AF_Art_v3

Enlargement #3

(2015)

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Enlargement #4

(2015)

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Ice Fishing II

In this ice-fishing scene, the sky is covered by the clouds, and everything looks gray
(unlike the previous painting). Unfortunately, I did not have time to do similar versions in
warm colors, like Claude Monet did with haystacks.

(2015)

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Enlargement #1

(2015)

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Enlargement #2

(2015)

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Street
Corner Mime II

As I may have mentioned earlier, I used to make (very little) money by working as a
pantomime on a street corner in St. Louis. This is my second attempt to re-create my former
dubious “glory” as a street entertainer working for tips, but now I added some shade and
more space for the top hat. Plus, I finally painted that stage with a spotlight, which we never
had on that corner by the Haagen Daas ice cream parlor.

(2015)

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Prison Cell II

The next two paintings (“Prison” and “Isolation”), which I first did when I was so much
younger than today, came back to haunt me later in life. These are new paintings that are
designed to accompany each other on the same wall. When put together, side by side, they
explain what happened to me during my later years.

The first of the two complimenting pieces is called “Prison,” where you see an empty
cell, with an open door. The black bars on the painting are actually “raised” paint, like
little drops of poison that you can touch and feel. These drops show you that the prisoner
had spent his time in the darkest corner of his life had paid for it with his blood and tears,
and there was lots of both. As before, the painting ends on a positive note: the dark corner
is empty, unfilled by any one, and the door is open. It’s the end of the prison term, forever.

(2015)

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Enlargement #1

It took a lot of thick black paint to sculpt the “black tears” on this canvas, but now
anyone can plainly see how black blood looks when it flows freely, and you can also touch
it, I really don’t mind.

(2015)

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Isolation II

In the context of the two canvases, this painting answers the question about what happens
to any prisoner after he leaves his (or her) cell. The answer: they often continue to quietly
carry their burden elsewhere. Sure, it’s a very nice apartment with a beautiful lamp, but the
former prisoner is still sitting in a corner (just a different one, that’s all).

(2015)

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A Sleeping
Face II

I loved the simplicity and positivity of a sleeping, smiling face so much that I wanted
something like that hanging in my bedroom, too. And since I gave the first one to my mom
and dad way back in 1987, I decided to paint another one for myself. This is what it looks
like, painted many years later. And now it’s hanging over my bed, too.

(2015)

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The Saxophone
Player II

No matter where I go in the world, I always seek out jazz clubs, blues clubs, reggae
clubs, anywhere live music exists. That afternoon, many years ago when I first discovered
Dixieland jazz with my father somewhere in Toronto, always stayed with me. And later
in life, music grew into a full-blown obsession. As my friends disappeared, one by one, I
replaced them with music. Now, all saxophone players I see are old pals to me for many
reasons, and I treasure them, even though I’ll never see them again. This painting is my sign
of respect to all musicians, even though it may seem as a crude caricature at a first glance.

(2015)

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A Very Drunk
Girl

Okay, so this is the scene: it’s four in the morning in a Kiev night club for the rich boys
and their girlfriends, and the house music is blaring in the background. The blonde, who’s
sitting on a perch, is so drunk out of her skull that she can’t stand up. She has lovely red
shoes, though. Hey, little rich girl, where did you go wrong?

(2015)

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The Bull Fight

It’s all an age-old ritual. The picador on the beautiful white horse is just doing his job.
The proud stallion is white, and the angry bull is black. The shadows they cast on the sand
underscore the brutal reality: is this scene, the bull is stuck with a lance, its metal spikes meant
to provoke the animal before the ritual killing takes place. Is that good or bad? The audience
always applauds toreador’s bravery and victory, but all I see is a defeat of human morality.
Then again, who ever said that human beings were perfect? Just take a good look around you.

(unfinished, 125
2015)

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A Blues Guitarist

Among the most creative musicians of all time, Tom Waits has been on top of my list
for the last year (especially “Alice” and “29 Dollars”). To pay tribute to him, and also to
capture the soul of a true musician, a bluesman who’s down and out on life (an image Tom
likes to play up to), I started to paint this piece, but unfortunately I ran out of time (my trip
to Miami came to an end).

(unfinished, 127
2015)

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A Lady
with a Dog

In this pencil drawing, I was playing with a catchy title of an old Chekhov story. Instead
of morals and propriety, however, I pictured my lady with a dog as a more voluptuous and
sensual creature; a curvaceous young woman with well-proportioned attributes that any
gentleman values, regardless of his marital status.

(pencil, 129
2015)

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Self-portrait

As a rule, negotiations don’t take very long. You can tell everything in the first few
minutes, so I stay only if there’s something to talk about. Whenever I get up from the table
in the first few minutes, however, I usually look this way. It means that our negotiations
are over. That’s what this pencil drawing is all about.

(pencil, 131
2015)

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NYC Skyline

When my father and I drove across America to Canada, we stopped off to see New York
City. I remember looking down from the rooftop of the World Trade Center, from where we
could see everything like it was on the palm of my hand. Half hour later, when we landed on
the pavement, the skyscrapers lined up in front of us like a massive wall of steel and glass;
in comparison, we were tiny ants. Visiting New York City with my father for the first time
in my life was a fantastic, wondrous experience, one that I wanted to relay on this canvas.

(pencil, undated)

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My son, Danny

This is the last inscription in my collection of art, and it’s reserved for one very special
person in my life, the one whose portrait I never painted (yet): my son, Danny, who is still
only 11 years old when I write these words in my kitchen, in Kiev. This painting does not
exist, but it will, you’ll see.

My father once said that he had two regrets. First was having just one child. The second
one was having him (me) too late in life, because he would never get to see any of his
grandchildren (Danny). Again, he was right on both counts. If you have any regrets in
life, those are the two biggest ones you can have. I know, because I have the same two
regrets that my father once warned me about.

Whenever I get back to America, I’ll paint lots of nice pictures of myself with Danny,
I swear.

(undated)

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