Your advice me not interesuyut.S Ukraine show and sell the good work, if you do not like, you can not chitat.Razgovor about other things, that Liana constantly, in a very disrespectful form is expressed on a particular artist.
-----------------------------------------------
( "uriart". Yura sorry that off-topic)
Этот пользователь сказал Спасибо Евгений за это полезное сообщение:
- she said, hung out a weighty selection of his paintings
Цитата:
Сообщение от fross
Soutine Hall, 19 works - is the best that is in the greenhouse.
Well really this is you, mother, bent. I think there still is two or three works bear comparison. This you should be, says the excitement of opening: p
Well, really this is you, mother, bent. I think there still is two or three works bear comparison. This you should be, says the excitement of opening: p
Well, I confess, Cezanne I, too, very much. Delight Marie opening Laurence visited me
Эти 2 пользователя(ей) сказали Спасибо fross за это полезное сообщение:
Well, yes, quite white sheep Liana .. especially when she mentions the artist Nalbandyana.Davayte this subject close to me personally, it is uninteresting.
Unprofessional question can be? I immediately see that even among collectors and art dealers often are not uniform opinion ..... So the question is ripe ..... Why is the artist's life respected critics of his murderous subjected to criticism (a myriad of examples), and after 50 years begin to grovel on his talent. Answers like .... study the history of world art should .... better not to give. Studied, but questions still remain.
praise mocked artist starts those who want to unwind and to sell ... (I will not name names, and even call me the white sheep)
and talented artists in the majority in the lifetime of positively valued by art critics ...
__________________
До меня мир рисовали таким, как его видят. Я рисую так, как его мыслю. (с) Пикассо.
Эти 3 пользователя(ей) сказали Спасибо Meister за это полезное сообщение:
Scrambling for cobweb, I stumbled upon a site dedicated to Soutine. Placed there texts seemed so interesting that I immediately began their преводить, so that you can get acquainted with them.
Now go to sleep, but if you like it, will be continued
In July 1942, by order, obtained from Berlin, Germany Embassy has asked the French authorities to find the artist Chaim Soutine and confiscate all his work. The Prefect of Police Commissioner Burlet Lege instructed to search for the artist, as well as collect all the information about us in a confidential file - maybe it was due to a desire to understand instructions mysterious interest in the Nazis to Soutine.
Читать дальше...
Some believe that this interest is reflected in the price, which reached Soutine paintings, especially in the U.S. market, and the desire to sell the confiscated works. Others say that the Germans tried to simply physically destroy the Jewish Soutine Soutine and the artist in the name of the Nazi theories about the degenerative art.
For unknown reasons, Commissioner Burlet not passed the dossier to his superior. On the first page it appears inscription in red ink: "Soutine died 9.08.1943. Send the file to the archive. 10.09.0943.
We do not know how many documents were collected Burlet. There is reason to think that after the war he took some documents may be to write a biography of Soutine.
Dossier consists of nine folders containing letters, newspaper clippings and reports compiled by workers of the Prefecture of Police or other government agencies, in which Commissioner Burlet sent requests.
Report Gilbert Erebus
Prefecture Police
Section archive
PARIS, October 28, 1942
Gilbert Erebus, assistant archivist
Herr Commissioner Burlet
In response to your request for Chaim Soutine, a political refugee from Russia, living at the address: 287 Prospect Sera, I have the honor to transmit to you the following report, sostavlnny in collaboration with the attache of the Commissariat on the Jewish question, Mr. Fishterom, who kindly provided a description of specific customs of Jewish origin from Russia and specifically the Lithuanian Jews.
name: Sutin name: Chaim Rod.: 1883 (not specified) in: Śmiłavičy (near Minsk - Russia) Nationality: Russia Father: Salomon Soutine, genus. in 1851 in Pontovich, tailor Mother: Sarah Soutine, genus. in Smilavichy Profession:: painter Home Address : 28, avenue Seurat, Paris residence permit : № 1378 386, issued Aug. 4, 1914
Commissariat districts of Saint-Lambert
Renewed regularly Criminal history : not available
Note: Registered as a Jew under the number 35702 - Office of Jewish Affairs
Chaim Soutine was born in the Lithuanian village of 400 souls. Tenth in a family with eleven children. His father was a tailor, and was in the bottom of the social hierarchy of the town.
On the basis of sources that I have read in Gosudarstvevnnoy library (the works of E. Faure, Drieux La Rochelle, V. George, and durnalov "Ihobrazitelnoe art" and "Art in Paris"), Soutine never spoke about his childhood, and this feature, among others, helped create the legend of "Soutine - the curse of the artist.
You can be sure that the life of the town, subject to the instructions of the Talmud, was an important factor in shaping personality miolodogo Soutine, but unlike other artists came from this region (Chagall, Lissitzky, Rybak ...), in his work there was no borrowing from Jewish folklore.
Nevertheless nkotorye religious rituals are the key to understanding the origin of many works Soutine.
On the morning of Yom Kippur in every home town committed ritual scapegoat, leading their descent from the biblical tradition of the scapegoat, who drove out into the desert. This ceremony consisted in the fact that at the threshold of the house slaughtered a white cock, which was served for lunch the next day to mark the end of the traditional post.
Rooster same, but not white, and black, appeared in the house of the dying, to tell him that his hours were numbered. According to legend, he heard the cock crow, deceased relatives and friends dying around him and tried his earthly affairs.
On the one hand, the real cock with a screwed up his eyes, which loses blood, in the hands zhertvoprinositelya, on the other hand, zloveschey cock of legends, became a constant subject of painting Soutine.
Memoirs
Occasionally Sutin overcomes his reluctance to talk about his childhood and described episodes also left a deep mark on his paintings.
"Odnazhny I saw the town butcher cut the throat of goose and let his blood. I wanted to scream but could not - a cheerful look of the butcher was paralyzed me ... This cry was left in me so far. When I was a kid, to get rid of the cries, I clumsily painted a portrait of my teacher ... And later I wrote bovine carcasses to the cry went out of me. But he was still in me. "
"I watched as the sunlight and shadows play on the curtains ... My father, who was sitting in the pose of the Buddha, sewed near the gray box, and then he stopped and, without raising his eyes, turned the page ... "Rabbi Mendel of Vorok klanetsya that this Jew landed three things: the absolute genuflection, silent cry and motionless dance.
Once Soutine painted a portrait of an old man and his son beat him. The magistrate awarded, the abuser must pay him 25 rubles. With this money he was able to leave the village and was accompanied by his friend Michael Kikoina come to Minsk to study art there, Mr. Kruger, who gave private drawing lessons ( "I guarantee success in 3 months!").
A year later, friends enrolled in the School of Fine Arts in Vilna rate professor rubakova. In class staged a Jewish funeral. Kikoin served as a model - he lay on the floor, and covered with a white sheet. Soutine lit candles and placed them on both sides of the "deceased".
Twice a week, Soutine dined at the dentist, who took on the Jewish tradition to help needy students - where he could eat this hot food. The eldest daughter of a dentist bvyla a little in love with a dreamy young man. Once he dazheosmelilsya kiss her, and she did not hurt. But the letter came from Paris from a flint, and Kikoin already left for Paris ...
The girl with tears in his eyes gave him a handkerchief with 50 rubles ...
His first night in Paris \ Soutine hosted Pinzasa Flint, who lived, as countless artists summoned to Paris, in a hive, in Danzig Passage.
He then spent the night alone, then the other - in Kikoina, the Inderbauma, the Meshchaninova and a Lipschitz Chagall tried unsuccessfully to persuade him to leave his studio, when he drove out of the hive (but steps are not surrendered to the persuasions: "From him too bad smell ").
In order not to starve to death, he hired workers at the Renault factory, but soon he was fired - he managed to injure his leg. Kikoin found him a night's work at the Montparnasse station.
The days he spent in museums, to live to see what he knew only by lithography, hung on the walls of schools in the \ Vilna. Waldemar George says: "This young man is always with his head bowed and frightened eyes, with whom I had not yet met, clung to the walls of the hall Courbet. Then he looked at the "Funeral at Ornans, as devout a Christian looks at the icon.
Sutin enrolled in Fernand Pestru, nicknamed hormones in Gosudarstvennots School of Fine Arts, which already studied Kikoin.
He devoured meager victuals Kikoina. Finishing their last crust of bread, he said, apologetically: "This is my worms ..."
Sculptor Ingenbaum recalls:
"Soutine found me on the terrace of the Rotunda, and asked me for thirty francs.
- When you have money, you're gone - I said - and wasted it, you come to me "- and walked away, leaving him in front of a cafe.
But he was being watched and muttered:
- Give me thirty francs, give me thirty francs, give me thirty francs ...
- And all these canvases, which you sold me, and then took back?
Sutin, plunging his head into his shoulders, lamented:
- Oh, oh, oh ...
Reaching the area Konvanson, I bought a herring.
- And now you write me a still life!
He went to his workshop. Two hours later he appeared with the picture, on which were painted fishes on a yellow plate and two forks. I gave him thirty francs, and now the buttons attached to the wall. Chereschz two days he came to me and asked me to lend him this picture. I agreed - the last time. A few days spkstya, I found this picture at Delevskogo, who said to me:
- He asked for her five francs, I gave three.
*****************************************
War in 1914, Soutine was granted political refugee status and residence permit. He went to visit Kikoin, who lived with his wife in Franville, okolol LIVRY GARGAN.
He walked all around looking for landscapes that have inspired him. But as soon as someone close to him, he tears canvas with an easel and presses it to his chest - paint inside. Wife Kikoina every evening laundered his jacket turpentine.
At this time, a wobble of the book by Otto Preminger Race and nature »(Geschlecht und Charakter) Sutin worked day and night, as if he wanted to prove to yourself that you can be a Jew and a great artist. Śmiłavičy pressed on him, he sought recognition. Kikoin soothed him, tried to instill in them confidence.
"He asked me to express my opinion about his paintings, but he was incredibly shy and bashful. It seemed that he wants to advance to protect their canvases from my criticism, which was reflected in the raging torrent of words - he explained his vision.
Kremen also supported him, but neither flint nor Kikoin he did not understand.
In 1916, Soutine left the Hive and rented a studio in Cité Falner. There sculptor Lipchitz introduced him to Modigliani.
On the food they had no money, it replaced the red wine. It turns out that Soutine gastric ulcer. As Modigliani, has left him to live long - TB is killing him ...
One night, after returning from a cafe, they dug a trench in ground floor bedrooms and surrounded by mountains of ashes, to protect against bugs - but nothing trench did not help - the artist Richard took Soutine, who got the bug in his ear to the hospital ...
"Sitting almost on the stove, ðàñïàðèòü and not like a piece of raw meat, Soutine dying of heat and bliss. To soothe the pain in his stomach, he had to go to the regime of boiled potatoes and sour - it reminded him of his native town. Soutine starts to dance, Korça fearful faces.
*******************************************
Extrovert Modigliani unsociable Soutine took under his wing. They drank together. Once Soutine tried to take care of a soubrette, was encountered at Kikoin. "Your hand is smooth as a plate" - found a Soutine, who understood that the lady was expecting a compliment ...
He absolutely could not stand that someone saw how it works and even people to see his work in his presence.
Modigliani introduced him vmir art. He introduced it with Sharon, who had a gallery on the streets of La Boesi, then with Zborovsky, which made the purchase from Flint Soutine painting.
Zborowski Soutine says its customers - doctors, industrialists, writers - and sells them to his work for thirty to fifty francs.
"I was present when Modigliani painted a portrait of Soutine in 1917 on the door of the dining room. While we were at the table eating cooked me minestrone, Having eaten his fill Modigliani said Sutin:
- Wait, I'll write your portrait.
He got up, grabbed a palette podoshgel to the door and op! Soutine threw his head in a hat with absurd margins "(Ms. Zborovskaya).
Although Zborowski at the time was not a stitch, he gave Soutine daily content in three francs.
*********************************
Modigliani's Jeanne Hebuterne went to the south and Soutine were invited to join them.
VENCE Soutine lived with Felice Cendrars, first wife of the writer.
Zborowski sent him some money to buy paint and canvas, as well as 200 francs on account of the result of his work. But the result disappointed him.
********************************
In the January issue of "Art in Paris," Paul Guillaume's article:
"Once, I went into the workshop of one artist to see the Modigliani painting, I noticed in the corner of the picture, which I am very pleased. It was Soutine, the painting depicted a pastry - pastry unreal, fantastic, awarded by the artist and a magnificent giant ear, a sudden and quite correct, it was a masterpiece! I bought it. Then Dr. Barnes saw it from me.
- But it is incredible! - He cried. Enthusiasm, which he experienced from this picture, decided the fate of Soutine, his sudden success, from day to day, his paintings began to enjoy great demand, it is recognized.
Эти 21 пользователя(ей) сказали Спасибо LCR за это полезное сообщение:
Thank you Liane for this interesting material, waiting for the continuation
My contribution to this topic:
once a very long time read a story about Jaime Soutine "Skin" Roald Dahl, of course it is fictional, but I was impressed.
Long Story
Roald Dahl
Leather
Winter one thousand nine hundred and forty six, stretched indefinitely. Although there was the month of April, an icy wind had run the streets, and overhead the sky drifted snow clouds.
Читать дальше...
The old man by the name Drioli with difficulty dragged his feet on the sidewalk Rue de Rivoli. Miserable, numb from the cold, all the time he shivered, wrapping a dirty old coat in black and over the collar turned up could see only his eyes and crown.
The door swung open a cafe, and a faint smell of fried chicken caused him unbearable hunger. The old man continued to drag his feet, staring without interest at the objects exhibited in shop windows, - perfumes, silk ties and shirts, diamonds, china, antique furniture, books in luxurious bindings. Then he came up with a picture gallery. He always liked to be in art galleries. The showcase was put up one single picture. He stopped to examine it. Then he turned to continue their journey. Then again, paused, looking back at the shop window, and then suddenly he felt a slight discomfort, a vague recollection of something that he had seen somewhere long ago. He began to study painting. Это был пейзаж. In the foreground was a picture of a group of trees, the trunks are very strongly tipped to one side, as if under the onslaught of hurricane winds, the sky came the ragged thunderclouds. The inscription on the plaque, which was attached to the frame, reads: "Chaim Soutine (1894-1943)".
Drioli thoughtfully examining the picture, trying to understand what she reminds him. "A wonderful picture, - he thought. - A strange and wonderful - but I like ... ... Chaim Soutine Soutine.
- Really! - He exclaimed suddenly. - Yes this is my little Kalmyk, that's who it is! Just think! The picture of my little Kalmyk exhibited in the best shops of Paris!
The old man pressed his face against the glass display case. He remembered the kid - yes, he remembers it well. But when was that? When? Memory denied. After all, it was so long ago. How many years ago? Twenty years? No, perhaps, thirty years ago. Is it possible for thirty years? Wait a minute! Yes this is was before the war, before the first war, in nineteen hundred and thirteenth year. Now he remembered that it was precisely then. And that Soutine, this ugly little Kalmyk eternally sullen, who went to a lad who had so pleased him, which he almost loved - just so unaware of it, except for the fact that he knew how to paint.
And as he wrote them! Now he is remembered even more - the street, along which there were garbage cans, the smell of rot, brown cats, which are carefully dug in the garbage, and women, sweaty, fat, sitting on the thresholds of their homes, lowering his feet on the stone floor of the street. What was the street? How is called the street where he lived a lad?
Cité Foldzhier! Yes, that is what it was called! The old man, pleased that he remembered the name of the street, nodded several times myself.
There was a workshop, and there was only one chair and an old dirty red couch on which lay Sutin, he remembered the drunken revel, cheap white wine, wild and always quarrels sallow, sullen face of the artist, musingly bent over their work.
"Strange" - thought Drioli. Now he can easily recall all and the recollection of an event brings to mind another.
Take that joke with a tattoo. It's been madness. How it all began? Oh yes, once he made a lot of money - yes, yes, all started with this - and bought a lot of wine. I remember as he pleased, then entered the studio with a package under his arm, which took the bottle, he saw Soutine, sitting before his easel, and his wife Josie - she stood in the middle of the room and sat for a portrait.
- Tonight we are celebrating - he declared - we'll make a small vypivon for the three of us.
- In honor of what this is? - Asked the boy, without looking up. - I do not either because finally decided to divorce his wife so she could marry me?
- No, - replied Drioli. - We are celebrating because I earned a lot of money today.
- And I have not earned. That we too can celebrate.
- Well, if you want, and it can be noted.
Drioli stood at the table and unfolded the package. He felt tired and would soon fall greedily to the wine. Nine customers, of course, not bad, but this damned tired eyes. He had never so many clients are not tattooed in one day. Nine drunken soldiers! And the most remarkable was the fact that at least seven of them paid him in coin. That is why today he is so rich. But his eyes were dead tired from this work. Drioli eyes were half closed with fatigue, covered with a thin protein network of red veins, and for each eyeball, at a depth of one inch behind him, he felt a sharp pain. But now evening, he is rich as a pig, but in the package are three bottles - one for his wife, another for his friend, and a third for himself. Finding a tailspin, he was uncorking a bottle.
Artist put brush.
- My God, - he said. - Is it possible to work when this is happening?
A young woman passing through the room, went to look at the picture. Drioli, too, came up with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other.
- No! - Shouted the artist, suddenly flushing. - Please do not! - He grabbed a sheet from the easel and put his face to the wall. But Drioli managed to see the picture.
- I like it.
- It is terrible.
- It is amazing. It is amazing just like all the other pictures painted you. I am delighted with them all.
- The trouble is, - said Sutin, a frown - that they were inedible. I can not eat them.
- And still they are amazing. - Drioli handed him a glass full of pale-yellow wine. - Drink up, - he said, - you feel happy.
Never had he not yet knew a man more unfortunate, or rather, a man with such a gloomy face. Drioli met him in a cafe seven months ago, where he drank alone, and only because he looked like a Asian, Drioli sat down next to his desk and began to speak.
- You are Russian?
- Yes.
- Where from?
- Minsk.
Drioli jumped from his seat and embraced him, exclaiming at the same time that he also hails from this city.
- I'm not entirely from Minsk, - explained the boy, - but the place is not far from it.
- Where?
- Śmiłavičy, about twelve miles from Minsk.
- Śmiłavičy! - Drioli cried, rushing back to him with open arms. - Yes, I have walked there on foot a few times when I was a kid. - Then he sat down again on his seat, never taking his eyes off the friendly face of his interlocutor.
- You know - he said, - you do not like the western Russian. You like the Tartar or Kalmyk. You really spitting Kalmyk.
And now, in the studio, Drioli again looked at the artist, the way he took a glass of wine and drank it. Yes, no doubt, his facial features were Kalmyk - broad face with high cheekbones, a broad, blunt nose shape. But his hands - the hands always caused surprise: small, such as women, with graceful slender fingers.
- Give me more, - said the artist. - If you celebrate, so have to celebrate properly.
Drioli spilled wine and sat on a chair. Soutine settled on an old couch next to his wife Drioli. On the floor between them were three bottles.
- Tonight we will drink as much as will fit, - said Drioli. - I am very rich. We have run out and buy a few bottles. How to buy?
- Another six, - said lad. - Every two bottles.
- Good. I'll go and fetch.
- And I'll help you.
In the near Cafe Drioli bought six bottles of white wine. After they returned to the studio, put on the floor in two rows and Drioli, armed with a corkscrew, uncorked bottles of all six, they again sat down and began to drink.
- But only the very rich, - noticed Drioli - may well go on a bender.
- It's true, - said the lad. - Is it not so, Josie?
- Of course.
- How mood. Josie?
- Excellent.
- Maybe throw Drioli and marry me?
- No.
- Wine amazing, - said Drioli. - A pleasure to drink it.
Slowly, savoring, they were slowly getting drunk. While they were drinking as they normally did, nevertheless, supposed to observe a well-known ritual - to drink with all the seriousness of much talk, repeating again and again.
Was assumed to praise the wine, to drink it slowly, savoring every delicious three stages of intoxication, especially when it seems that float in the air and no longer feel his feet (as happens with Drioli). Yes, it is most enjoyable when you look at their feet and they seem so distant that surprising, what is eccentric they may belong, and why they lie like that, somewhere on the floor and at this distance.
Some time later he got up to turn on the light. He was very surprised, noting that his legs got up with him when he went to turn on the lights, especially he was surprised that he did not feel his feet touching the floor. He was a nice feeling that he was walking on air. Then he began pacing the room, slyly glancing at the paintings, stacked along the walls.
- Listen, - he said finally. - I thought of one thing. - He went to the couch and stood before her, swaying slightly. - Listen, my little Kalmyk.
- What is it?
- I have a terrific idea. Are you listening to me?
- I'm listening, Josie.
- Listen to me, please. You're my friend - my little Kalmyk from Minsk, and I consider you a good artist, and I would like to have a picture, a beautiful picture.
- Take it all. Take all that you find, but do not interrupt me when I talk to your wife.
- No, no. Look here. I mean now, which would always be with me ... forever ... no matter where I go, no matter what happens ... but always with me ... now, written by you.
Reaching his hand, he placed her on the knee of a boy.
- Please listen to me now.
- Listen to him, - said the young woman.
- That's what. I want you to be painted on my skin, on the back. Then I want you to do a tattoo on top of written and that picture will always remain on the back.
- You must be crazy.
- I'll teach you how to use tatuirovalnoy machine. It's easy. Even a child would be able to.
- I am not a child.
- Please ...
- Are you really mad. What have you started yet?
The artist looked at the still, black, shiny with wine eye Drioli.
- For God's sake, that you still need?
- You can easily canst do it! You can! Can!
- You mean a tattoo?
- Yes, a tattoo! In two minutes I'll teach you!
- It's impossible!
- You want to say that I do not know what I'm talking about.
Well, no, the artist could not say, as everyone knew that if anyone knows about tatuirovalnom art, so is he - Drioli. Is not he, that was last month, covered the belly of a man surprisingly graceful figure, depicting flowers? And the client who has the whole chest was covered with a thick hair? He is so artfully portrayed on his chest with a gray bear, hairy chest that turned into a hairy skin of the beast.
Is not he a woman tattooed on his arm men so that when the muscles of the hands of men moved, the woman came to life and taken the most unexpected positions.
- I just want to tell you, - said Sutin - that you're drunk and you have a drunken thought.
- And Josie would pose. It will be a sketch with Josie on my back. Am I not entitled to have a portrait of his wife on his back?
- Portrait of Josie?
- Yes. - Drioli knew that if he only mention the name of the wife as thick lips boy involuntarily stretched into a smile.
- I do not agree, - said the young woman.
- Josie, my dear, well, please. Here, take this bottle and its dopey, then you'll be nicer. It's amazing idea. In life, not yet invented anything like that.
- What else is there an idea?
- Well, then, that he would have to do your portrait on my back. Did not I want this?
- My portrait?
- In the nude - said the artist.
- A tempting idea.
- Not in the nude - said the young woman.
- It's a great idea - said Drioli.
- No, this is a crazy idea - the young woman replied.
- One way or another, yet this idea, - said Sutin. - And she deserves to celebrate it.
They drank another bottle. Then, the artist said:
- Nothing will come of it. I do not know how to handle tatuirovalnoy machine. Shall I write now on your back, and you will walk with her up until not bathe, and not be washed away with her? And if you're never going to wash, then the picture will remain on your back until the end of your life.
- No, - replied Drioli.
- Yes. And in the day when you decide to bathe, I will know that you do not appreciate me more now. This will be a serious challenge for you as a fan of my talent.
- I do not like all this, - said the young woman. - He was so admired your talent that will go a dirty life. Let's tattoo. Not in the nude.
- Then just head - suggested Drioli.
- I'm afraid not do it.
- It is extremely easy. I'll teach you in two minutes. You'll see. I went for the needles and ink. I have ink all colors - so many colors, how many do you have for painting, and even more beautiful than you.
- No, this is impossible.
- I have all kinds of ink. Do I have no ink of different colors, Josie?
- Yes.
- You'll see, - said Drioli. - I'll go after them.
He rose from his chair and an unsteady step, but with a determined look out of the room. Half an hour later Drioli returned.
- I brought everything - he shouted, waving a brown bag. - All you need to tattoo, is here, in this suitcase.
He put the bag on the table, opened it, took out the electric needles and small bubbles with colored ink. Then he stuck the plug from an electric needle in the network, taking the instrument in his hands and pressing the button, switched current. Then came the hum and the end of the needle, about a quarter of an inch, he began to rapidly vibrate up and down. He threw off his jacket, pulled back the sleeve on his left hand and said:
- Now look. Follow me, and I'll show you how easy it is. I shall now make a tattoo on my arm here.
Forearm it was completely covered with blue marks, but he still found a small area of skin that is free of tattoos, to teach her a lesson tatuirovalnogo art.
- First, I choose the ink color, take, say, ordinary blue ink, then I dip the end of the needle in the ink ... there ... then I hold the needle end up, then I spend it on the skin, lightly touching her ... there ... and here needle driven by a tiny electric motor, moves racing up and down and pierce the skin, while the ink penetrate the puncture in the skin, that's all ... See how easy it is ... See, now I nakolyu gray hound on his arm.
Artist interested in:
- Now let me practice a little on your hand.
He began to buzz with a needle blue lines on the hand Drioli.
- It is not difficult - he said. As if paint pen and ink. No difference, unless the needle slowly.
- Of course, it's simple. Are you ready? Shall we begin?
- Immediately.
- A nature! - Exclaimed Drioli. - Come on, Josie!
He was gripped by excitement. Staggering, he began busily to prepare a place for work, as a child, which is enthusiastically preparing for an interesting game.
- Where do you want her to pose? Where will it stand?
- Let there be, next to the dressing table, and combed his hair. So I'll write it: raspushennye combed out her hair.
- Excellent! You - genius.
A young woman reluctantly went to the dressing-table and stood beside him with a glass of wine in hand.
Drioli pulled off his shirt and dropped his pants. He left only shorts, socks and shoes, and stood, swaying slightly from side to side. His body was strong, and their skin is white and almost without hair.
- Now, - he said - I canvas. Where are you going to put my canvas?
- As always, on an easel.
- Do not play the fool. I'm painting.
- Then located on the easel. It's easy.
- But how?
- You're painting, is not it?
- Yes, I am painting. I am beginning to feel like cloth.
- Then located on the easel. It is not difficult.
- But the truth is impossible.
- In that case, sit on a chair. Sit backwards, then you will be able to put his drunken head on the chair. Make haste, I'm going to start.
- I was ready and waiting for you.
- First, - said the artist, - I write the usual picture. Then, if I liked it, I will tattoo over it.
Armed with a broad brush, he began to write on her bare back Drioli.
- Ay! Ai! - Cried Drioli. - Monstrous centipede walking on my back.
- Come calmer! Still!
The artist worked fast by placing a thin blue layer of paint so that it does not interfere with the tattoo. Preoccupation with which he worked, was so great that she seemed to overcome his intoxication. He left a smear fast movements, feeling the limit stress in the wrist, and less than half an hour the work was finished,
- All. Finished - he turned to the young woman who, hearing these words, immediately went to the couch, lay down and fell asleep.
Drioli awake. He saw the artist took a needle dipped in ink, then he felt a piercing shot in tickling the back. The pain was unpleasant, but tolerable and did not give Drioli fall asleep. Drioli amused himself by trying to guess the next needle, watching what the artist paints used, tried to imagine what is going on behind him. Sutin worked with striking voltage.
It seemed a tiny machine and unusual work entirely captured it.
Before dawn the artist worked the rhythmic hum of machines. Drioli remembered that, when the artist stood back and said: "The picture is finished" - on the street was the day and outside the footsteps of passers-by.
- I want to see - said Drioli.
Soutine took the mirror and began to keep it at an angle, and Drioli turned his head, trying to see your back.
- My God! - He exclaimed.
What he saw amazed him. All spin, starting from the shoulders and back down to ground, covered with bright colors - and golden, and green, and blue, and black, and red. Tattooing has been made so thick that the whole back seemed to be completely covered with dabs of paint. The artist tried to tattoo a hair's breadth of a drawn, densely filling lines, and the most surprising thing was that he used with great skill in his picture ledges blades, making them part of the composition.
Moreover, although the work was moving slowly, he managed to convey a picture of some kind of immediacy, spontaneity. The portrait was made in a dramatic, abrupt manner, so characteristic of other works Soutine. Striking similarity is not a portrait from life. No. Most expressed the mood of the portrait. Features were vague, wandering eyes, and around his head whirling mass of dark-green wavy lines, which gave the whole picture of the limiting dynamism.
- Amazing!
- I, perhaps, most like.
The artist stepped back and began to examine their work critically.
- You know - he added - I think it is worth it, so I put his signature.
And, picking up an electric needle, he led his name in red ink in the right side, on the ground, under which is a bud ...
Old Drioli stood in a state similar to trance, never taking his eyes off the pictures on display in the window of the gallery.
All this was so long that it seems as if all these events took place in some other life.
A Soutine? What happened to him? He now remembered that after he returned from the war - from the first war, he began to miss the artist, and he asked Josie:
- You do not know where my little Kalmyk?
- He's gone, - she answered. - I do not know where, but I heard that he got in touch with some traders, who sent him to Seret paint.
- Maybe he'll be back.
- Who knows? Maybe back.
It was the last time they talked about it.
Some time later they moved to Le Havre, where many sailors and because a lot of work. In memory of Le Havre, the old man smiled. Yes, those were good times, the period between the wars, then he had a cozy room, a small workshop near the house and enough work. Every three or four or even five sailors came to him and asked that he tattooed their hands. Nothing you say, it really had good times.
Then the Second World War, the arrival of the Germans, the death of Josie - and everything was dust! In those years, no one was in need of tattoos, but he was too old to take up any other job. In desperation, he decided to return to Paris, vaguely hoping that in the big city things get better. But his hopes were not realized.
Now, when the war ended, he had neither the strength nor the means to resume their work. Yes, it is difficult to lonely old man without shelter and work. Moreover, if more and do not want to beg. On the other hand, how to live differently?
"So - he thought, still looking at the picture - this picture of my little Kalmykia. It is surprising that the form of a small object, such as, say, the painting may bring to life the past. But a few minutes earlier he could not remember the existence of a tattoo on his back.
For years he had not thought about it.
He pressed his face against the glass windows and looked in the gallery. On the walls he saw a large number of paintings, and they all seemed to be painted by the same artist. Drioli also saw many people who were walking slowly to the gallery.
Obeying a sudden impulse, Drioli turned, pushed the door and entered the gallery.
It was a long room, whose floor was carpeted with a wine color. Lord, as the terms of warm and beautiful!
Elegant, with well-groomed appearance people walking about with a sense of dignity by the gallery, where everyone was in the hands of the directory in which he looked from time to time. The old man did not dare move from their seats and mingle with all this crowd. But while he was gathering courage, suddenly he heard a voice say: "What do you want here?"
The man who uttered these words, was a black morning coat. Complete male, medium height, with a very pale face. Flabby face was so beefy, that cheeks were dropped on both sides of his mouth, like a spaniel. Coming close to Drioli, he asked again:
- What do you want here?
Drioli stood motionless.
- Look, my dear, - turned to him again, man - you get out-ca out of my gallery.
- Do not look at the pictures?
- Did you hear what I told you?
Drioli stubborn. Suddenly he felt the anger boiling in him.
- Let's be better off without the scandal - said the man again. - Well, get on the ball, here, in this door. - And, putting his white greasy paw on the shoulder Drioli, he became a force pushing him toward the door.
Here Drioli burst.
- Take away their dirty hands off me! - He shouted.
His voice rang out loudly across the gallery, all present simultaneously turned and looked fearfully at the man standing at the end of the room, which was responsible for this disorder. The waiter ran over to the owner of the gallery, and together they began to push Drioli on the street. The crowd silently watching the scene. Those people have expressed interest in going on a light and seemed to be one and the same thought: "All right. Nothing dangerous for us there. Take care of this.
- I have too! - Shouted Drioli. - I have a picture of this artist! He was my friend, and I have a painting donated to them.
- He has gone mad.
- Yes this is crazy. Wild One crazy.
- It is necessary to call the police.
Sharp, quick movement Drioli escaped from the hands of men, and they had not come round again to catch him as he ran along the gallery, shouting: "I'll show it to you! I'll show it to you! I'll show you! "He threw off his coat, then his jacket and shirt, and then turned around so that those present saw his bare back.
- Here! - He cried, breathing intermittently. - You see? Here it is!
Suddenly came the absolute silence, all frozen in awkward poses, confused, and not completing the movement started. Affected, they looked at the picture-tattoo, bright colors that do not fade with time. But because now the old and thin blades were sharp, the picture looked like a few wrinkled and compressed, which gave her a strange look.
Some of those present at last said:
- My God, the old man told the truth!
Then all swept excitement, all stirred, and murmured, ahead of each other, rushed to the old man.
- There can be no doubt!
- His early style, is not it?
- Nothing of the kind seen!
- Look for the signature!
- Bend your shoulders forward, my friend, so that the picture is stretched on his back.
- When she was done, old boy?
- In the thirteenth year - Drioli said, without turning around. - In autumn, nineteen hundred and thirteenth year.
- Who taught Soutine tattoo?
- I taught him.
- And this woman? Who is she?
- She was my wife.
Gallery owner elbow through the crowd to Drioli. Now he was calm, very serious and only one smiling mouth.
- Monsignor - he said - I'll buy it.
Drioli noticed how he trembled fat hanging cheeks, when he moved his jaws.
- I said I'll buy it, Msgr.
- How can you buy it? - Politely asked Drioli.
- I'll pay you for it two hundred thousand francs.
The eyes of the speaker were small, black. His nostrils wide nose began to tremble.
- Do not sell! - Said someone in the crowd.
- It is twenty times more expensive.
Drioli opened his mouth, wanted to say something, but could not utter a word. Then he closed it, then re-opened and slowly said:
- But how can I sell it? - He raised his hands, then let them fall helplessly on the side. - Monsignor, how can I sell it? - He repeated, with deep anguish in his voice.
- Indeed! - Heard from the crowd. - How can he sell it? She's part of him!
- Look, - said the owner of the gallery, coming closer. - I will help you. I will make you rich. We're together to agree on this picture, right?
Drioli slowly, cautiously eyes stared at him.
- But how can you buy it, Monsieur? What are you going to do with it after the purchase it? Where will you store it? For example, where you put it last night? Where tomorrow?
- Where will I store it? However, where will I keep it? Wait a minute, where I will keep it? Wait a minute ... Let grasp.
The owner of the gallery began stroking the bridge of his nose, thick white finger.
- I think if I buy now, I have to buy and you as well. It is already difficult. - He paused and again touched his nose. - The painting itself has no value as long as you are alive. How old are you, friend?
- Sixty-one.
- But you do not seem to differ in good health?
The owner of the gallery left alone in his nose and looked Drioli a critical eye from head to foot, like a farmer, who assesses an old horse.
- Not to my liking all this, - said Drioli, making his way sideways into the crowd. - Honestly, Monseigneur, I do not like it.
But he, going to the door, fell into the arms of a tall man, who, stretching out his hands, gently grabbed him by the shoulders. Drioli looked at others and apologized. But the man smiled at him reassuringly patting him on the bare shoulder, arm, covered in canary-colored glove.
- Look here, old chap, - said the stranger, still smiling. - You like to swim in the sea and sunbathing on the sun?
Drioli looked at him in surprise.
- Would you like to eat and enjoy a delicious red Bordeaux wine from the castle?
The stranger continued to smile, exposing strong white teeth, among which gleamed a gold. He said deprecatory tone arm in a canary yellow glove was still lying on the shoulder Drioli.
- So you love all this?
- Well, - said Drioli still in great perplexity. - Of course.
- And Krasin women?
- Why not.
- And a wardrobe full of suits and shirts, sewn by your standards? In my opinion, you many not have enough clothes.
Drioli looked at this man with a mild manner, expecting that he has to offer.
- Dress Do you ever shoe made for your leg?
- No.
- And you would like to wear a shoe?
- But ...
- And have a man who shaved and clipped to you in the mornings?
Drioli just stood there, his mouth wide open.
- Plump and pretty girl, that would make you manicure?
There was a sound of someone giggling in the crowd.
- And call beside your bed in order to call the maid in the morning with breakfast? You'd like to have it all, darling? Do you like this?
Drioli stood quietly and stared at him.
- You see, I am the owner of the Hotel Bristol in Cannes. I invite you to join me there guest and to live up to the end of life in luxury with comfort.
The man paused to allow his companion to digest rosy picture of life, drawn to them.
- Your only duty - rather, it can be called a pleasure - will be that you are all my time going to my beach in a bathing suit, walking with my guests, you'll sunbathing, swimming and sipping cocktails. Is not it great?
But no answer.
- You guess why? Because then all my guests will be able to admire your wonderful picture. You'll be famous and people will talk to each other: "Look, there's one fellow who walks with ten million francs on his back." What do you say to that? Not bad, eh?
Drioli looked at the tall man in a canary yellow gloves, still thinking that one of his plays.
- All this sounds funny - he said, hesitating. - Can you offer me all this seriously?
- Of course, seriously.
- Wait a minute, - has interrupted their gallery owner. - Look here, old man. I figured out what to do. I'll buy now and then contract with a surgeon that he removed the skin from your back and then go to all four sides, and live in his pleasure at the great money I'll pay you.
- What! Without the skin on your back?
- Oh please, why are you so! You do not understand me. The surgeon will put another skin on the back instead of your. This is very simple.
- Would he?
- There is nothing difficult about it.
- It's impossible! - Broke man with a canary yellow gloves. - He is very old to make him do an operation to transplant skin. He did not survive. It will kill you, my friend.
- It would kill me?
- Naturally. You will never endure such an operation. But with the picture will be all right.
- God forbid! - Cried Drioli.
Struck with horror, he looked at the faces of people watching him. Then followed a silence which has violated someone's voice said quietly in the crowd of people: "And what if would find a man who would suggest that this old man a round sum of money, perhaps he would agree to kill themselves on the spot. Who knows? "A few people giggled. The owner of the gallery was awkward shift from foot to foot.
Here gloved hand canary yellow again become Drioli pat on the shoulder.
- Come on, now, - said the man, exposing with white teeth in a smile, - we will go with you now, and a delicious lunch, and dinner you can talk. Well, go? Do not you want to eat?
Drioli glumly stared at him. He did not like either long, flexible neck, the stranger, nor the way in which he, like a snake, stretched out her forward to his companion during a call.
- Take the roast duck and Charbertin "to her, - the stranger, juicy pronouncing each word, as if spilling his tongue. - Perhaps souffle of chestnuts.
Drioli turned his eyes to the ceiling, her mouth slightly opened and her lips were moist. It was evident that poor old man was literally drool.
- Well, you want to roast duck? - The stranger. - Do you like love, when she well fried, with crispy crust, or you like it when ...
- I go - quickly said Drioli. And then he began hurriedly pulling his shirt over his head. - Wait for me, sir. I'm going.
And a moment later he disappeared from the gallery with his new protector.
Barely a few weeks, as new Soutine painting - portrait of a woman, written in an unusual manner, varnished, in a beautiful frame - was put up for sale in Buenos Aires. This news and the fact that there is no hotel "Bristol" in Cannes, not only give rise to melancholy reflections, but also cause a desire to pray for the health of the old and cherish a fervent hope that wherever he was at that moment, he in the service are plump pretty manicurist and a maid, which brings him breakfast in bed.
__________________
Фотокамера - это инструмент, который учит людей, как надо видеть мир без фотокамеры.
Эти 7 пользователя(ей) сказали Спасибо Tamila за это полезное сообщение:
Here is the continuation (and ending), but it would be better if it was not. Rarely have I translated something with such disgust. I do not remember who said: "The more I know people, the more I love animals? This phrase accurately describes my feelings about this to continue.
Sere
Letter from J. Francoeur
Dear Mr. Commissioner,
In response to your letter of 30 November about the Jews, Chaim Soutine, I have the honor to send you these lines that I outlined my personal recollections of meetings with him in Paris and the south.
In addition to these memories, probably suektivnym, I take the liberty to enclose my letter a brochure entitled "degenerative art or sunset of the West", which was commissioned by my Ministry of Education.
I remember very well the first meeting with Soutine in the classroom with Mr. Pestra, whom everyone called just hormones, in the Paris School of Fine Arts.
Читать дальше...
Upon entering the hall for the first time, I was at once called attention to this character, dressed in tight black jacket, emphasizes its leanness. He wrote while hiding behind his easel, as it were, to defend him from his comrades. Black greasy hair, eyes, all the time shun contact ... He took a brush on canvas, humming through his teeth, some melopeyu, as I realized later, in Yiddish. Often I saw this unattractive figure in a cafe in the company of Modigliani and our other classmates. Soutine drank a lot and almost never opened his mouth, leaving the role of the narrator's Italians, who wearied vse its endless bizarre monologues until they are fielded from the audience, because they were too drunk, or no one agreed to order their last glass of red wine.
I had the bitter opportunity to check how strong the racial relationship between these people when I turned to Modigliani's request to ask for me, one art dealer who had a gallery on the streets of La Boesi. Despite its promises, Modigliani did nothing to introduce me to Sharon, and at the same time, he kept pestering him, he took to sell a paltry pictures Soutine!
One day in October 1918 I came to the Rotunda. Passing through the hall, I shook hands Libion which was occupied by a dispute with Ilya Ehrenburg. I was about to sit at the table when he suddenly noticed Soutine, sitting alone with a cup of coffee with milk. He wrote the letter. I approached him from behind, to say hello, and mechanically looked at bistok paper which lay before him. He quickly drew some strange characters from right to left, as Leonardo da Vinci, whose texts can be read only with the help of a mirror. I, as a friend patted him on the shoulder. He is a sharp movement pressed the letter to his chest as if to hide it from me, and anxiously looked at me. Such conduct has caused my suspicion - that happened during the war - and the next day I decided to fulfill his duty of a French citizen and sent a letter describing the incident in the police station.
Then the war ended in victory, the soldiers were returning from the front, Paris, roaring, boiling zhinyu. More than anything, I would like to share with them the joy of victory, and talk to them about strazhaniyah at war, but I had to sit in a storage room and count lots of blankets, vytnikov and socks. Then I decided to seek solace in his art.
The spring of 1919 I left Paris and moved to the south, in Sere, which had already moved Manolo, Braque and Picasso. I snal small house near Le Kasteya, near the Capuchin monastery. One evening, returning from his easel and skladnymstulom of the Ventoux, I met with Michel Georges, who had just arrived from Paris.
- Have you heard that our friend Pierre Brann was able to convince this unsociable Soutine move here? - He asked me.
- Batyuschki, the whole town Falger meets here, I replied.
*******************************
After his move to Sere, I often met Soutine, dressed in ugly beige corduroy suit, sprinkled with spots of paint, and armed his easel and canvases rolled up, went to the mountains. He strode confidently stride and looked like porters dressed in rags, which are often seen in rural areas. His head was always omitted, as if he wanted to count all the stones on the road, and he could barely lift it up when I greeted him from afar, and then walked on a brisk pace, almost running, as if trying to hide something embarrassing.
As I said, Soutine lived in a kind of barn outside of town and did not take anyone but her Marchand, Pole Zborowski, who came to give him some money.
From professional lyubopyatstva several times I tried to find Soutine at work, but he never let anyone to him. But one morning I waited until he left to wander around, and looked into his lair. I almost choked from the appalling smell that prevailed in it.
Nevertheless, I overcame my nausea and entered. This person has closed the only source of light with several layers of linen - Andre Masson, whom I later spoke about his adventure, he told me that Soutine would thus protect his painting because he was afraid that she will be killed by sunlight.
I was plunged into darkness, leaving a rectangle of light, which opened the door pyflnom traced on the floor, and every step I argued in my impressions: Soutine was such a beast! I lit a match to find any lamp or a candle and dispel the darkness of this evil, and saw two heaps of straw, covered the earthen floor. The first consisted of canvases of different sizes, stacked paintings inside, and the second - from the net or scraped the canvas on which the cattle, probably asleep.
I began to turn the canvases from the first pile one after another, plunging into a museum of horrors created by the brain, a genetic component that flout all the laws of art.
How to find the words to describe this bunch of violence?
I remember the first canvas, it seems, landscape, in the greenish, orange and red colors, a character in the foreground. This character was barely noticeable, but still recognizable elbow with a blue stain on the ground face. In the background were written by some dull red, beige, gray band, which formed as a capital letter "M" on a silver background, in the middle of which was a vertical black stripe and some tentacles milky green in color, more like a giant octopus than trees, which they had to portray.
**********************************
Sutin wrote pasty, and canvases, which I raised to bring them to the door and examine in daylight, were difficult to paint, overlaid with fury. The following landscape was depicted the same motif, but this time the black crack title page "M" between the roofs of the houses was almost in the center of the picture.
Soutine could return at any moment, and I could not admit that he caught me in his barn. But I continued to stare at these monstrous works, horrified by coarseness of his paintings, but at the same time, a vicious sea of violence, trying to understand this art, and marveling at his own condescension or, more tolerant ...
**********************************
I left this vile lair and sighed with relief, being in nature, among the slender cypresses. Zheleznodorodny I crossed the bridge and began to watch the children playing at the river bank.
Along the road stretched a quiet afternoon landscape, kontrestiruyuschy with angry elements, depicted Soutine.
Orchard, along which I came home, his paintings turned into some sort of eruption of boiling lava, through which gleam with the monstrous figure grimaces, "figugi," as would Soutine with his ridiculous accent Yiddish.
***********************************
Peace hill looming over the rooftops, stood on his canvases threatening vision.
I think that Soutine had a problem with the equilibrium volume in the pictures. Often one feels that he managed to save the picture in the last moment - especially in the portraits, which you should be aware of.
I remember the portrait of girl with bulging eyes, sitting in a chair, which left heel, which was exhibited nasvitrine galleries Zborovsky about 1920, and which finally in 1929 was in the collection of Netter, or portrait of a woman in the red with a little green hat, the body is shifted to the left edge of the picture, or portrait of an old woman in black, leaning on some invisible object, bought American Barnes - all of them and off somewhere to the left, always to the left.
Now I understand why every time Sutin saw that I approached him when he wrote it, was his canvas, and hid behind trees. He did not dare to show the results of his hesitation and beating around the bush artist-rival, although the opponent would be happy to give him friendly advice.
***********************************
I crossed the area of the church and remembered how Soutine portrayed her: tall trees surrounding the church, he closed up on the canvas, as if he caught her in the trap. The very same church wringing her hands, moaning in his vegetable prison.
Strict line house of the Lord began to tremble, as if tossing, and stayed in a disgusting voluptuous curve.
This charming southern town turned into a vision of hell.
************************************
Dear Mr. Commissioner, I would like to conclude my reference to the last visible evidence of my paintings Soutine, shortly before his departure from Sere, where the locals are not sozhranili no vopsominany about this character, lived among them for several years, but never talk to them.
I was returning from a walk in the fields. Smelled a thunderstorm. Suddenly, about thirty yards, I saw Soutine. Beside him stood a frame on an easel with a large canvas - no less than a meter and a half. It was a panoramic landscape, sustained in the green and ocher colors. Suddenly Sutin bent double, hands clutching his stomach and groaned.
I got scared and ran away without looking back. Pohzhe I learned from Pierre Brann that \ Sutin since childhood has suffered from stomach ulcers. Perhaps this information will help you find it, because most likely, he is constantly in need of doctors.
I hope, dear Mr. Commissioner, that could be useful for you. I very much regret that I can not help you more specific information, but I never met Soutine and I know about him only from the articles in the newspapers.
I wish you luck in your investigation and assure you of my complete respect.
Justin Francoeur
Perpignan, 18 December 1942
The testimony of Ms. Kasten
April 21, 1943 Madeleine Kasten ( after the death of Zvorovskogo it at some time become Marchand Soutine, but then they fell out ) for the second time was summoned to the Gestapo, the Chartres for questioning in the case sought, Chaim Soutine, the which she was a witness. The letter, attached to the case, stating that Ms. Kasten is an influential person, who should be treated politely, may explain the moderate tone of interrogation.
Q: The day before yesterday your testimony interrupted in the early summer of 1939 tell us what happened next.
A: Soutine and his girlfriend, Gerda Groth, left to rest in HRSI-on-Seren, near Auxerre. There, he painted "After the Storm", which you saw in my home. Have you noticed the isolzovanie chrome yellow, which tells of his admiration for El Greco.
Q: And then?
A: Povl declaration of war Soutine and Gerda registered at the Prefecture of Police Yonny as political refugees. They lived with friends. Soutine was frequently forced to give physicians because of his ulcer, which caused him great suffering.
Being a foreigner, Soutine caused suspicion among local farmers, once the priest, who thought that Soutine makes topographic plans neighborhoods, reported it to the gendarmerie. He was detained, but quickly released. However, he lived in constant anxiety.
Gerd took care of everything. I remember her photograph, realized in that moment where she stands in a field of gladioli. She told me that Soutine wanted to write children returning from school, and she had to buy a chocolate and give it to his children, because Cho posing sessions lasted for hours. He wrote several canvases with this plot. They always remind me of "Song of the dead children» (Kindertotenlieder) by Gustav Mahler.
Q: Go on!
A: despite the support of Mr. Dubois, chief kabinetp Mr. Sarraut, who promised that they would have no trouble, the mayor HRSI forbade them to leave their place of residence because of their foreign citizenship: Soutine - Russian and Gerd - German. In the end, Soutine was sent from Paris pass, but only for himself. Gerd had to stay in HRSI. In April, Soutine returned, and they decided to illegally go back to his Paris apartment.
In May 1940, Gerd was ordered to appear at the Winter Velodrome, where people gathered before sending them to Germany. Then it moved to a camp in Gora.
Q: Do you know where to find Gerd Groth? It, too, wanted ad.
A: Last time I saw her in Carcassonne in November 1940 I was one - Soutine did not want to accompany me.
Q: Why?
A: I think that this is due to the fact that he has a new girlfriend.
Q: Explain what it was!
A: In June 1940, when Gerd was Goeree, Soutine returned Sivli for their belongings. He continued to live at the Villa Seurat, but in winter it was too cold, and he had moved to the hotel. In October 1940, Soutine was schzaregistrirovatsya as a Jew. One friend told me that coming out of the prefecture, Sutin said to her, laughing: "Look, they spoiled me my Jew!" Because it was a bad impression of the stamp.
Q: And then?
A: I opened an antique shop, so I had less time to meet with Sutin. Once I went to see him. He is very ill, almost could not sleep because of his ulcer. He showed me some of his recent works, among which was the magnificent "Windy day in Auxerre.
Because of the pain, he hardly spoke. He told me about how he rode the train in HRSI. When he entered the compartment, already sitting there a man suddenly got up and went to the first station. At the same station the train entered the gendarmes, they were detained Soutine, taking him by the members of the Resistance, which they searched. I had to call the police prefecture of Paris, to secure his osvodozhdeniya.
He described the picture, written long ago, he recalled the folds on the sleeve of the little chorister in the choir, he ...
Q: You started to talk about his new girlfriend ...
A: I beg your pardon, I will ... I said that I have not been able to see Soutine as often as before. I thought it would be better to find someone who would be cared for seriously ill Soutine, as Gerda could not leave south. Then I arranged a meeting in Soutine Cafe de Flore with a young lady who very much wanted to meet him.
Q: You what, slipped his calf?
A: Oh, this young lady was quite a decent person! It is wonderful care of him.
Q: return to Soutine!
A: He started pereehzhat constantly from place to place. His friends advised him to go to svobodnuyub zone, but he refused. For a time he lived with friends, and later, in June 1941, he left Paris. Since then I have not seen him.
Q: It is not stretched out to you?
A: My house was expropriated Wehrmacht, takchto I can not receive guests.
END DOSSIER Antoine Burlet
Эти 15 пользователя(ей) сказали Спасибо LCR за это полезное сообщение:
The words of German poet Heinrich Heine (1797 - 1856).
Apparently, this aphorism served as the grounds on which the Russian poet Alexander Fedotov wrote the poem "Hunting", often heard at the end of XIX - early XX century. on, literary evenings. This poem ends with the words: "The more I study the life, the more I love animals."
An informer, an artist and his paintings clearly Soutine was interesting.
Цитата:
Сообщение от LCR
Now I understand why every time Sutin saw that I approached him when he wrote it, was his canvas and hid behind trees. He did not dare to show the results of his hesitation and beating around the bush artist-rival, although the opponent would be happy to give him friendly advice.
He even wanted to give advice Soutine!
Interestingly, while this J. Francoeur something more glorious?
Or it is now only in this context, "remembrance"?
21.12.2008, 21:47
Линейный вид
