Children’s Art Academy in Obolon hosts a one-man show by Poltava artist Eduard Tryroh
Eduard Tryroh is a graphic artist, such is his “technical characteristic” or a characteristic of the techniques used in his works.
Bistre, gouache, watercolors, or pastel are almost never applied by the artist directly in their pure form. Obviously, he prefers to combine various graphic materials, although practically all his prints are monochrome. In fact, only the recipe of some or other work is paradoxical, if I may say so. The result is not always even harmonious, simply natural.
This naturalness of the prints created by the Poltava artist would seem explained by their simplicity. In reality, it is probably best described as free breathing or, to put it differently, human (and creative) honesty. His objective seems to be to convey a definite condition of the artist, but at the same time it is open for any other interpretations (offered by the viewer). Eduard Tryroh’s works do not tell you stories, they just offer you hints.
One does not have to think them through and nor does one have to agree with them. They are not likely to invite one to join in a dialogue, rather to keep company in silence.
An allusion to Chinese and Japanese art would be relevant, yet such analogies should be treated with caution. The initial impetus — yes. Obsession, initially serious and remaining so as the years pass — definitely. Yet all this is just imitation, always with a humiliating touch of dilettantism, but this does not relate to Eduard Tryroh.
As the reader may have well guessed, his graphic works are about the beauty of this world and the sorrowful charms of things. The world is identified with nature, into which, however, prosaic manmade objects like a barrel can be harmoniously included (like Creation of Rain) or purely urban pillars (The Spring of Pillars). As for mundane objects, they are mostly flowers, whose relatively manmade nature boils down to a bouquet, and only one picture shows an old sailboat buried in the sand on a deserted coast (In Memory of Aleksandr Grin).
Eduard Tryroh’s world is alive, perhaps eternal, but not omnipotent. Quite to the contrary, as one is constantly aware of its touching fragility, almost complete vulnerability.
Hence the pleading in his works, addressed to thin stems breaking surface and growing so untimely (Do Not Freeze!, Difficult Flowers or a Narrow Strip of the Sky). Hence the heartrending and triumphant joy of dead wood returning to life in spring (Second Wind, The Soul of the Tree).
Serenity and harmony are not frequent guests in Tryroh’s works, but every such visit is a real holiday (Breathing Easy).
