

On the painting while a lot of arguing. I remember at the Manege exhibition winter sixty-second year of work at Falk nearly came to blows no. Reconciling all hanging in front Luchishkin, "The ball flew off. Excitement in the debate I showed back in the fifty-ninth, the American National Exhibition. At that time I myself was still quite "raw" (preparation - topic of "Crocodile" - Uncle Sam draws himself, a dozen rooms "of America" and a pair of some antimodernistskih brochures. Not much). Frankly, if I did not like De Kooning (only a couple of years he became one of my most favorite). The reaction to his "woman" was absolutely negative, it is me then was very interesting. At the exhibition there were many exhibits - from a tartan pants with cuffs to the "Ah-Bi-Em Ramaka-305. All this delighted the visitors, but the halls of paintings and sculptures called to say the least, puzzling. American painting seemed to be all nonsense, some even looking for some kind of super-task "to dupe the workers. Soviet audiences were well aware that this "abstract" support and cultivate the millionaires, who have fooled the people and divert them from the struggle for peace throughout the world. Do not forget, that was the fifty-ninth year, the people, even in Moscow, lived Stalinist concepts and attitudes.

The most stubborn and noisy "comrades" could precipitate a simple phrase, sluschay, friend, the Americans clearly have forgotten how to draw, you would have to go there, to teach them good sense. In such cases blizstoyaschie diverted to loyal "wiseacre" really went to teach so as to draw a naked woman. I do not know, such numbers could not go anywhere in town, but heartwarming at the time of U.S. territory, amid all this high-grade equipment and free Pepsi-Cola, such criticism could be made to shut up. Even then I began to learn the art of dispute, given the level of opponent. It was necessary to be able to think for him to assume and to know his arguments. In the Manege in the sixty-second I played the fool, advocated against fellow-scholars skygazer, it was even more successful, because I spoke seemed to be against himself a couple of years ago. Well, what else could I do, to create a contrast to the artificial equivalent, I could not, and the energy required output.

Return to the pavilion in Sokolniki. Rothko put "old gold on white, very fine job," European ", it's great contrast with Gottlieb and gross de Kooning. Albright was distasteful to me, I remember Baziotesa, Tomlin, Fritz Glarnera and, of course, pollokovsky "Cathedral". After the show, I gathered all the magazines, "America" with articles on art and reproductions. I well remember the room with reproductions of Arthur Dov - "An abstract interpretation of the mill" (I suspect that American editors that name themselves thrust for intelligibility), there was there Mullikan Lee and Stuart Davis' work is very rough on color. All this work I copied and increased up to a meter, hung over his desk. Parents liked - perseverance is always appreciated. I have seen in a number of the work of Georges Braque's "Philodendron", like the name, but what it is, who inquired of no one knows. After some time, learned that this is simply the name of the flower. Charm secrets immediately disappeared.
The second hot spot at the exhibition was in the alley, near the sculpture of Gaston Lachaise - hefty babishchy. Its shape caused many respects, diskusstviya there was not so fierce.

In the fifty-ninth year of painting was not for me the most important, I was mesmerized by the Electro-225 "," Bonneville Vista "," impala ". Corona number was a red Chevrolet Corvette - he was on the disk before continuing the crowd of onlookers, where I even once saw a smiling Nixon, he arrived in Moscow for a few days. "Ramaka-305" answered several questions, the visitors carried off the perforated tape for memory. The tumult reigned in the production and distribution of plastic jars labeled S-The USA on the bottoms, there should have been able to work elbows.
Some open round pavilion lined queue fans Pepsi-Cola. She was free, and drank it all you like. Many then was cut off American style of dress, hairstyle, etc. After the show, I, like many guys from the street, Gorky was sure to wear a white shirt under a dark shirt, as if tishort, a haircut kryukat (Soviet "box"). It was funny to meet on the street like myself, birds of a feather ...
Stilyagi-uzkobryuchnikov with nabriolinennymi cooks and podzhakami on his knees still missing, then they realized it, learned a new strict style - the Ivy League. Khrushch then ride to America on TV fairly often shown and everyday life of Americans, so we knew how to dress, time stilyagi already entering.

At Mayak, I visited often, lived nearby, heard there different rhymester. In fact, some poetry for me - as a wall peas, quadrille there girls. Put together a small company. Almost always you can catch it Levu Shilmana, Boria teeth. We sat on the edge of the sidewalk, the monument was not through. Someone spotted that the real "Shtatniki" not afraid to get dirty, even white pants - sit down, like sparrows, anywhere, chic. Some Italian unexpectedly shelknul me with friends, barely had time to hide behind, we, you know, it seemed "typical". I would have forgotten about it, but after a few months, met with an American tourist Stephanie Boylan (she lived in Long Beach, Okana Avenue, house number do not remember so many years have passed). We met several times, she was then twenty years. She once brought me a "Catchers in the Rye" and the number of "Time" with a picture of Yevtushenko on the cover, there was an article about Moscow. Brought home, was regarded - like see my face, and next to Matthew and someone else. The person on the pictures I have covered, so that the "identification" helped my sneakers, pereshitaya of school uniforms jacket and toy on elastic band, "prescription" Sasha Vasilyev. Magazine proudly showed their parents. My father said that it was not me, but the next day polfotki was filled with ink. I estimate the chances of a coincidence in this story - unbelievable. I said so at the next meeting of Stephanie, she was surprised, no less. When he left, she asked to write, but I was not up to it.

Parents made a last attempt to reason with me. My running away from home since the age of twelve with overnights at the entrances warm, vintage fever, abstract, etc. they were regarded as yavnvya abnormality. Exhortations and physical impact gave little persuasion, its autonomy, I stubbornly insisted, remained the last - check my psychiatrist. To register in the district mental hospital, with fourteen years, I think. The doctor I had a wonderful, Esther Yakovlevna Braginskaya. We talked about her bad painting. She, unfortunately, was still at the level Churlionis, although she liked my "Paris" abstract watercolors. After "Time" parents still packed me in the loony bin.
This was done quite cleverly. How to reach us, my mother went out into the corridor, the doors were closed - mousetrap, the bazaar is useless. They led to the bathroom, washed, gave the gown, and in the House - to the "fools". In the "observing" every man did what he wanted, it was noisy. I was not myself - just do not understand that all of these "psychos" harmless. Eat there, I did not, stand six or seven days. Medicines were not given to me - were examined. Sergei Mikhailovich (if I'm not mistaken, in this Hospital. Korsakov was zavotdeleniem) long tried to convince me of my "illness". His main argument was that the patient can not understand their illness, only need a little medical treatment and everything will be fine, but really there should be mandatory.
Here surrendered parents. They were, of course, aware of my refusal to eat, I even loved iced cheese tossed in a bucket along with the entire transmission. Feed teenager violently, and even in a hospital as a preferred Korsakov, nobody has dared to - so that exactly a week later I was released.

Parents were waiting for me at the door, I walked past them, without greeting, and then simply ran away. There would, strangely enough, not really, but on the way caught a barbeque "re" - from such odors, even in well-fed giddy. Money I had, but I bravely went and sat in the far room, ordered kharcho, shish kebab and one hundred grams of cognac. The waitress looked at me, hesitated, but the brandy brought. I swept it quickly. Hello zakosel, and as salts in O'Henry, declared its insolvency. Well, I am the administrator - so beautiful plump blonde - phoned his father, he paid the bill (Soviet classics - professor's son cleared).

Parents I have been mature, I was a postural child. They were good, but to me it just was not lucky: if they knew that they were born, I think, would refuse. Then, because I certainly could not understand what it is all worth it.

Try to remember something from my first scenic impressions. Between the ages of eight, I often stare at the mosaic ceiling lamps with pre-war planes at the metro station Mayakovskaya, considered them like their own property. I have them and now I remember, and I can list in order.
With the festival the exhibition of the fifty-seventh year imprinted in the memory of the Golden Fleece, germetricheskaya composition in the yellow-black-red (I think Devazne). This work is perhaps the most vivid impression of my childhood. It is well remembered by Ben Nicholson and Vic Pasmor at the exhibition of British art in Moscow in the early sixties.
Garik Superfin gave me a few pages from Life magazine article A. Marshak, "The Hidden Art". There I first saw the work Zvereva, Yu Vasil'eva, Egorshina, as well as "old men" - Falk and others. I do not really interested in, such work could not be a revelation for me. I, as usual, waited for my next five books (as you can order and keep to one name) in a foreigner. Zverev in the Life "was good, perhaps best of all cho I then see in Kostaki. Looseness Zvereva was a big plus, in Moscow at the time because they were afraid to work, canvas or even paper caused too much respect. The number of successes in Zvereva not great, they are inevitable in the way of his work (five to ten per hundred marriages). "Automatic" Jean Tinguely, or even shooting Niki de Saint Phalle allow a higher percentage. At bezrybe, and even as a protégé Kostaki, the animal was immediately enrolled in genius. By that time I already knew a lot about Volodya Slepyane, his courage technology, saw the work of Igor Lipkova. Kostaki promoted his henchman, well, this is understandable, but why do people make a fool Zverevsky mythical championship. With Pontius "master" flourish Zvereva helpless, but got away to Moscow. Markevitch -? Markevitch, excuse me, a musician, and not Michelle Seyfor, do not ask him too much. Once I saw hanging beside the work of Yakovlev, with Zverev, then for me finally cleared. Yakovlev almost have no setbacks, could turn even the minuses into pluses. While working, he "pulled out" even bad at first glance, things, a couple of months I had to work with him. Volodya is sincere and works primarily on themselves. Zverev as any smear or "scratching" vyebyvaetsya the viewer.

Gaststube LFL Street Razin was a small, very cozy. I came to eleven, it was free, only six hours to fish for the people, by the time my "working" day has ended.
So I spent about three years since the fall of the sixtieth year. These studies became the foundation for my creativity. In the "foreign" I met Nussbergom, Beryozkin, Safonov and his company, they usually were older than me for three to five years. For me it was a very interesting time. Books we looked through the same, periodicals gave fresh information in the smoking room on the stairs could discuss new materials. I note that the thinking in most of my friends have been frozen, the latest trends in poorly perceived. I was younger, carried away by the dialectics of change of direction, any dogma to me was unacceptable. I was conditioned circuits experimented. In the second year for self-similar calculations, I have no need to climb to the dictionary Knaura - I knew it almost by heart. Development of my place rather one-sided - nothing except painting, I did not know and did not want to know. Equals the volume and evaluation of information I could find, but they could not have been. What idiot would kill a very prosperous years in the then Soviet occupation.
One should add that on such a simple possibility of receiving such materials known in Moscow a few, some people were just too lazy and not interested, they completely lacked beards, icons and the Impressionists (five years later a book on modernism and almost all of the periodicals began to be issued only through spetszal on art, so that if someone then caught himself, then later).

In Moscow, almost every beginner in the informal art goes through several stages (or levels). The first involves podrazhaenie "blue" perodu, Čiurlionis, bad Symbolists, some sort early glazunovschina with bulging eyes and a deep "sense." Such works were quite understandable, even for the vigilantes, who realized that these people can and if you want to draw a cow. For many of the "Left" realists, this was the limit of novelty - here they are somehow able to use the acquired in a long learning skills. Work as a Pollock, in their opinion, could have any. I, fortunately, the Soviet arts education is not received, art studio and six months in the College of toys does not count, so I did not need to forget everything that hammered them. I started with a Devazne, but not with Reshetnikov. After viewing the work and conversations with goon I could "relax" even on any ordinary Moscow exhibition - this ultra-Orthodox even worked correctly, they felt the force.
The summer in Moscow, opened the French National Exhibition, I learned about it from posters. The day before the opening came at Sokolniki, jumped over the fence. The Soviet official had already left, the police almost never happened. He went into the halls bezlyudnyye painting. All these Tal Co., Lapikov, Le Mo, Gishia, Bissio and Bazin I already knew from books and periodicals, abstract "Ecole de Paris" rules while in the art world. It was a time Mathieu and Soulages, Esteve and Manes. Kooning in Pollock were their second-rate. Stumbled in on zakutke unusual for me to Puni, some "vyuyarovskogo" type, so I did not recognize him without a signature. Returned to the main hall, kolupnul plaster on the green and pink Fotrie - reliably worked. Gvrtung hung next to Soulages, size is good, but the work is not very. For sculpture Raoul Ubac hid little Tanguy, disgusting. He and Magritte were idols Moscow ssurealistov. Surrealism I refer to the second stage in the development of the "Left" realists. They were already saying the Soviet language, much more "progressive" - a cheap claim remaining, but at least "psychology" and exophthalmia disappeared. A fascination with Dali, Magritte and Tanguy were all, and it was impossible not to succumb to this temptation. Large reproductions of Dali's knock down anyone from the academic to the collective farmer. The third stage requires overcoming a serious, forget and throw away a lot, almost turn inside out. Just slap a piece of paint on canvas could have been in Moscow only a few, prevented ballast training. All the established regulations were zaimet minus sign, take such a step could almost none. For the "seekers" Moscow artists created a paradoxical situation. In fact, even the above, they could not clearly realize it already would have been for them at least some key. The confusion in the minds of many were covered again beard glubokosmyslennym face and a donkey: "Listen, old man ...». These bohemian loudmouth I endured difficult, better to our yard punks communicate.

Okay, let's return to the exhibition. I liked the "abstract" work on exit. I looked, yes it is Claude Monet, a pond some overgrown, this never expected from him, reproductions of his recent works I have not come across. Climbed in the book room, people - no one, only a few workers in green overalls stand dokolachivayut. There was a table laid out with books: what is there not, my eyes ran. I had a orange shirt - no jacket, no jacket, no place to hide, even the newspaper, still, looking around, shoved his bosom skirovskogo Klee, Max Ernst, laid on the right, for a gift - it Lubnin loved. Moved at a brisk pace to the fence, jumped and hid books under the branches and back to the exhibition - was overcome greed. Around a soul. Took two soft album with large reproductions of Kandinsky and Miro, and turned them into the phone, then suddenly a woman speaks to me.
Talking became first in English (translated somehow learned, but did not speak much, and still not better). I managed to prove to her that these albums do I need for the business. Before convinced that she even gave a bag easier to those who have not yet seen. Her name was Natasha Babel, switched to Russian. She became interested in the opportunity to see works of Russian hudlozhnikov. A few days later I came to her in a hotel "Youth". Before the trip came to Stollyaru, took a dozen chart Voroshilov, and Yakovlev, picked up from home and their work.

In the room she lived alone with his girlfriend, sat down to tea. I brought the work laid out, its course, in the center, the other way, for support. My squares and work Voroshilov she quickly folded back into the pile, and Yakovlev became attach to the wall - like. Wanted to see his other work. I took her to Vadim, well, and then they all began to turn, drove the pilgrims, was even the Basin. We bought a lot of Volodins work, from 15 to 20 rubles per schedule.
Oils Stollyar appears to have given, I do not know it all without me there.
With the French, I argued a lot, especially about American painting. This refined aesthetes repelled by American abstract expressionism, then they still believed themselves to Paris center of the universe. About Rauschenberg, Larry Rivers, or they can be and do not stutter. They, you see, is Yves Klein, Georges Mathieu, and Soulages, there are different types of avangardistki Niki de Saint Phalle. They were ready to take on equal terms, only two Markov - Toby and Rothko, those were all the same "Europeans" in painting.

These conversations are a lot to me ajar. Funny situation turned out - in Moscow, at the age of sixteen I was trying to protect the American painting from the French arrogance. Such a task proved daunting even for me. Natasha Babel at the name of Jackson Pollock snorted - snobs worthless, French.

At the exhibition I was a lot of times, estimating the impact of size, studied the technology, texture, color - all this could not give a reproduction. By the close of the exhibition, I glut oneself these French "cakes" and through that a better understanding of American abstract expressionism. Misha Roginskii then joked - in such sluyachayah needed pickle.
At that time I became interested in Ad Reinhardt - he then went into the black canvas, changing only in size. The work, which is nothing but a black cover, should theoretically be extremely boring, he does not fear. Well written by a black square of Malevich nevertheless remained painting. On this square at that time in Moscow for many heard the name of Malevich evoked respect, even in hopeless admirers Roerich Čiurlionis and Glazunov. It was considered bad taste to say anything bad about Suprematism. All played in the competence, as well know, and myself - such rectangles, I'll draw at least a hundred.

Already in the sixties to work in the contemporary art without the constant information was impossible. Moscow in the first place was for this reason the provincial - the artists in the mass of the people lazy, wooden football players: the shit we train, we both masters. On the periphery, and say nothing, there was almost no exceptions. French exhibition and Reinhardt gave me the idea to make a picture, not like a painting. At all other sites were already other people's posts, the history of painting direct perception and evaluation were completed. Ahead was the displacement of concepts, the dialectical intellectual game. Application of Lichtenstein and Warhol had already made, but in the periodicals of the first small black and white reproductions have appeared only in the beginning of the sixty-second (Art News, Arts Magazine).

I want to make some clarifications and terminology. Pop art, as such, took shape in the sixty-second (exhibition "Popular IMAGE"). Members of this exhibition, I knew well enough - squeezed everything possible from periodicals (especially memorable dark violet Arts Magazine spring of sixty-three, with the materials of the symposium on the subject). Pop art is, above all, the work of Roy Lichtenstein and early Andy Warhol painting, Oldenburg - in sculpture. "Donald Duck" and "Campbell Soup" 10x10 - the formula of pure pop art, its flags. Up to 61-year no pictures, no cause absolutely no emotion. Enlarged fragment of comics on the canvas and the frame or a hundred labels - things are absolutely new quality. These works are shifting all the usual representations about them nalzya say they are good or bad - they are simply zero. Play them and everyone can, simply insert the sheet of comics in the overhead projector, or neatly glued on the basis of one hundred supnyh labels. This - classic, the audience does not give the slightest concession. At "Popular IMAGE" he could go a little "warm up" next to Vesselmanom or Rosenquist - those not gone so far as Liechtenstein. For me, "Donald Duck" meaningfully equivalent "Women Avignon" ( "Dick Tracy" then was not yet published).

Fool the viewer, using stereotype can, of course, sympathize or rejoice "subjects Liechtenstein evaluate Warhol," colorist ", but the easiest to call them charlatans (remember, all this is happening in the sixty-second year, is not yet" digested "Even De Kooning and Pollock). Some try to attract the ears to pop art Rauschenberg and Jasper Johns, Larry Rivers, this can not be and speeches. Rauschenberg successfully combined Merz with G. Hoffmann and Mozervellom, nothing more. Assemblage in the fifties and sixties, too, novelty was not. The concept has remained the same as that of Schwitters. Helicopter Sikorsky Kurt Schwitters at the time, of course, could not see, but it makes no difference. Jones - a great painter, he was more concerned with paint and surface, than the intellectual bias. Closely related to painting and Larry Rivers. I believe that to make a "clean" thing is much harder to fight must first of all with himself - a modern "classic" thing must be emasculated to the limit (it is the sixties). Referring to my work: in some series considered the work finished only when removed all non-working one hundred percent of the elements. Schematic - let, hanging garlands on the tree is not for me. Absence of clear ideas often disguise an imaginary complexity, fool the audience likes it. Demagogue Filonov, by the weak "carpet" of tracks, has managed to convince its exclusiveness of many, now it is almost a legend. Well, anyone like affordable "inaccessibility", it is nice to feel concerned and competent.

Unsubscribe from all that is positive values, it is very difficult, especially in Moscow in those years, people here are still Miro with Magritte rue, only begin commercial Paris to learn, and you suddenly butting in with some explicit *** it, and he is so same and call. The principle of the worse, the better understood by very few, "what is". Discuss these problems could only Safonov, Misha Roginskii and Lipkovym. For me this was not enough.

Attempts soap from the Union I have taken years to twelve or thirteen. He escaped from his home in Odessa, and wanted to meet with foreign sailors in the club sailors, naively counted on their help. Zamelo me directly at the station in Odessa - the parents have signs. Spend the night had a double "quarantine", and then enter the main room. Feeding is very bad. Filling bed - a ritual, some there are triangular scarves have been putting on fluffed pillows in a strictly defined order. I had to learn, otherwise I could ogresti the forehead of "senior". After breakfast, caregivers were interviewed in the red corner. They told us about Kotovsky, Parkhomenko, Meresyev, etc., were all very interesting. A stroll led out into the yard with very tall whitewashed walls. With dominoshnogo table I saw for the first time the sea, small boats in the distance, the very Odessa to see and not have to. Protorchal there for three weeks in the children's home, then with tow arrived in Moscow on Novoslobodskaya, there took away my father. Awkwardly ended trip to Leningrad and Riga.

My dream slip away in the free world finally enveloped the summer of sixty-one years, I remember, we Lubnina almost wept at the news of the beginning of construction of the Berlin Wall. Count was not on that. He spoke with Bukovsky about the possibility of moving through Poland, he gave a couple of competent advice.

Our two-story house number 34 on the Little Bronnaya prepared to endure. He has been compressed from two sides by high buildings - 32 and 36. The builders decided to use the ends of these buildings by building a new block. Our house stood right in front of Patrick, the place of the picturesque: the summer - the boat in the winter - skating rink, music from morning till night - "Rio Rita", "Johnny, what a fine fellow, my lad."

Many neighbors have already left, but my parents are not in a hurry and won: they gave us a great apartment on the Falcon, near the metro. Before moving I went to the abandoned apartments, painted on the walls - the size! Then I saw - a wallpaper, it is almost the same everywhere, no more than three-chetyrezh types. Realized here is applicable only an empty gilt frame to the wall and the painting is ready. Any additions are excluded - a policy decision must be clean.

Wallpapers were wonderful - one type of obscene another. My parents painted the walls bright yellow paint, so enjoy similar wallpaper in the empty spaces I could for the first time. At that time I was engaged in symmetrical compositions and pasted the monotonous rows of squares on the canvas, so that formally to such a discovery was close. I went to the wallpaper store, in the choice of ten to fifteen samples, stood in line for imports, "democratic". Let me in the back room, where large fragments were loose, picked up a very cheeky.

The next day I went to the GUM, bargain big box of hardboard, doper it all up to the house and he brought in an empty room. One box, if you add four bars - six ready-made framework for the work cheaply and without fuss. Purchased a carpenter's glue - the most reliable, took kleevarku, put wallpaper on the basics. Now, I think, should frame get - simpler, but always gilded, to complete the effect. Rembrandt, say, fucked your mother. He made four of them, I sit, you bastard of his own masterpieces, exhibition Pinocchio. Fascinated me. This idiocy - something which, as even a rabid abstractionist these things for pictures not accept. With frames was tight, had to sheathe of lath. Further - more, I walk the streets, I think, what else can borrow in the same way (then, after getting acquainted with Roginsky, learned that he was at the same time wanted to train posters posshibat 'for their own collections, they are back in the early sixties, were still quite good). In Politmagazine on Arbat bought several posters "1st May", "7th November", etc., also stuck to hardboard, obshil rack - the frame. They came friends: Safonov, Shilman, Volodya Schifrin - they liked, but "hang" No one asked, worked all was rude. Yes, and even they did not hang a "wallpaper" on the wallpaper, such decisions were predlevremenny not only for Moscow.

Some of the random said, boring, they say, wallpaper, I had to have something to draw, to revive them some nmibud foul language - dick. Neto people have a sense of proportion, I knew that if I slightest wheeze add - the whole principle of "zero" fails /etc. I was so dangerously close to dady and Merz. Boring about my work - well, naff. The audience is almost always a fool of us should forget.

Repeatedly, when I was a beginner, I "gets" - praised the work of, well, I think that's finally a competent person has got, look at some other time, this "expert" praising one hundred percent bullshit, there are omnivorous people, they all like it wishers. Deduced for myself - do not cast pearls. Kakko while it was interesting to provoke the viewer, it is possible at any level, you only need to know in advance who then waits, and give back. Working in the end you can for yourself, this gradually get used to, in the presence of periodicals is tolerated. It is difficult to explain the whole game writings. My work - painting, writing is difficult and no fun.

Simply, their principles of those years I can explain this: either the plane bounded by a frame or rack, is the picture. No relief is above 10 millimeters is not allowed, ie without entering assamblyazh.Vychurnoy technology and a plurality of normally conceal the absence of new formal ideas. There shall be no additional items for this limited plane - a thing should be very easy, nothing lishneego. I deliberately put these limits. For me, the notion of a clean plane of the picture was as a field for the game of chess, and the number of combinations, even on 64 cells is inexhaustible. In my opinion, almost any new idea mzhet be implemented on a small sheet of paper, that's enough. Applications Karpova, Yves Klein, Kineticism etc. I was dismissed for themselves immediately. Vanguard of this kind I have attributed to the theater, attractions, sports - for anything. Playing on other rules. Revision of the values of these "achievements" in the painting front, gentlemen and artists rhymester.

The first time ran away from home years in 11-12, we had four, made a tent in the woods near the station Razdory on Belarus. Throughout the night burned a fire, but still froze solid. The morning decided to return to their homes. Escapes me then was a lot, but preferred their own. He was in Zagorsk Maloyaroslavets, well remember children's home in Kalinin, merry place, I was put off then with the Leningrad train. Sometimes I even from Moscow had not left. Day walking with the kids, and spent the night in a warm doorways them I knew a few in the region of Brest streets. Sleep can be in the subway, sit in the corner of the car at the Ring - and ride. Morning people a lot, no one before you do not care. The money I vodilis from coins and stamps, missing. The cafe "Harp" in Stoleshnikov, took first and knead at least half a kilo of bread, he togla lying freely on the tables.

Ought to write about friends and acquaintances. Beginning with the second class, I roam to different schools: 122nd, 137th (above a bakery on the corner near Patrick), 124th (Big Bronnaya) has not yet entered in the fifty-ninth year of the 112th, the relatively privileged, for radioprofil to Dorf Schuster, the then-known methodologist. The school was equipped with a radio studio in the hardware soyali console MIE-15.