Translated from Russian.

"Continent", 16, 1978

This is an old article, and many realities of our life have changed. Also I added illustrations which were absent at the publication in magazine.

Valery Valius

e-mail: V-P-Valius@narod.ru

PICTURES OF THE FATHER

He was the artist. Pjotr Adamovich Valius. He was born at 18th May 1912,  died at 13th February 1971, lived in Moscow.

His pictures hung on walls in a studio. Two months at his life and four and a half of a year after death until authorities have not closed a studio. Once a week it was opened for spectators. In the summer usually came a few people, approximally 15-20 persons pro day. In the autumn and in the winter -  in 10 times  more. And the first days after opening there was a dense crowd. Later pictures were kept at home at my mother, in a room where its have been written. To work in a studio the father had no time.

Earlier, up to a studio, seems, that its are absolutely different. That the father wrote one picture on each theme. But when its have appeared on walls at once all together, it became clear, that not only style unite its. Pictures have started to talk among themselves, sometimes supplementing each other, sometimes arguing. The space inside of a studio became strained - works of the father are tragic, almost all. Full of pains, despair. But after a while you suddenly noticed, that walls with canvases do not press. Rectangulars of canvases as though moved deep into, and there from pulled silence and a cool of the open space. Unobstructed drafts started to go there.

I shall tell a little about pictures, how its talk among themselves, and about the father.

Also, "Beginning". I shall not describe this picture. Because I can not describe so that was clear, obvious at the first sight at it, - that this is beginning. That the artist has come true. In it  father for the first time has completely entered into his private world. In the world of nightmares, imaginations and the burning experience which has been not erased from memory. In the world where the most terrible lives and the finest, that he could imagine, because if not there where else it can be. And it is not clear, what is more terrible - nightmares or temptations. Because people seldom are not afraid of beauty. Even artists. All  is changeable in this world, as ideas are changeable, and, nevertheless, there it is possible to find a unique support. Unknown depths  reveal here, and  blank walls suddenly grow in unexpected places. Laws of aesthetic harmony do not work here. How can be harmonious, for example, a pain, melancholy? And laws on which the idea moves?

Though on a question about style of his pictures , he usually firmly answered: «I am a realist». Certainly, in this answer care played the certain and considerable role. Pictures are all the same written. Sometimes he added: «Becouse tears, pain, pleasure are real». And realistic painting he defined with words «illusory art». Probably, this definition polemical and unduly hot. In fact he loved many works of old masters. And later he seldom used a word "illusiveness". Probably, also because his understanding of illusiveness has extended from pictures on many phenomena of a life in which has suddenly appeared the face of other reality. His painting changed him. Even externally. And the attitude to him.

«Nike». The emotional conflict which has reached the limit and failure. She is given in flight, a throw, falling. On a diagonal of a canvas from the left bottom corner in right top. Breast is bloody impudently exposed, the mouth opened in shout, gold of the hair which have risen on end. All torso, a hip, a breast are underlined by the additional contours transmitting movement. And  she remains graceful in each of the delineated positions.

Most likely, the artist loved Nike with blood and mind. Her wings are iridescent pink, blue. But they are too fluffy and broken back, and action of a picture too directly to believe in conventional sign: «wings means capacity to fly».

Environment - world of Nike - closed and gloomy. It reminds in colors his earlier picture "Dudinka" - northern city constructed by prisoners and arranged on their bones. But the landscape in «Nike» is more abstract, verticals prevail in it. Nike - the child of the big city. May be, it is not a landscape, but attitude of Nike to the world, probably, deep, hidden, but that deprives any aspiration of last trust and allowes it to last only until lasts effort. From ashes we came  and in ashes we shall leave.

The father was two exhibitions at 1968 in the closed institutes. At chemists and at physicists. «Nike» the-picture had to act at both these exhibitions  in a role Nike herself. The matter is that in our country there are themes, in art officially resolved and even encouraged, and themes not resolved. And, certainly, the image of suffering if there is no indication on its resolved reason, is inadmissible. Therefore «Nike» was exhibited under the name «Nike of nuclear war» (to struggle for the peace is authorized) - under the name a little bit narrowing sense and even withdrawing aside, to save its right and the right of other canvases to hang on walls. A victory!

 Names were not the most exact however not only by «Nike».

"Sacred" had name «Suzdal. Silence» («it not religious subjects. Well the churchis painted. But it is Russian feature. Like a souvenir»).

«The court» referred to as "Inquisition" («it not by us and not in our century»).

"Crucifixion" - «Overturned» («not the Christ! And not a thorny wreath, but a barbed wire»)., etc.

And "Leta" was named «Leta - the river of death». Simply as explanatuon.

Many of his pictures are about women. They different: mermaids-temptresses, sacred, mothers, stinkers, flowers, Nike. When I use a word "mermaid" I mean one very sad idea. That not  each  pleasant woman, even if she is very  pleasant, deserve trust. It is possible unexpectedly for himself  to come to be without air, as under water. And with a word "stinker" I designate the cold, concentrated, malicious condition which comes at the strong or long pressure exhausting souls and bodies. Pregnant women are represented in some works of the father  - too mothers . And "flower" means beauty and vulnerability - regardless of the fact that is represented: a flower, the woman or the man as, for example, in a picture «The court». These definitions are not the description of pictures, and more likely how I am guided in them. So, the woman in a picture «Nike» is «Nike» plus "temptress". And in a picture «Moscow, 1941» - "sacred", "mother", "stinker" and "flower" simultaneously.

So my definitions cannot precisely correspond to works. And I shall describe its particularly.

"Leta". He is represented here in the melancholy - the naked person on a background of the river closed by dark coast and the sky, among huge and at the same time pressing space. Pressing immensity - not only space («open spaces of the Native land»), it both uncertain duration of separation and real affinity of nonexistence. Eternity. Last, another's, your and the future, another's, your. And water that is tender here only at the foots on shoaliness .

The person is lonely, sickly and resistant. He is exposed up to nervous currents, up to feelings which are visible. There are gentle bluish place on a leg near a knee, red hot brushes of hands, a pride thorax, a head turned to horizon and behind horizon. In the sky is whether a cloud, whether a figure of the dead man. Grief,  pain, fault, powerlessness of the person have appeared  on a throat as a longitudinal wound. The white flame has captured the person, tongue of it has risen over a head. Somehow this flame is cool.  Certainly, it is possible to tell - sublimation. But it can be, on the contrary - returning, comprehension of the primary essence. It is the most surprising impression, that a flame here not a symbol, but direct experience.

The hot sight of the person «Leta» - red on yellow - is turned directly to the spectator.  It does not repeat literally in other works , but it seems to me, that it present in them. So, in a picture "Crucifixion" all Universe above which the Christ is extended , looks at the spectator with sight of "Leta". Though there are absolutely not red on yellow, but cold, dark blue, violet tones. And in one of last works as distemper unexpected red flowers of a cactus reveal to the spectator the same sight.

"Beginning", «Nike», "Leta", cause feeling, when you see them for the first time, that you are the witness of how it is splashed out something that was  concealed, sick, laid for long years. Then, in other works, this impression is smoothed out, and you will not disassemble any more, whether this is old memoirs, whether fresh impression. As though the artist has accustomed with the new knowledge and  began simply to think with the works. In «Nike» and "Leta" for the first time there was a line, characteristic for his pictures. It is a line-discharge, the index of a way of the energy which has broken in a strained place. Here force is squeezed, has hidden. How long? Seconds, years... And suddenly unexpected it again breaks up to the limit, splitting the reality.

In 1947 the father has thrown engineering to occupy in painting. It was not permitted then  let off the work, but in the legislation was a slot. The old man-lawyer has given exact advice.  The slogan was thrown then - always in fact any slogan is thrown - and so then the slogan was: «Experts - to periphery». And the father has responded. And he was released (maybe, it is more exact to tell - was let out, was missed). And he has not gone anywhere. It appears, the experts who have left to periphery, have not been obliged to reach there. Then my mother  has thrown service professionally to occupy herself in literary creativity. Savings accumulated  for a transition period - they thought for a year will suffice, - were lost in reform of 1947.

I do not well remember that time, but there was an old photo. Young, thin, sad parents sit, having leant to each other, on a sofa. On a wall - a reproduction "Naked" of Renoir. The red dog has put on a knee to the father a sympathizing muzzle. And only I is happy sitting on the father's shoulders and joyfully looking in the camera.

Some time the father was unemployed. The labour exchange - then was such. One time he worked as the decorator at children's theatre. I remember, he drove me on performances and for side scenes. It was really fantastic. Then he began to make out book's covers. First in Musical publishing house,  then and in some other publishing houses. He became to be the book's designer. «The free artist». Has learned to earn money outside of service. I well remember - in imprinted from evening at evening: a dark room, light only in a secretary, and at a secretary - the father. Sits, writes fonts. It was laborious work. I do not know, how to other artists, and to him it was difficult. His brushes were so thin...

The period of relative material welfare has come. The first books of mum have were published. Life began which older persons usually recollect with words: «Cheerfully lived. Young were». Feasts, visitors till a dawn. I, then the child, perceived holidays as norm of a life. Probably, therefore I remember crack in fun that happened sometimes and were not clear to me.

The artist-painter the father became, when he was 50. Such a line. He has died in 58 years old. From a cancer.

Well-being of our family did not extend, naturally, on housing problem. We lived in one room: the daddy, mum, the grandmother and I. Only in 1962 parents have received a separate two-room apartment. Certainly, a living space explains a little and it is far not all that helps to find a calling. But well, when it is.

 The father wished to be the artist all life. Was engaged at different studios. Sometimes together with friends employed models, and they worked at somebody houses. Sometimes he painted portraits of friends. He often went from city for etudes. Wrote small landscapes - oil on the grounded cardboard. At different weather, at various times year. Especially he loved evening. To paint then, the truth, it is difficult - illumination quickly varies. But there  is such an hour - of attentive silence. Refers to, apparently, Sharagadshina. Sometimes he painted city landscapes. Usually on boondocks: there are less spectators behind a back and less often got in police. People with suspicion concerns to painters («Who such? What for copies? Why not on work?»). When the father leaved from Moscow, as a rule, took with himself box with paints.

From studios in which the father was engaged, I shall describe only last. Eliy Michailivich Beljutin supervised it. He acquainted participants with principles and «methods of the modern art: a dynamic composition, deformation of space, conditional color... He showed reproductions of works of modern artists. Not Picasso, Matisse, Van-Gogh, their works was possible again to see after Stalin's death in the Pushkin museum, but new, absolutely unknown at us earlier names: Poljakov, Brak, Dufy Klee, Sutin, Bacon... «It is necessary to be liberated. To write from a belly», - the teacher spoke. The father brought then at home strange things. For example, winter in a dark blue or orange key. A summer wood - in red colors.

The father was engaged in studio of Beljutin. not for long. He always aspired to independence and, probably, has taken there that was necessary for him. He talked with irritation about the pupils who thoughtlessly followed any instruction of the master.

But there were also other reasons of break. «We are official opposition», - explained Eliy Michailovich an originality and security of the studio.

«The official opposition» - what is it? In our country opposition if arises, is not protected completely  and is far from being safe. Certainly, there are some talented resistant people, writers, poets, bards, sculptors - can be, least the painters so known, who cannot be crushed or muffled. Anyway, without scandal for the whole world. But Eliy Michailivich in fact is not between them. Perhaps, he has a "hand"? The high-ranking official, the friend to the childhood, who sits somewhere in the goverment and speaks: «This is not to touch. Let him  do what he wants». Or not one "hand" but several. Extensive connections. And not only friendly, but also quite business. A collection at his home was amazing. Walls are covered end-to-end, up to a ceiling. Here are original Rubens, and icons, and small Dutchs... And the exposition varies. Material opportunities are huge.

Well, and if to not substitute words «official opposition» with own explanations, that the head is talented, successful, skilful, rich? Then there are two questions: what for it is and what organization supervises over it, even invisibly for its participants. On the second question the answer is simple - KGB. Not a police. And not the Union of artists - there are to the heads and without official opposition hotly to live.

What for is it? Well, may be, for foreigners. To show them as a sample of creative freedom. Even for management of public opinion.  Both abroad and inside of the country. And for revealing original opposition.

What, if from this point of view to look at a big exhibition in the Manezh, which have shown to Khruschev and on which he spat and stamped foots? Nikita Sergeevich, in general, is not guilty. He has received the information that such pictures are bad and he was indignant. He understood in painting nothing. He was especially angry in buffet which that day did not operated, and on walls were hung pictures of participants Beljutin's studio. Next day there were devastating articles in newspapers. Stroke got many artists. Eliy Michailovich has sustained it safely. Continued to conduct studio and even has bought a two-storeyed summer residence in Abramtzevo.

The father was not exposed in the Manezh, though Eliy Michailovich persuaded. Father was careful to get popularity as adherent of Beljutin.

Last time he was at Beljutin in 1964 when he and several other artists were  invited to live and work at him in a summer residence in Abramtzevo. The father has stayed there four days. Worked intensively. Before departure they have arranged an exhibition on open-air. They have invited spectators. I with friends was there too. On a snow under apple-trees, in formidability of a landscape, a picture seem to be intolerable naked and vulnerable. In the house it seemed to me artistically and cosy. The white poodle laid on a sofa. Poet Khudyakov read verses - synthesis and an interlacing of arts, - in which I did not understand a word. Eliy Michailovich has shown some of his own works - light abstract compositions - and the catalogue of a recent exhibition in Poland.

The father has written then three works: «Moscow, 41», to "Leta" (the First variant. That I described, - the second, the first has remained in Abramtzevo. Where it is now - I do not know). And even - «from a belly so from a belly - look, Eliy Michailovich», - «Judas's Kiss».

The picture reminds an icon a little though it is executed, certainly, in a modern manner. Perhaps, the invitation to a summer residence is Judas's kiss too?

The father has works with the direct political contents. And the attitude of the author in its is expressed directly too.

«The court goes». Figures of judges-executioners are incorporated by a black shadow of the giant, are parts of this giant, his executors. One for all a huge fist - red. One bellowing mouth - green. One vigilant eye. From above irritating yellow light - their air. And in the middle and a little below - as from other world - window with binder bars in the form of a cross and on a background of a window the defendant. The figure is given only by a white contour. Behind a window transparent depth - the world of the defendant, the "material" proof of his fault and essence of a crime.

The father has left studio of Beljutin. It has appeared, that he himself was not left. There is such Salon for sale of pictures abroad. Some time it has been closed - stealing there were too big. Now, apparently, it works again. The father handed over there his works one time. Art councils (there are two - one behind another) there are more indulgent, than in other places. Something "passed". Not the basic things, certainly. Though once he has brought there and its. Viewing went under a laughter. The father sat in a corridor and heard - artists on art councils are not supposed. They have rejected everything, even did not vote. So, two employees of Salon have asked once of the permission to visit father together with foreigners. To look pictures.

Foreigners were representatives of firm of Marlborough that having galleries in many large cities of the world. They have arrived to the Soviet Union specially for purchase of the modern art. Painting of the father has liked them, and they have wanted to buy. All. So easily and simply. To sell it, certainly, was not permitted. Their inquiries in the Ministry of culture have remained without the answer. But the price have found out - to the own critics risky to trust. Probably, game cost candles. Because...

At first they have pressed almost imperceptibly. They have ceased to accept pictures in Salon. Let him to be fidgety, pore above covers if he will manage to receive orders. In fact connections with publishing houses - business alive. And the father after began of reception pictures in Salon, almost year was not there. Then the same employees of Salon have acquainted him with the Italian - Enio Lukon.

He has come once on a visit alone and has asked the father to sell to him some works. The father has agreed. Enio Lukon has chosen two pictures. Then he has explained  in details that to pay off with the Soviet roubles as the father wanted, to him is extremely inconvenient and besides it is silly from the artist. Has advised to think a day, to go in currency shop and to be convinced. He has taken away pictures by the car.

My parents went in «Birch» and were convinced. Differences in the prices were stunning. And in assortment too. But in the same evening the father has learned, that Enio Lukon - from KGB. Next day Enio has arrived with money. Not with roubles. And when the father has refused, has tried to palm off it under newspapers on a book shelf in vestibule. Yes-yes. As in a detective. Happiness, that the father has noticed. He has expelled him together with money.  Enio Lukon has returned pictures later.

Certainly, the father was afraid. In fact he had business with professionals. He will be caught if not on "currency transaction", so on something else. And he will be imprisoned. That is all over again they will suggest to work on them. How to work, one friend has very distinctly explained once: «Why  you, Pjotr Adamovich are so afraid of KGB. It is not the most bad organization at all. Not the most inert. You show sometimes the works at home. Perfectly. Also continue. At our people. And if we will suggest to sell - sell. We shall advise to whom. Well, and if any businessman will be caught at customs with your work most likely to him will be made nothing. Perhaps, will ask about any service in exchange for your picture or for absence of scandal. For benefit of the state. You have difficulties with exhibitions, with realization. We can help you». The hand was pulled to phone. "No".

And for the father such service would be the end of everything to what he aspired. In particular, the end of creativity. Because people pay off with creative powerlessness for participation in the system based on orders-threats, obvious or latent, system, parasitic on the essence of art. Means, he will refuse to cooperate, even if he will be at them on a hook. Then he will be imprisoned.

But he has deceived them. Used an available opportunity to concentrate and work. He  has written last word in advance. A picture. He was not imprisoned. But he has painted what he thought. And through what many people have passed.

"Crucifixion". Exhausted shone body is spread above the world, above the Universe, on the verge of with nonexistence. Fragile own light does not protect him from confrontation with a reality of a cross. Only here and there light as though comes out from a body: the neck, a little at a hand. The person will turn a head downwards. Why? Well, can, have suspended, that it was more convenient to beat with foots in face, or to spit. But most likely he is already there where is not present either top, or a bottom. The broken eyes, ragged black failure of a mouth in which the teeth are not visible, the spoiled stained with blood hands. Who did not imagine, how break nails, break out joints, flatten out bones?! The figure is perceived  triple. It is the Christ on a cross: on a head a thorny wreath, on a breast at heart - blood. It is simply simply a tortured person. And it is position, feeling of the person in the world. The Universe above which he is chrusified, is various in colors though prevail cold tragical tone, and each color is distinct, even when one looks through from under another. Almost all the subsequent pictures of the artist  gravitate in colors to "Crucifixion" in a greater or smaller measure.

When the father was sick, but even before opening a studio, he has told: "Flowers are not necessary on funeral. Put at a coffin one picture - «The Crucifixion»." He really considered it as his last word. But he has found forces to work last month of life. Also has written last pictures. About a life and death. And he has cancelled the order about funeral too.  A studio was opened, and there was an opportunity to show people not one "Crucifixion", but also other works.

The history with Enio Lukon hung above him to the death. Last day of life he has told it to surgeon who made to him blood transfusion. Mum has begun to cry: «Petja what you think of. Why do you torture yourself?». - «Do not prevent, Anja. I want, I want, that people knew about it».

Last oil pictures of the father - January, 1971.

«A portrait of the wife». The first impression, that a picture dark blue though it is written in different colors, sometimes contrast. The light spot allocates the face of the woman. The close fingers of her small palm touch vases with a bouquet of autumn leaves - with a flame of autumn. The rectangular of a window is given continuous blue. The sight is not kept almost in each place of a picture on the image, and slides off it into depth. But not in depth of an interior, more likely in depth of night. Or time. An agonal declaration of love and last gift.

"Artist". In a studio this work hung on the central place. Not only because of a theme, but also because of beauty and a saturation of colors.   Sometimes it is not whole figures, but parts, hints on it. Here - dark blue on purple - reminds the woman. Probably, it is her fate to slip away, having remained a shadow.

Wings of the figure similar on overturned Nike, in the left bottom part of a picture form as though edge of a platform on which action is developed. And outside of a whirlwind - failures in depth, in cold empty infinity in which the small yellow point burns.

"End". This work is almost shorthand. Though people often do not understand it. Probably, because they push away from themself an idea on death, do not trust, that something important happens on this edge  for dying and for surviving, something except for the fact of death.

The wide white strip hung in emptiness. Above a strip last effort lifts a head, a brain of the person, taking a broad view by the opened sight at world that unexpectedly become empty. The pain has risen to a brain from different directions. A red corner has grasped a jaw, a black failure has eaten the face, a crown of thorns braided from above. The father by then crossed a painful threshold of death many times. Knew, that injections remove a pain -  the injections, giving drowsiness from which he could not return.

Directly behind a head in a strip - a hole which waits. Vigorous shadows strive about a hole, trying something to make. And along a strip directly in the middle is a seam with cross-section stitches-notches. It can be both a seam of a shroud, and a seam from operation (from shoulder up to a navel), unwrapped in a straight line, and a time scale. Time that fall asleep. Because  there was already nothing to wait from it, except for that last instant when it will slam. And consequently time was measured not by days and minutes, but his own acts.

Last attempt to determine destiny of pictures - collector George Dionisovich Kostaki. Last exit from the house - to him to look a collection. No feast, please, only to keep strength to reach back. He has written to the visitors' book: «I thank for display». And orally - refusal to sell "Crucifixion". On a ladder, already at home, the father has felt bad. But he has pushed away the help, himself overcame the remained flight and felt prone on a bed. The bursted hope. Farewell, George Dionisovich. The father wished very much to trust. But he did not. A character of "firm" too indefinite there. Familiarly indefinite, though in another style - with a guitar and a feast, instead of with a white poodle and the poet.

... From the different sides from a white strip - two planets. And still here and there are rare sparks of different colors. Somehow it is more warmly that they are. One planet bluish, empty - probably, the Earth. Last coverlet flies from it as violet cloud. Much that excited, occupied a life, became unimportant for ever. Another - is painted by cobalt violet light - the color seldom meeting in a daily life, color simultaneously coldish and burning, bright and constrained, saturated and transparent. Not the Sun and not the Moon. His planet. The condition of the soul which have shined the end.

… the thin yellow contour in the middle of a picture went out. The core, the center of a composition has disappeared. Only light pouring empty place remains . You  immerse palms in it to scoop a little this easy light to yourselves for memory, - in fact knowingly all it was, - to sit, for example, at it in the evening, as at candles, in heat of the habitation. And suddenly notice, that have scooped not a handful, and all entirely, that has captured a sight and mind. You lift eyes with shame and see, that all remains as it was. Pictures and easy light of emptiness on a former place. You are reconstructed, master a new reality in your life - the died person. You are involved in whirlpools of daily alarms  to come up from them again with the simple question about yourself: " How? How to be? " And hesitate, hesitate among pictures. You know, that you saw the answer. Perhaps, in the "Beginning", that dared to be, or in the realized "End", maybe, somewhere in the middle, or not in the middle but in an interval, in the flowers written after operation, but before "End", in the end of summer - the beginning of autumn of 1970, probably  not in flowers at all, but in the autumn, transparent, as after a rain, probably, true after a rain , solar and last…