AF_Art_v3

Chicago

(1997-1998)

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Shattered

This is a self-portrait after my father passed away. I was (and to this day remain)
emotionally shattered over his death. After a while, I could not cry anymore, nor could
I smile. There were no emotions left in me. In this painting, I am looking at the broken
mirror without any expression, with one eye missing. Since the eyes are windows to the
soul, you can see that my soul is black, and no repairs can glue this mirror together anymore.

(1997)

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Enlargement #1

In this enlargement of my face, you can see the razor-sharp shards of glass piercing
through the black eye socket. This symbolizes horrific pain. Anyone who lost their parent(s)
will understand this. Since painting this canvas, I’ve met people who have lost their children
(to suicide, bullets, etc.) and their emotional pain is even worse.

(1997)

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Music

Music has always been a huge part of my life, ever since my dad and I ran into those
Dixieland musicians in Toronto, so I wanted to show the funny side of music. That’s why
the notes look like oranges and grapes, while the piano keys hang loosely in the air. The
treble clef looks like a peach, with a red cherry at the bottom. A visual cacophony of sound.
Yes, music is a bright and colorful world within itself. And today, this painting hangs in my
son’s bedroom, as a memory of me.

(1998)

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San Francisco

(1999-2005)

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Business World

The sheer size of this monster canvas is designed to impress you (it took me four days to
stretch it until it sounded like a drum). In this painting, you see three rolls of film, and each
frame is filled with business cards of very important people (diplomats, company presidents
and CEO’s) who dedicated their entire lives to their respective careers. Many, not everyone,
sacrificed their lives to feed their massive egos (after a certain point, how much money do
you really need to live well?) And yet, if they only took a few steps back and looked at
themselves from a distance, they would understand how small they really are in the scheme
of life. In the end, this painting asks a simple question: is it really worth dedicating your
whole life to a business card that represents your ego?

In my opinion, these types of people may be wealthy and respected by the society at large but,
in exchange, they miss out on everything else that’s far more important in life, like spending
time with their family and friends or travelling around the world for months at a time.

(1999)

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Enlargement #1

“I have come to the pinnacle of success in business. In the eyes of others, my life has
been the symbol of success. However, apart from work, I have little joy. Finally, my wealth
is simply a fact to which I am accustomed.

At this time, lying on the hospital bed and remembering all my life, I realize that all the
accolades and riches of which I was once so proud, have become insignificant with my
imminent death. In the dark, when I look at green lights, of the equipment for artificial
respiration and feel the buzz of their mechanical sounds, I can feel the breath of my
approaching death looming over me.

No, stop pursuing wealth, it can only make a person into a twisted being, just like me.”

Steve Jobs

(1999)

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Enlargement #2

“Only now do I understand that once you accumulate enough money for the rest of your
life, you have to pursue objectives that are not related to wealth. For example, stories of
love, art, dreams of my childhood.

Whatever stage of life where we are right now, at the end we will have to face the day
when the curtain falls. Please treasure your family love, love for your spouse, love for your
friends… Treat everyone well and stay friendly with your neighbors.”

Steve Jobs

(1999)

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Fish in a Bowl,
Part I

Once, while dining in some fancy restaurant in Bangkok, I saw an aquarium filled with
colorful fish of odd shapes and sizes, all sitting pretty among the exotic shells and yellow
sand. That’s when a dual-edge thought occurred to me: this is you, today, a beautiful fish in
a lovely fish bowl. Ain’t life grand when you’re young?

(1999)

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Fish in a Bowl,
Part II

The dual edge of life, that curse of ages, comes through loud and clear in this painting.
This is you, tomorrow, when you are no longer young and beautiful: you’re in the same
place, but in a totally different situation. It happens to all young fish sooner or later. How
does one prepare for the inevitable?

(1999)

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Ants Attack,
Part I

All wars start out the same: first, the generals send out their ants to capture territories
of other ants. Next, comes everything else that we consider to be abhorrent (prisons, mass
murders, enslavement). This is the first stage, where the little red ants decide to take over the
territory of the larger, more complacent ants (i.e., see Russian President Vladimir Putin’s
recent adventures in Ukraine).

(2000)

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Ants Attack,
Part II

In this painting you see the first stage of war from the side of the defending party. Masses
of soldiers (blue ants) are responding to the provocation of their mortal enemies. The battle
is about to begin, once the soldiers are positioned. For now, everything seems calm, but just
wait another few seconds, and you’ll see a completely different reality. This is only the first,
and easiest, stage of war.

(2000)

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A Serb in Kosovo

The image on this canvas is the last thing you’ll ever see: a camouflaged man wearing a
helmet without a face is and he’s pointing his automatic machine gun straight at you. Both
of you are in a dark basement, where the walls are covered with bullet holes and dried
blood. Through the grate in the ceiling above the killer you can see that the whole town is
on fire. And that’s it: you don’t see anything anymore.

I painted this as a sign of protest, after I read about what the Serbs did in Kosovo, but
it’s applicable to any other war crimes involving executions of innocent civilians and their
children.

(2000)

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Lena’s Eyes

My ex-wife, Lena, always had beautiful eyes. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I married
her in the first place (not the most sound reason for a life-time decision, as I now can
clearly see). Nevertheless, I painted Lena’s eyes on a large canvas, which used to hang over
the fireplace in our house in San Francisco. It loomed over the entire first floor, watching
everyone. As part of the divorce, I gave this painting to Lena because she really wanted to
keep it (and I was equally pleased to get rid of it).

(2001)

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My Mother

My father met my mom, and they were married three months later. They lived happily
ever after forever (until he passed away from Hodgkins disease, cancer of the lymphatic
nodes, much too early in life).

In our family, we had dinner together every night at 6:30 pm, where everyone talked,
no reading of newspapers. I never heard my parents argue, not even once, although I’m
sure they had disagreements behind closed doors. Only now I understand how unique their
relationship was, but to me it was just a normal, happy childhood, with a cat and a dog.

My dad married my mom not just because she was beautiful. My mom, as everyone who
knows her will wholeheartedly confirm, is a very kind, warm person. Also, she is wise,
because she worked as a psychiatrist in Glevaha (Kiev) and Malcolm Bliss Mental Health
Center (St. Louis), and Veterans Administration Hospital, known as “VA” (St. Louis). Plus
immigration from the Soviet Union. As a result, my mom has seen all kinds of insanity, and
has genuine sympathy for all of you.

This is a black-and-white painting of my mom, the woman that my father loved and
married (and, unlike most marriages these days, they lived happily ever after).

(2001)
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My Father’s
Eyes

My father was my best friend in my life. I will always cherish the long ride in my 81
yellow VW Beetle across America to Canada with him, just the two of us in a car
together, driving and talking for days at a time. We got lost in Manhattan, where we
shopped for souvenirs, we listened to Dixieland jazz in Toronto, we saw the castle
on top of the hill in old Quebeck City, and we even made it back to St. Louis alive.
It was a father-and-son adventure trip of a lifetime (the only one).

My father always understood me. I could tell him anything, no matter what it was, because
he never judged me; instead, he talked me through whatever problems came my way, and my
decision would be final, even though it was really his decision. We were equal, but we were
never equal. Everyone, all of the adults, respected him, from Kiev to Ostia Lido to St. Louis,
throughout our twenty years’ of immigration, because of his wisdom and dignity.

And I always wanted to be like him. That’s the real reason why I left a promising career at
Hogan & Hartson in D.C. and moved to Kiev in 1991 to open my law firm: I needed to learn
the wisdom that my father had. I figured that maybe if I went back to Ukraine, I would learn
what he knew and be more like him. Sorry, but I can’t write this without crying, so that’s it.

Anyway, if you’ll just look into my father’s eyes, you’ll see exactly what I’m talking about.

(2001)

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My Grandmother

My grandmother saved everyone from the Nazis during the WWII. They ran away
to Samarkand, where everyone lived under harsh conditions, as all refugees from wars
always do. After the war, upon return to Kiev, my grandfather, Senya Bekker, was sent to
a concentration camp (like many others at the time, for nothing). One year later, he came
out with broken health, and died from a heart attack in 1969. Five years later we moved
far away, to America, but my grandmother made sure that his grave was always clean
(it was looked after by their friends all these years). Now, both of their graves are clean.

Anyway, this is a painting of my grandmother’s eyes. As you can tell by the look, she was
an iron lady. She passed away at the age of 94 in St. Louis, Missouri. Both my mother and
I were by her side until the very end. That’s what family is for.

(2001)

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My Grandmother

I could not capture my grandmother’s image easily, so I had to do several “studies.”
This is one of them, on rough canvas. The look in her eyes was very difficult to capture, so
it took a few times to get it right. This is as close as I got to explaining the meaning of the
look in my grandmother’s eyes.

(2001)

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My Grandmother

For me, the eyes are the most difficult part of the painting to draw correctly, because they
say so much. That’s why I tried to draw them in large format first, so that it would be easier
to paint them in a smaller version on canvas.

(2001)

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A Nude Body

Every artist, I was told, must paint a nude body at least once in a lifetime, if he’s a true
artist, that is. And yet, no matter how much I’ve tried to find a female body to paint through
the years, nobody would pose nude for me (not even once). Desperate, I finally took a
picture of a marble statute in Rodin’s museum in Paris, and painted her instead. That’s why
there’s no head (it was polished marble).

(2003)

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Asya

My aunt, Asya, always looked angelic when she was young (and still does). Also, she
was very confident (and still carries the world on her frail shoulders). Just one look into
her eyes, and you’ll see it all. This is a painting of my dear aunt, Asya, who lives near San
Francisco. Even with age, and the turmoil that it brings, nothing has changed: she is still
the same. Yes, the same eyes and attitude.

(2005)

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Miami

(2015)

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Ice Fishing I

Just like my father did with me, I taught my son Danny how to fish when he was old
enough to hold a fishing rod (about 2 years old). We started our life-long fishing adventures
on Crystal Pier in San Diego. That’s where ocean size fish really bite: four hooks, four fish,
every time. After that, Danny and I went fishing together everywhere, just the two of us,
and we caught all kinds of fish, believe me (halibut, salmon, tuna, etc.)

This large canvas is a testament to people like us, real fishermen, who go anywhere
at early dawn to catch fish that we could otherwise easily buy in any food store. We are
hunters at heart, and this painting reveals all of our strange physical gestures and awkward
positions when we’re pulling the fish out of the water, or waiting for that magic bite, while
standing on frozen ice. One way or another, we’re out there fishing, brothers in arms.
Comical as it may seem to you, it’s our instinct from the caveman times. If you’re a man,
and don’t understand this, perhaps you’ve lost your instinct.

(2015)

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Enlargement #1

(2015)

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Enlargement #2

(2015)

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