85 years ago, on September 11, 1939, he died in France Konstantin Korovin, 1 of the first Russian impressionists, an artist who besides proved to be a prominent theatrical decorator, writer, and journalist.
Below are any of his paintings and any bitter reflections...
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There's a devil in the planet called a misunderstanding. Our Russian society lives in the devil's pocket.
It's unusual that in the richest Russia, the large Musorgski was of no usage to anyone and sold the "Halloween" for 25 rubles to Tertij Filippov. And a superb Wrubel gave out large drawings in Kiev for a bad breakfast at a restaurant.
In Russia, in our erstwhile Russia, there was a unusual phenomenon, <... >. - I'm sorry. any peculiar "public opinion". I heard him all the time, that triumphant "public opinion" voice, and I thought it was the voice of any small and nasty man behind a fence.
There's a devil in the planet called a misunderstanding. Our Russian society lives in the devil's pocket.
It's unusual that in the richest Russia, the large Musorgski was of no usage to anyone and sold the "Halloween" for 25 rubles to Tertij Filippov. And a superb Wrubel gave out large drawings in Kiev for a bad breakfast at a restaurant.
In Russia, in our erstwhile Russia, there was a unusual phenomenon, <... >. - I'm sorry. any peculiar "public opinion". I heard him all the time, that triumphant "public opinion" voice, and I thought it was the voice of any small and nasty man behind a fence.
Somewhere behind the barrier there lived a small man and with specified a assured voice he spoke his opinion briefly and decisively, and behind him, like parrots, everyone repeated, and newspapers began to scream.
[secret abroad services, SI, or 5 column - MS]
I have suffered a lot in my life, so to speak, due to misunderstandings, and even more due to slander, due to jealousy, which is frequently expressed under the appearance of friendship. I thought it was any terrible devil in people, the devil in the human soul, scarier than a misunderstanding. I've experienced this from quite a few my fake friends. Most of these people imitated me, imitated my painting, my initiative, my joy of life, my way of speaking and living.
Among artists and artists, I saw 1 peculiar feature of cunning. erstwhile individual was praised or admired for their work, there were always people who immediately said, "Sorry, he drinks." Or, "He's..." or, "He's..." or in general, "You know, he's not acting well."
In Russia, I had many meetings with different people and a immense number of them were debaters. These people have always been in a good mood. And as shortly as the conversation began in front of them, they immediately got into an argument. fresh art, music, literature, painting - everything caused them to react, everything excited them. These people were drowning in worry and anxiety: the actor did not play in the theatre in the right way, the music was not right – it was not good; the artist paints the paintings in the incorrect way – everyone is decadent; Politics isn't the same, the government sucks, everything's wrong... Over the years, these people's lips have become like boxes, lips from disputes.
No 1 wanted to think or take seriously that I was an artist and that I painted paintings. And that it is, and I only do it out of stupidity. There were different people from the court coming to my studio in the village, it was 3 versts from me. They came and thought I was individual else, not an artist. But for any power. They came asking for aid in the event of illegally occupying the barn or kicking all the apple trees out of the garden of 1 of them.
From an early age, I realized that the most crucial thing in the painting is not what is painted, but how it is painted. And erstwhile I painted myself, it always hurt me that others, looking at my works, said, "What is it for? No need, no idea..."
by: Uljana Volochova
kommersant.ru/doc/6921708?from=glavnoe_2
