Bobaniada

Alla Bossart recalls the coolest route of the life of Boris Zhutovsky, “this eternal Kolobok”

Write or say “Boris Zhutovsky”, especially “Boris Iosifovich Zhutovsky”, is as wild as I say “Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin Square”. "Guns", so normal people say. They say: "Bob."

Bob lived until 91. He seemed to never die now. For all his heat puffing human passion, he was made of diamond. As there, Vaida has a man made of iron, from marble ... Bob was a man from a diamond. Moreover, a fantastically robbed life, which made him even more beautiful and stronger.

1932 - 2023.

The life of the Bobs Zhutovsky accommodated almost the century of history of the country.

His father, an engineer on the compasses, died, returning from the expedition of the legendary Babushkin to search for the missing pilot Levanevsky to the Arctic (the same islands of the lands of Franz Joseph then went through Bob and saw the monstrous conditions in which meteorologists live now). The pilot was not found. On the way back, aviators sat on refueling in Arkhangelsk. Then, taking off, the plane ran into the dam, the entire crew drowned in the Dvina. 38th year. It was July. And in September, grandfather, father of mother, died. And she, 28-year-old, was left alone with little Boba and his grandmother.

The first memory of a five -year -old bean: the father is burned in a cremation furnace. Then you could look at the process in the window. In the huge head of Zhutovsky, as on his grandiose ... I don’t know - a fresco? mosaic? -that occupies the entire wall of the workshop (honeycombs, here!) And composed of fragments, artifacts in different techniques, from tin to watercolor,-by ninety years, his powerful memory-pchel built the same honeycombs-from millions of pictures of his life. Terrible and funny. Incredible.

It is strange that almost no one was sitting in the Zhutovsky family. Only my stepfather’s sister received seven years of the neighboring camp camps. But this was enough for multi -day and terrible stories that settled there, in the same honeycombs. And the stepfather himself Igor himself was recorded on March 5, 1953 in a diary that kept forty years: “He broke a fang. Vaska scalded his paws. The damned Persus died. " Why Stalin in the family called Persian, no one really knew. Bob only remembered that it was a terrible secret.

Evacuation (he says - “with fear and foolish”) in the village of Rasskazovo - without money and help. The hunger of the post -war years with queues for bread and numbers with a chemical pencil on the palms. Eight schools in one year, because I had to move from an apartment to the apartment so as not to die from the cold.

“I was a wrist, I was expelled from everywhere. There was no childhood. "

Well, what are the options? Luxurious entertainment: replaced some torn ball to the sleeve and threw it into the stove in the kitchen (this is already in Moscow). The stove jumped, the pan fell off, at the same moment the mother gave such a pendel that she flew into the yard.

In the eighth grade - six schools. Mom once studied along with Ruben Simonov, Bob wanted to be artists, the “Rubik” took to the mass of mass. And then he said: Boba, the artist is an addicted person. This is not yours.

And the independent Zhutovsky entered the artist, from where he was, of course, pushed him in a year.

What - the artist understood. But he also understood that he could not draw. It’s difficult here. In the polygraph, where he entered the second time, “unfinished formalists” were taught, who were afraid of everything in general. And therefore they were afraid to teach the case. They painted still lifes, fiddled with nudity, struck gypsum.

“And here I, a complete idiot, don’t know book graphics, I don’t understand anything at all, I’m going to the authorities after the institute and ask me to be distributed to Sverdlovsk, where one friend of mine has left.” Of course, the direction was given with pleasure, and Bob Zhutovsky, with all the dope, became the art editor of the Sverdlovsk book publishing house. Where they sat a snack on a knock. And Khudred himself did not even receive a room and slept in a cold closet. But when the editor -in -chief ordered that it was necessary to publish the book “This ... like her ... Maria Remarck“ Time to Live and the Time to die ”,” Bob finally swinted at all accessible speed.

Well, then the cool route in Moscow began. Belutin Studio, where, in fact, the school, trips, sketches, communication began. After all, invisible lines are primed to each other. So, as Boba said, “gangs” form. Company. Teams. Groups. Sects.

About the exhibition in the Manege of 1962, on the 30th anniversary of Mosha, they wrote and write a lot. Basically, about the scandal with Khrushchev, who called the avant -garde "fagots." But this was the first official exhibition in the USSR, where new artists, their “sect” opened its face to the country and the world. The world saw that we have not only official art. This is a myth that Bob was allegedly daring Nikita. He was not 30. But they - yes, talked. Khrushchev threatened Zhutovsky "to send him to the forested." And he issued his famous sentence: “You have to lower your pants from you ... Are you a normal person? Are you a pederast or a normal person? ” This is a bob that has not missed a single skirt up to eighty years ...

No, Zhutovsky did not rude to anyone (he, by the way, was not rude, could “remove” an unpleasant man with a look, eyebrow, grin). But for the accusation that he sells paintings to foreigners, simply said: “Honestly, not a single foreigner has yet bought a single picture from me” (apparently adding to himself “unfortunately”). And that was true.

And many years later, at the next meeting, Nikita Sergeyevich, who did not forget Zhutovsky and his “freaks”, asked him for forgiveness: do not hold evil to the old man, was wrong. And Bob did not hold. As I add, and Ernst is unknown (whom it was Zhutovsky in the 62nd year in the 62nd year), then he then clapped with Nikita, this is true. And then he made him a monument on Novodevichy - a golden head ...

Once, about 20–25 years ago, Boba and I talked much closer and more often than later. He lived in a country house in Firsanovka, with his second wife, and persuaded us to build a house there. And we admit that under hypnosis, we agreed. And in those years, we now and then gathered on his balcony, or from other neighbors, drank well and, hanging their ears, listened for hours listening to his stories. I regret deathly that I did not write down. About his meeting with some real Indian. About his fight with a bear. About his alloy along the Siberian rivers. About his victories and defeats. It was a real epic. Kalevala. Bobaniada.

By the way, Volodya Mishukov, a well -known photographer, and now the artist, whom Boba raised and raised it, often visited.

But very soon, Boba, this eternal bun, lost his taste for a calm life and fled to Moscow, to his old, even ancient apartment in Kutuzovsky, where, at the time of his youth, their potato beds were, thanks to which he and his mother and grandmother survived after evacuation.

He worked in a workshop on Mayakovka. Hundreds of paintings were written there in various techniques and probably thousands of graphic sheets are created. And books. Because Bob Zhutovsky was a first -class writer. In my house (in Firsanovka, of course), there are two of his grandiose volumes “like one day” - about life. It’s good that they are not with me now. Because I would begin to review and re -read them and would never finish this text.

He traveled, wrote and painted literally until the last days. He mastered new techniques. And he was not going to die. On the contrary, he was going to publish a large album of 101 portraits “The Last People of the Empire”.

Although these were, of course, the very first people. You saw these portraits on Facebook, where Boris Zhutovsky laid them out daily.

Once at the Yuri exhibition, I was shocked by a photograph of Lyudmila Alekseeva. That in general it can be cooler than an inspired old face, and even with these corrugated fingers, extended - extended! - From the edge of the sheet to the face, closing the time itself? There is another portrait of Alekseeva - graphic. The drawing, according to the intensity and power of the spirit close to the images of the Renaissance. This is the best of the portraits of the great Boris Zhutovsky. Like his friend, he loves “models”, which is not powerful over - power.

Like Boba himself, like an icebreaker who makes a victorious path in time and space-is it possible that any power is powerful, if not the dossive time over him?

I want to quote one young writer whose phrase captivated me: “Joseph Stalin died on March 5, 1953. His further path is unknown. ”

Bob will not be offended if Persus flows here between the lines, like a cockroach.

But the phrase itself is beautiful.

Boris Zhutovsky died on March 8, 2023. His further path is unknown.

It’s a pity that it was not me who said this.