Yehor from a Sect Of Kryvy Rih Artists
He came to The Day with girlfriend Olesia, bringing the three pictures mentioned and a small album of the photocopies of his most successful works. Among them is his dad’s portrait executed from junk, such as string fillets, angles, and lids. A rubber glove with a clothes peg symbolizes Don Quixote. A strange series is called Faith, Hope, Love. Faith is represented by a cross and a key, hope by well-worn navy-blue tracksuit bottoms adorned with a solitary yellow leaflet.
“I find it easier to do than describe my work. I like working with various materials depending on my mood. For example, there is a series of works done on educational wall charts. My mom taught Russian, and I loved drawing on grammar wall charts. This is a fairy: I once came back from an outdoor party, I had a clean canvas and a dirty brush. I just wiped the brush dry against the canvas and then added the hair, face, wing, and the magic wand. I liked doing this kind of painting best. When you sit down and methodically apply colors 3-4 hours a day, the drawing comes out as if by itself. This is a proletarian angel. Angels are usually portrayed thin and ephemeral, but this one is sturdy and hardworking — he did some work, came home, drank some beer, and went to bed. He’s a worker.”
“Can an average customer afford to buy this kind of work?”
“Of course. Graphics go at 200 hryvnias plus, oil paintings at 500-800. They cost the same but don’t sell as well in Kryvy Rih.” “Does it mean you are not popular at home?”
“Even if you don’t become popular, you can create things under any conditions. I once dropped in here to the Karas Gallery. They gave me a quizzical look and said I must further develop and take a more serious attitude toward my works. That gallery lady thinks my pictures are too cheerful and simple.”
“In other words, you lack mastery?”
“From my early childhood I went to a fine arts studio, an art school, and then the institute. I was taught for ten years or so — and quite professionally: with shades, semi-shades, tones, perspectives, and all that.”
“Could you describe the way visiting artists do business on Andriyivsky uzviz?”
“When I take work to Kyiv, I usually take things that are light. As soon as I arrive, I make the rounds of my friends in search of a place to stay. Only then do I come to Andriyivsky uzviz. This time, our sect of Kryvy Rih artists came to Kyiv. We stood side by side with Lviv avant-garde artists. I asked them why they paint pictures so big. They answered they were architectural students.”
“And what did they think of your works?”
“Actually, they quickly pinned the label of naive-primitive on me. I don’t care. What matters is that the public likes it.”
“What do you have to do in addition to art to earn a living?”
“I work in a bookstore, because there’s free access to the Internet there. Besides, I’m also a lighting technician in a theater because interesting actors sometimes come, and I can watch the show. And I work at a school to avoid the draft. This means I work at three places but earn less than $100. Prices are not very high in our city, so it’s quite enough. Another advantage is I can sleep until ten.”
“What are you going to spend the money you earned for?”
“I’m going to go home, buy and master a computer, and then get a job in Kyiv. In any case, I’ll be able to paint any time.”
“Which of the seasons is best for creative work?”
“When you work in the spring, your pictures become brighter and merrier. But you have more time in the winter.”
“Do you think that artistic life is dying out in the provinces?”
“Not at all. The point is that creative work has no future there. There are artists in Kryvy Rih, who paint just for pleasure. If they need money, they’ll do something for the green stuff and get some money.”
“Do you often have to do something for the green stuff?”
“I once drew wolves roaming the woods and wolves howling at the moon for some bandit types. Terrible! It’s sunny in summer, but my studio is full of ferocious she-wolves. Well, I sweated, worked, and got the money that I lived on for a long time.”
“What other thing are usually ordered?”
“I also paint small pictures of vases or still lifes for my mom’s friends. Especially, when mom is going to a birthday party.”
“How did you spend these days in the capital?”
“The sun is hot, people fly by before your eyes, and you sit on the curbstone or a cardboard box and slowly go crazy.”
“How do you relax here?”
“We dropped into Buddy Guy and had a bang-up time. I also like visiting a hippodrome, where knights and drummers come together. The drum is the oldest-ever musical instrument which arouses the oldest instincts. 15- 20 people with all kinds of percussion instruments gather there and find a common rhythm. When you’re inside, you really get a kick out of it. But I hate Khreshchatyk on holidays — garbage, a drunken mob... It stinks.”
“You can come across some real characters on Andriyivsky uzviz. For example, an old man who said his name was ‘simply Vova (diminutive for Volodymyr — Ed.)’ because an artist has no age. There’s also another bozo we call Kozlodoyev (goat-milker). He looks like a crazy doctor and draws awful pictures. He’s real trash but looks like a cherub incarnate.”
“And how do you spend your off-time at home?”
“I let off steam with discotheques and soccer. I won’t name the club to save me from a punch in the nose in Kryvy Rih. This year, I really want to go to the Crimea. You can climb a mountain and have a bird’s eye view of the Crimea! Then you make a bonfire on pine-tree cones. It’s beautiful.”
