All poems by Ilya Zdanevich. By the noisy embankment of the frightened river

Ilya Mikhailovich Zdanevich(pseudo Ilyazd, Eli Eganbury, April 21, 1894, Tiflis - December 25, 1975, Paris) - Russian and French writer, theorist of the Russian avant-garde and Dada, publisher, artist.

Biography

Father - Pole, French teacher Mikhail Andreevich Zdanevich, mother - Georgian, pianist, student of P. Tchaikovsky, nee Valentina Kirillovna Gamkrelidze. He graduated from the law faculty of Petrograd University in (1917), met M. Larionov, N. Goncharova, V. Mayakovsky, A. Kruchenykh, and corresponded with F. Marinetti.

In 1913 he published a book about the work of M. F. Larionov and N. S. Goncharova under a pseudonym. Zdanevich, together with his older brother Kirill (also a famous artist and art critic) and Le Dantu, are credited with discovering the work of Niko Pirosmani for the "general public" and the artistic community. With their active participation, his works were exhibited in 1913 at the Target exhibition in Moscow. In the same year, Ilyazd declared himself the founder of a new poetic and artistic direction- "all-ness", which claimed the universality and synthesis of all pre-existing styles and genres.

In 1914 he met F. Marinetti during his first visit to Moscow. Prior to that, he was in correspondence with him. In the same year, he formed a number of cubo-futuristic booklets and posters, using asymmetrical typographical offsets in order to draw attention to a particular word or concept.

In 1915-1917 he worked as a war correspondent for the Petrograd newspaper Rech and the British newspaper, where he met Morgan Philips Price, with whom they continued to communicate until the latter's death in 1973. In May 1917, he left Petrograd for Tiflis, and then, at the invitation of Takaishvili (he also took part), he took part in an expedition organized with the money of the Society for the History and Ethnography of Tiflis University (the artists Lado Gudiashvili, Mikhail Chiaureli and Dito Shevarnadze also took part in the expedition, as well as engineer A. Kalgin). At the end of the expedition at the end of 1917 he lived in Tiflis with his parents until 1919, and after - in Batum, until his departure for Constantinople.

In October 1920 he went to France to get acquainted with the new trends in art. Spent a year in Constantinople waiting for a French visa. In October 1921 he arrived in Paris. At first he lived with Larionov. Together with S. Romov and A. Ginger, he organized the “Through” group, which was supposed to connect Russian poets and artists who lived in exile and in the USSR with French cultural figures. He became close to the Dadaists and Surrealists (S. Charchoun, P. Eluard, T. Tzara, J. Cocteau, Robert and Sonia Delaunay).

Since 1927, he worked as a fabric draftsman for the Black Belair company, which, on March 1, 1928, was transferred to the Chanel company. Zdanevich worked at a factory in the suburb of Asnieres, near Paris, and from May 1, 1931, he became the director of this factory, and from 1933 to 1937 he was the director of this company. Since July 15, 1928, he has been living in the city of Sannoy, now a suburb of Paris. In the 1940s, he resumed the publishing house "41".

Three of his poetry books were published in Paris: "Lidantyu faram" (1923), dedicated to the memory of M.V. Le Dantu, "Letter" (1948) and "Afet" (1949). The poem "Letter" - was published in a tiny edition of 60 copies. Ilyazd sent one copy to Henri Matisse with a request to illustrate the text, and, according to some information, there are illustrations for the “Letter” by Pablo Picasso.

Ilya Zdanevich was married three times. From his first wife, model Axel Brocard, he had two children. In 1927, their first daughter, Michelle, was born. The godmother of the girl was Coco Chanel. Their marriage ended in 1939. His second wife was the Nigerian princess Ibironke Akinsemoin, whom they married in 1940. They had one son, whom they named Shalwa. They separated in 1943.

Zdanevich's last wife was with the ceramics artist Elene Douar-Mare (she died in 1993), they got married in 1968. Helen kept creative legacy husband, organized exhibitions and publications. She, fulfilling the will of Ilyazd, initiated the exhibition of his works in her husband's homeland, in Tbilisi. After the end of the exhibition in State Museum of Arts of Georgia in 1989, Helen Duar-Ilyazd donated to the museum many of her exhibits - books, manuscripts, letters, posters, posters, photographs. On her own initiative, the Ilyazd Club was created in Paris, whose members are cultural figures from different countries. Ilyazd died in 1975 in Paris and was buried in the Georgian cemetery in Leville-sur-Orge.

Creation

Collaborated with Picasso, Braque, Giacometti, A. Derain, A. Matisse, F. Leger, M. Chagall. Author of numerous collections of abstruse poetry, a pentalogy of abstruse plays "Piterka deistf", dramas, novels "Paris" (written in 1923, published in 1994), "Philosophy" (restored from a manuscript and published in 2008) and "Rapture" ( 1930), as well as "Letters to Morgan Philips Price", which he conceived as an independent work, but did not have time to complete the work, having written five of the planned seven letters. He illustrated books by R. Hausmann, P. Eluard and others. He wrote a rather voluminous manuscript about Hagia Sophia.

In the late 1920s, Ilya Zdanevich moved away from futurism, two novels of this period have a completely traditional form. During World War II, he wrote a poem of 100 sonnets (73 have survived).

In 1971 he created a cycle of poems in French in the form of a palindrome "Boustrophedon in the Mirror". This cycle of poems is a memoir. Ilyazd writes about those whom he knew in life, incl. about Pirosmani. The last poem of the cycle ends with an appeal to the "painter Nicholas", where Ilyazd calls the Georgian artist his mountains, forests and lost daring.

In the last years of his life, under the influence of his wife, he took up ceramics. In Europe, he is better known under the pseudonym Ilyazd.

In 1918, the avant-garde poetic group "41°" was formed in Tiflis, to which Ilyazd belonged, as well as a publishing house of the same name. This literary association also included I. Terentyev and A. Kruchenykh. The poet N. Chernyavsky, Kara-Darvish (Hakop Gendzhyan) and some young Tiflis artists joined the association. Ilyazd associated the name of the group with the mystical meaning of the number 41: at the 41st degree of latitude are Naples, Beijing, Constantinople, Madrid, New York and, most importantly, Tiflis. 40 days, as Ilyazd reminded readers, Jesus Christ and Zarathustra spent in the desert, and the 41st day was the day of their return to the world. The 41° group left a noticeable mark on the history of the Russian avant-garde and became one of the most striking embodiments of the Tiflis Renaissance of 1918-20.

In the 1940s, he resumed the publishing house "41 °", attracted P. Picasso, J. Braque, A. Derain, A. Matisse, A. Giacometti, L. Survage to design books based on his layouts.

"Hagiography"

“The early years of the poet, his childhood do not concern anyone. It is only known that then he was extraordinarily handsome. In adolescence, he graduated from the Tiflis Gymnasium, in his youth, St. Petersburg University, Faculty of Law, and spent his young years between the Caucasus, St. Petersburg, Moscow ... "

- “RECORD OF TENDERNESS: the life of Ilya Zdanevich: his friend Terentiev wrote: pictures of his brother Cyril: 41 °” (1919).

“The first sight after we part with the birthday was that I was born with three teeth. Frightened parents did not know what to do, seeing that the baby was grinding his teeth and already biting ”- This was the first impression of me after I was born.

I don't know why Terentiev decided that my childhood years were nobody's concern. He's right that I was extraordinarily handsome, and that alone makes the story interesting. However, Tereshkovich now finds that I am handsome, and Ginger, whom I met many, many years ago, now recognized me by my beautiful belly. But let's move on.

I was dressed as a girl. My mother did not want to come to terms with the fact that she had a son instead of a daughter. In her diary it is written: "a girl was born - Ilya, hairs - black, color - dark blue." So I wore shoulder length curls. Every evening, my nanny Zina made a pile of papillots, removing book after book from the shelves of my grandfather's library, and I spent the night with several pounds of paper on my head. So Pushkin, Griboedov, Derzhavin, Gogol disappeared from the shelves in turn. In my sleep these writings entered my head, and I gradually became a poet.

“Too curly,” said the inspector of the N-th gymnasium, when in 1902 they took me to take the appropriate exam. But I was so charming that the examination was allowed, and my appearance was the first case of coeducation in Russia in 1902. Now this is common, but my trip to the gymnasium with a knapsack in a skirt was sensational. Efforts to make me a girl were continuous. But I used my privileges, often going to the women's gymnasium, visiting places where it is written "for ladies", causing everyone's admiration here. My friendship with my friends continued until I did something bad with one of them. I was already twelve years old. The situation became intolerable. I was beaten twice and the ladies reported to the police. By order of the magistrate, my parents had to dress me in pants.

What is left of that period of life when I was a girl? Several photographic cards and soft sign, which I put on solemn occasions at the end of my last name. The reaction was catastrophic. I went and cut my curls. The story turned out the opposite with Samson. My hatred for the past increased so much that I decided to stop walking forward, as I did when I was a girl, and began to walk backwards, backwards like cancer, in a word, the devil knows what. True, the Dadaists say: when I stand with my back, my ass examines you. But my butt was not sighted. This manner of running backwards led to the fact that I fell off a cliff while swimming in the sea. Did not die.

Since then, everything in me has come to naught. My legs moved and I stopped growing. My morale was also deteriorating, as was my body. From a charming, brilliantly gifted being, I became stupid, mediocre, evil and vicious. At school, I was unbearable. My attitude to classes has changed - from the best students I became the worst. Added to this was prophetic talkativeness. The poetic upbringing, instilled through the papillots, has evaporated, the memory has faded. I became the disgusting degenerate that I remain. That's what it means to stop being a girl. I then came to St. Petersburg, where I opened the “School of Kisses”.

Igor Terentiev, my kind and glorious biographer, canonized me among the saints. I don't know if it is. We'll talk more about this. Here is what he writes about me. “... spent his young years between the Caucasus, St. Petersburg, Moscow and Paris, where he spoke publicly with lectures, reading other people's poems and just like that. Common acquaintances tell jokes about the "School of Kissing", allegedly opened by Ilya somewhere in the North, they talk about a brilliant speech delivered by him in Kislovodsk, revels, debauchery, impudence and a cheerful disposition of a good-natured, selfish, dry, sentimental, restrained, passionate and criminal young man. Causing in people not only respect, contempt, anger, but also participation, Ilya heard a lot of useful instructions from relatives and friends, who always felt that the young man would go far.

How far these peaceful and quiet stories of St. Terentiev are from my second reality. The Kissing School was the first love league in Russia. It ended with two murders, three suicides and four orgy. I will name the names of the vitias - they all went down a bad road. They were Khlebnikov, Mayakovsky, Kruchenykh, and—forgive me, Virgin Mary—Ilya Ehrenburg, named after me. I closed the School, as they shut their mouths, and I hated the earth. (…)

Gentlemen, modern art is driven not by talents, but by mediocrity, Ehrenburg is talented, that's why he is so out of place. When he writes under the steamboat that it is a steamboat, he testifies that it blooms beautiful soul seeking delight. When he is under the pseudonym of Jean Salo (I will not make out how in French this surname is spelled, this wit is flat) calls "41 °" Dadaistic measles, he is mistaken, since measles never causes such a rise in temperature. When he cites Mayakovsky's rhymed recitation and pulls Pasternak by the ears - to prove that in Russia all the Scythians - God, how talented it all is. I understand that my mediocrity spoils the charming picture of Russian greatness. All such talented priests, such a house on g<овн>e, it's nice, but there are people here spoiling the whole thing. Nothing, there is a way out of this. I am not russian. I have a Georgian passport and I am Georgian myself. (…)

I'm all naked, I have nothing to hide, I don't need either Mayakovsky's bravado or Khlebnikov's secrecy. My vices are obvious. I don't want to win anything, because I know that I won't win anything anyway.

onolatric pentalogy - peterka action

Zdanevich owns a pentalogy of plays "Piterka Deistf", written in a mixture of zaumi and Russian, and in printed edition The Russian text is typed deliberately without observing the normative spelling rules.

The first of these plays is "Yanko Krul Albanian", written and first staged in 1916 (first edition - Tiflis, "Syndicate", 1918; reprinted in the collection: Poetry of Russian Futurism. St. Petersburg, "Academic Project", 2001 (" New Library poet"), p. 522-531). Some excerpts from the play:

here they don’t know the Albanian language and the biscuit murders give the action pa nivoli bis pirivoda, since the Albanian language with Russian goes at yvonnava ... why don’t you be embarrassed to remember the state here is the Albanian language ...

... for the pressure of the diruzza, the break-in is separated by the arquestras

The language of the bastards that appeared in the 2000s, the spelling of which is built according to similar principles, is sometimes called the “Albanian language” (after the story of the American LiveJournal user who mistook Russian for Albanian).

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Father - Mikhail Andreevich Zdanevich, a descendant of immigrants from Poland, exiled to the Caucasus after the defeat of the Warsaw Uprising of 1831, teacher of French. Mother - Valentina Kirillovna (nee Gamkrelidze), pianist, student of P.I. Tchaikovsky, opened a home boarding school for village boys, she raised them herself, as well as her sons - Ilya and Kirill. IN big house Zdanevich had an artistic salon where the Tiflis intelligentsia gathered, and some rooms were given over to studios for young artists.

In 1911, Zdanevich read the first manifestos of the Italian Futurists and began to correspond with Filippo Tommaso Marinetti. In the same year he graduated from silver medal gymnasium and entered the St. Petersburg University at the Faculty of Law (in 1916 he graduated with brilliance). On January 18, 1912, Zdanevich's first public performance took place: at the evening of the "Union of Youth" in the Trinity Theater, he read the manifesto of Italian futurism. The term "futurism" Zdanevich uses even before the word will be adopted by the natives. Moves closer to the artists M.V. Le-Dantyu, V.S. Bartom, N.S. Goncharova and M.F. Larionov, becomes the latter's personal correspondent in St. Petersburg. In the winter of 1912-1913, Zdanevich collected and promoted the work of the self-taught artist Niko Pirosmani (his painting was discovered by Le Dantu in the spring of 1912), commissioned two paintings from him, including his own portrait (1913. Private collection, Petersburg), arranges several of his works for the exhibition "Target". At the beginning of 1913, he begins a radical revision of his attitude towards futurism (at the same time he disputes the claims of the Gilea group to use the “banner of futurism”), considering it overcome, - this is how a new direction “all-ness” is being developed (the word was coined by Zdanevich), “entirely independent and original” . “Vseki” (followers of “everything”) should not “break with the past, but look back”, using all forms of the past and present, merging into one whole the different forms and content of different eras and civilizations (B.K. Livshits subsequently unfairly wrote about "all-being" as about "eclecticism raised to the canon"). He writes the first monograph on Larionov and Goncharova (under the pseudonym of Eli Eganbury), where he affirms the principles of synthesis (and not eclecticism) of naive, primitive art (lubok, tray painting, folk icon, fresco painting, coming from the Eastern, Byzantine, tradition, etc.) as more national and modernist trends (cubism, futurism, etc.). In 1913, together with Larionov, he created the manifesto “Why We Paint”, affirming the principle of theatricality, which, according to the authors, should actively invade everyday life: “It's time for art to invade life. Face painting is the beginning of an invasion."

Poster of the speech by I.M. Zdanevich, A.E. Kruchenykh and I.G. Terentyev in Borjomi. 1919

Cover of the book by A.E. Kruchenykh "Milliork" (Tiflis, 1919). Typography by I.M. Zdanevich

In 1913–1914, Zdanevich read a series of reports in which he outlined the basic principles of “everything” and rayonism (“the next step”) - the completeness of the use of all artistic means, timelessness and spacelessness of art. Unlike the “Gileans”, who largely declared the idea of ​​evolutionism in art, “vsyoki” and radiants, according to Zdanevich, oriented to the East, to Byzantium, to folk art, thereby overcome the reforms of Peter I, after which Russian painting lost its national identity (unlike poetry, here Zdanevich gives primacy to F.I. Tyutchev). The most famous, scandalous was Zdanevich's report "Worship of the Shoe" (at the debate "East, Nationality and West" on March 24, 1913), where a call was made to push off from the ground (a kind of exodus of the symbolist trend).

In the same period, Zdanevich was actively working on the language - his searches are independent and parallel to what V.V. Khlebnikov and A.E. Twisted. So, having created an essay “On writing and spelling”, where Zdanevich asks questions about the transmission of intonations of oral speech in written speech, in 1914 he creates the poem “gaROland” (about the exploits of a French pilot) - an example of onomatopoeic poetry, close to the aesthetics of “free words” (or "words on the loose") Marinetti and consonant with the experimental verses of V.V. Kamensky. On the basis of this experience and the principle of "everything" Zdanevich develops his own understanding of zaum as a polysemy necessary for the new art.

Since 1916, Zdanevich became a correspondent for the newspaper Rech, for which he covered events on the Russian-Turkish front. Then there is the acquaintance with famous traveler, writer, connoisseur of Russia and the East Morgan Philips Price, which grew into a strong creative friendship (lasted until 1973); in 1916, both sign a manifesto (published in the Manchester Guardian, of which Price was a correspondent), which reveals the unbearable situation of Muslim refugees - peaceful Turks and Lazes (“a people of poets”, in the words of Zdanevich), to which they were doomed by the military actions of the Russian army. In the same year, in Petrograd, Zdanevich joined the Bloodless Murder group, which published the magazine of the same name, one of the issues of which, Albansky, was reworked by Zdanevich into the drama Janko krUl albAnskai, the first abstruse drama (staged in Petrograd in 1916 in the studio of the artist M.D. Bernshtein).

In the spring of 1917, Zdanevich became chairman of the "Freedom to Art" federation, edited the journal "Northern Notes", and fought against routine and academicism. However, the hopes for the triumph of leftist art did not come true, and in May of the same year Zdanevich left Petrograd forever.

From October 1917 to October 1920, Zdanevich in Tiflis actively collaborated with Kruchenykh, I.G. Terentiev and others in such enterprises as the Syndicate of Futurists, 41º, Fantastic Tavern, under whose auspices he gives lectures, organizes exhibitions, poetry and theater evenings. The following abstruse dramas were published here - Asyol NaprakAt (1919), Ostraf Easter (1919), ZgA Yakaby (1920).

In 1919-1920 Zdanevich served in the American charitable organization"Near East Relief" to earn money for a ticket to Paris (the dream of the capital of new art and the desire to go there was supported by the stories of friends about Dadaists close to "41º"). In 1920 he sailed from Batum to Constantinople, where he spent a year waiting for a French visa. Since November 1921, Zdanevich has been in Paris: he immediately establishes relations with the Dadaists, becomes secretary of the Union of Russian Artists in Paris, organizes annual balls of Russian art, gives lectures, opens the Paris branch of 41º in 1922. On his initiative, jointly with S.M. Through the efforts of Romov, the literary and artistic group “Through” was created (in January 1923, simultaneously with the creation of Lef), the purpose of which was to unite Russian artists and writers of the avant-garde orientation living in France, not only with French avant-garde artists, but also with those living in the USSR . The group included poets (A.S. Ginger, B.Yu. Poplavsky, V.Ya. Parnakh and others) and artists (S.I. Sharshun, Bart, K.A. Tereshkovich, D.N. Kakabadze, L. D. Gudiashvili and others). The French side was attended by Paul Eluard, Tristan Tzara, Jean Cocteau, Max Ernst and others. The group soon ceased to exist.

In the same year, the final part of the pentalogy “piterki deystf aslaablichya” was published under the brand name “41º”, the drama “lidantyu faram”, signed with the pseudonym “Ilyazd” (from this moment on, the pseudonym becomes permanent) and dedicated to the memory of Le Dantu, a masterpiece of typographic art by Zdanevich (the book was exhibited in 1925 in the Soviet department International Exhibition decorative arts and art industry in Paris). At the same time, work began on the experimental novel The Parisians (1926, published in 1994).

In 1927, Zdanevich had a daughter (married to the Montparnasse model Axel Brocard), he registered as a fabric draftsman (Zdanevich had previously unofficially worked in this technique for Sonia Delaunay) at a knitwear factory, which in 1928 became an enterprise of Chanel Fabrics. From 1933 to 1937, Zdanevich directed the Coco Chanel factory in Asnières.

In the early 1930s, Zdanevich made an independent trip to Spain in search of little-known Romanesque churches, which he compared with the churches of Georgia, Gurjistan, wrote several articles about Armenian temple architecture, and participated in organizing an exhibition of Georgian art. After the closing of the fabric factory, he is in poverty, becomes close to Pablo Picasso (their friendship lasted until the end of the artist's days). Since the mid-1930s, Zdanevich has been writing sonnets, formally traditional poems, synthesizing symbolism and surrealism, he himself publishes them with illustrations by great artists - Picasso, Andre Derain, Henri Matisse, Fernand Léger, M.Z. Chagall, Leopold Survage, Georges Braque, Alberto Giacometti.

These, as well as many other editions, released in limited editions under the brand name "41º", rightfully brought fame to Zdanevich as the creator of livre de peintre. In later editions, Zdanevich abandoned punctuation marks and used only capital letters, whimsically placing them both inside the stanza and on the page.

Ilya Zdanevich

In 1928, Chanel's clients noticed unusual patterns that began to appear on Mademoiselle Coco's signature jersey.

Ilyazd worked as an artist-designer at the House of Chanel for five years - from 1928 to 1933. At one time led Tissus Chanel, engaged in the production of textiles. But even after Ilyazd left Chanel, his personal relationship with Mademoiselle did not stop.

In 1940, the fashion designer became the godmother of Ilyazd's daughter Michel. And Zdanevich himself, in turn, dedicated the fragrance Chanel No. 5 kiss collection of sonnets "Afam".

After all, first of all, Ilyazd was a poet ...

His father, Mikhail Zdanevich, was born into a family exiled to the Caucasus, in Kutaisi, participants in the Polish uprising for independence from Russia. Having moved to the capital of Georgia, Mikhail got married. His beloved Valentina was raised by wealthy Poles Dluzhansky. And only at the age of forty, after she had found her Native sister, Valentina Zdanevich found out that in fact her parents were Georgians and her last name was Gamkrelidze.

The first child of Mikhail and Valentina Zdanevich was a boy named Cyril. Two years later, the parents were expecting replenishment. They did not even doubt that this time a girl would be born. But Ilya appeared.

Valentina, who passionately dreamed of her daughter, was not going to put up with such an unexpected turn of affairs and raised Ilya as a girl.

Years later, Zdanevich Jr. will write in his memoirs: “I was dressed as a girl. The mother did not want to come to terms with the fact that she had a son instead of a daughter. In her diary it is written: "A girl was born - Ilya, hairs - black, color - dark blue." So I wore shoulder length curls. Every evening, my nanny Zina made a pile of papillots, removing book after book from the shelves of my grandfather's library, and I spent the night with several pounds of paper on my head. So Pushkin, Griboedov, Derzhavin, Gogol disappeared from the shelves. In my sleep these writings entered my head, and I gradually became a poet.

“Too curly,” said the inspector of the N-th gymnasium, when in 1902 I was taken to take the appropriate exam. But I was so charming that the examination was allowed, and my appearance was the first case of coeducation in Russia in 1902. Now this is common, but my trip to the gymnasium with a knapsack in a skirt was sensational.

Efforts to make me a girl were continuous. But I used my privileges, often going to the women's gymnasium, visiting places where it is written "for ladies", causing everyone's admiration here.

My friendship with my friends continued until I did something bad with one of them. I was already twelve years old. The situation became intolerable. I was beaten twice and the ladies reported to the police. By order of the magistrate, my parents had to dress me in pants.

I went and cut my curls. My hatred for the past grew so much that I decided to stop walking forward, as I did when I was a girl, and began to walk backwards, backwards with cancer, in a word, the devil knows what "...

Despite the peculiar manner of upbringing, Ilya grew up a great lover of beautiful women, "had a reputation as a" womanizer "", and was married three times. As for the manner of "walking back", then everything worked out with that. After the boy fell off the cliff, he seemed to have cut off the desire to experiment with methods of transportation.

Years later, together with his older brother Kirill, Ilya became one of the most advanced artists of the coming XX century.

After graduating from the First Tiflis Gymnasium, the Zdanevich brothers went to St. Petersburg. Cyril entered the Academy of Arts. And Ilya - to the law faculty of the university. At the same time, in his memoirs, he himself writes that he was also engaged in St. Petersburg by opening the “School of Kisses”.

Ilya Zdanevich became a futurist. In 1913, at the Polytechnic Museum in Moscow, he read the report "Marinetti's Futurism", in which he voiced the "shoe motif". Rising to the podium of a crowded hall, the young man showed the public a shoe, declaring that it was the most beautiful thing in the world. Since "it is the shoe that makes it possible to lose contact with the earth."

And Kirill Zdanevich was already in Paris at that time. And where was the person who decided to become an artist to go.

“Dad told me that in Paris he could only afford to think about creativity,” the artist’s daughter Mirel Zdanevich told the author of this book. - His father sent him money from Tiflis. Mikhail Andreevich taught French in the gymnasium and had private students. “I only painted,” my dad told me, “I didn’t waste time either on companies or in cafes.”

Pablo Picasso came to one of his exhibitions in the capital of France. Seeing the work of Zdanevich, he wrote directly on the canvas: "5+". Later I asked my father where this painting with Picasso's assessment was. The Pope replied that everything was left in Paris "...

The end of peaceful life came in 1914 - the World War began.

“In May 1914, the Russian ambassador summoned me and several other people,” Kirill Zdanevich himself recalled on the pages of his unpublished manuscript. - We were categorically offered to go home and conduct “additional classes” at our recruiting centers. Yes, and I missed Tbilisi. And now, goodbye France!”

But Cyril missed not only Tiflis, his parents and brother. In the house of the Zdanevichs on Bakradze Street, his main treasure with Ilya was kept - a collection of paintings by Pirosmani. Or "Pirosman", as the brothers called the unusual painter among themselves.

The discovery of Pirosmani is a monument that the Zdanevich brothers built for themselves during their lifetime. Even if they had done nothing else in life: Cyril did not write a single picture, and Ilya did not write a single line, their names would still remain in the history of world culture.

It all started with collecting, and ended with the study of the artist's biography and his detailed biography, which was compiled by Kirill Zdanevich.

“The walls in all the rooms, the terraces and corridors, even the pantries and the bathroom were hung from ceiling to floor with paintings of unusual design and colors. Many of the paintings that did not fit on the walls were rolled up and placed in the corners. All these paintings belonged to the brush of the same artist, but it was very rare to find his Georgian signature on them: “Niko Pirosmanishvili,” their friend, writer Konstantin Paustovsky, described the Zdanevichs’ apartment.

Kirill Zdanevich learned about Pirosmani - at that time a completely unknown artist - in 1913 in St. Petersburg from the artists Natalia Goncharova and Mikhail Larionov, who had just returned from Moldova and brought funny signs they found in Tiraspol. In Georgia, Kirill also discovered such signs. It turned out that their author is a local artist Niko Pirosmanishvili.

“Cyril had acquaintances with peasants, dukhans, itinerant musicians, rural teachers,” recalled Konstantin Paustovsky. - He instructed all of them to look for Pirosman's paintings and signs for him. At first, dukhans sold signboards for pennies. But soon a rumor spread around Georgia that some artist from Tiflis was buying them up, allegedly for abroad, and the tavern makers began to increase the price.

Both the old Zdanevichs and Kirill were very poor at that time. I had a case when buying a painting by Pirosman put the family on bread and water. Maria ran to the Deserter's Bazaar to sell the last earrings or the last jacket. Cyril rushed around Tiflis in the hope of intercepting at least a little money, the old man took payment in advance from his underage.

Finally, the gloomy Kirill (the more he was touched, the more he frowned) brought the picture, silently unfolded it, and said: “Well, how is it?” - and the picture after that hung for several days on place of honor in the living room"…

After the end of the First World War (Kirill was at the front, and Ilya was a war correspondent for the Rech newspaper and managed to work for the Minister of War Kerensky) and the Bolshevik coup in Petrograd, the brothers arrived in Tiflis. Now it was the capital of independent Georgia.

The poet Ilya Zdanevich sometimes took up the brush. In 1922, he came up with a painting for the fabric, from which the wife of the artist Sergei Sudeikin, Vera, sewed a dress for herself.

But more and more the young futurist gravitated toward literature. And the patterns for the dress of Sudeikina (who later became the wife of the composer Igor Stravinsky) were made in the form of letters that made up the words of "abstruse" poems.

Ilya Zdanevich was actually a man of the future. The “Yvon language” invented by him a hundred years ago will be spoken by the “advanced” Internet youth of the 21st century. Only in the 2000s will this language be called the "language of bastards."

The people who have a legend are the legend themselves.

Coco Chanel

The Internet language of the new century and the texts of Zdanevich are actually very similar. More precisely, they are united by the complete absence of rules - as I hear, so I write. “Preved, bear”, “Aftar, drink iada” - these expressions have become firmly established in the everyday life of the inhabitants virtual reality. “Here they don’t know the Albanian language and the biscuit murders give action for nothing bis pyrivod, since the Albanian language with the Russian language goes at vyvonnava…”, meanwhile, Zdanevich wrote almost a hundred years ago…

In 1921, Ilya left for France. The brothers dreamed of settling in Paris all their lives. Ilya himself recalled this: “Our father was an old Parisian. He used his summer holidays to return to Paris. Living in Paris was the dream of our youth, mine and my brother's."

Once in the capital of France, Ilya Zdanevich, who finally became simply Ilyazd for everyone, became friends with Pablo Picasso, Marc Chagall, Max Ernst, Sonia Delaunay, Alberto Giacometti, Joan Miro, many of whom painted his portraits. His good friend was the playwright Jean Kokto, in one of the letters to Ilya directly stated: "Your whole life is a great starry path."

Ilyazd told each of his new friends about Pirosmani, the main character of his life. His stories about the self-taught Georgian artist were so vivid and infectious that Picasso himself decided to paint a portrait of a genius unknown to him. Gabrielle Chanel had the opportunity to see the creations of Pirosmani with his own eyes in the sixties, when an exhibition of his works was held in the Louvre hall.

The first wife of Ilya was the model of the House of Chanel, seventeen-year-old Axel Brocard. In 1927, their daughter Michelle was born. The godmother of the girl was Coco Chanel.

Michel Zdanevich never married, lived all her life in Paris and worked in the library. The second child in the family of Zdanevich and Brocard, whose relationship soon exhausted itself, was the boy Daniel.

Ilyazd's next wife was Princess Ibironike Akinsemoin of Nigeria. After the Nazis entered France, the woman was sent to a concentration camp. There she contracted tuberculosis and died shortly after her release. She was buried at the Georgian cemetery in Levil.

In this marriage, Ilya had a son, Shalva. “Shalva lives in Paris, his apartment is located in the Opera district,” Mirel Zdanevich-Kutateladze told me. “He writes novels and once a year, around Christmas, he calls my sister, who now also lives in France. Sometimes Shalva sends her a postcard, but every time there is no return address on it. The son of Ilya and the Princess of Nigeria is one of the possible contenders for the throne. But he has never been to Nigeria because it is dangerous. There is very serious racism there, and my cousin is a mulatto.”

For the third time, Ilya Zdanevich married the artist Helen Duar, who took her husband's pseudonym as her second surname. At the same time, all her relatives were categorically against this marriage. The choice of Helen, who was a fairly wealthy woman, seemed to them a misalliance.

But she loved Ilya very much. Her brush belongs last portrait Ilyazd. After the death of her husband

Helen Duar-Ilyazd came to Tbilisi, brought his works to the exhibition and met Ilya's niece.

“Helen was a wealthy woman, her first husband was a rich man,” recalled Mirel Zdanevich. - She survived Ilya by 20 years. During her visit to Tbilisi in 1989, we talked a lot with her. And you know, I had the feeling that we speak the same language. Although only my grandfather taught me French and, it would seem, what could I remember then?

It's amazing how everything is intertwined in this story.

The fate of Iliazd turned out to be connected with Paris, and his career - with the name of Gabrielle Chanel.

His brother Cyril remained in Tiflis, where he met his second wife. The meeting took place in 1925 in Cholokashvili's house. The mistress herself at that time was no longer in Georgia - Melita at that time was in Paris, where she showed Coco Chanel's dresses.

This text is an introductory piece. From the book Memories of Maximilian Voloshin author Voloshin Maximilian Alexandrovich

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From the book ... I gradually learn ... author Gaft Valentin Iosifovich

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From the book In the harsh military air author Emelianenko Vasily Borisovich

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From the book Collection of Memoirs about I. Ilf and E. Petrov author Ardov Victor Efimovich

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From the book Contemporaries: Portraits and Studies (with illustrations) author Chukovsky Korney Ivanovich

Ilya Repin It is especially pleasant for me to talk about Repin, because I was very close to him, despite the difference in age. We were neighbors in the Finnish Kuokkala, justly renamed Repino, where the artist lived on his estate "Penates", in which every Wednesday

From the book Sail of Voyages and Memories author Bondarin Sergey Alexandrovich

ILYA REPIN

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From the book Yandex Volozha [History of creating a dream company] author Dorofeev Vladislav Yurievich

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From the book Circle of Friends author Agamov-Tupitsyn Victor

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From the book Silver Age. Portrait Gallery of Cultural Heroes of the Turn of the 19th–20th Centuries. Volume 1. A-I author Fokin Pavel Evgenievich

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Rachel II

Do you see me blind, the moon

let your gilding fade

come down beauty to me in the swamp

to the bottom of shells and boulder

My fate was vainly clear

there is nothing in life but oppression

sometimes love mediocre snare

and transition without rest and sleep

Don't live, don't die, just wait

when grace enters the heart

the dead of night will come blue

And see you for the last time

my eternal enemy always girlfriend

without hate without loving each other

lack of money

Today, bows do not fit on shoes,

I do not want to clean the soiled leggings,

At a quarter to an hour the chimes croaked,

Behind the master's door a setter barked.

Having bought barley for the last altyn,

Behind the frames poured into a painted chute,

Leaving the attic went down to the window

Dove decorated with white spots.

Behind him rose a multi-winged group

From wet stones scattered around the yard,

But my heart ached when I heard how stupid

A sparrow chirped in the garden, puffed up.

The peals of carts burst into the apartment,

A crow flew with a humpback in its beak,

Under the roof of a neighboring humpbacked freak

His short legs clapped caps.

Purple lips of an old groom

The face kissed the crooked dressing table

Breaking the hopeless wire of thought

Undertook to carve a small letter.

Frost hung noodles along the roofs

Grayness boasted greenery along the walls -

Letter paper sadly rustling

But the thought of the world of birds did not grow.

In the steppes

Raven peck cornflower blue eyes,

The expanse will lull: I will fall asleep quietly;

Shroud of night will be wrapped in blue,

A cold cloud will cover the moon

Black ghosts will not disturb the dream,

Do you hear, - the bewitched forest sings ...

The stars will fall in love, go out, perhaps

Languidly fanned by the breaths of the mountains.

Grief, longing - and longing have you gone?

Young bones will be buried by the earth.

There were friends - and they forgot ...

My brother, my father - native fields.

Free soul. Sobbing in space

The sunset fades. The years have sunk.

Steppe, I'm going to you falling asleep! ...

The sun has died. With me. Forever.

Take the wreath woven by me...

Take the wreath woven by me

From red branches of grapes ...

And the mountains are a gloomy mass

Will unravel before you.

Take him. Diamonds of Tears

You will be given the secrets of the world

And deep in the seas of sapphire

You will see the birth of dreams.

Take, as a gift of fire, dreams

And you will comprehend the image of Light...

And you are a burning comet

Give flowers to my love...

Here, hops pollinated in summer tangled the balconies ...

A.D. Taktakova

Here, hops pollinated in summer tangled the balconies,

I returned orthodox in a wreath of carnations.

Look, the yellowing sunflower wilted,

But a kiss appeared in the eyes of the chameleon.

I returned orthodox in a wreath of carnations,

Bunch of grapes will be desired by the reapers

For the floating one - the earth, for the piper - the reed.

The grass has been mowing, the cicadas are intoxicating in the forests.

Enough. Closed circle. smelted ore,

The fruits of the trees are ripe, there is a furrow in the ears.

We are silent again. The reptiles subsided in the walls.

Enough. Closed circle. Smelted ore.

Give the victorious claws to kiss the tigress.

The hand is taken. Wheat is all around.

Here the lips are round to the lips are rounded.

Everyone is drawn to an empty meeting ...

Everyone is drawn to an empty meeting

sometimes at the table, sometimes in chairs we sit

and talk about nothing for hours

and secular empty of empty speech.

And the rhymes are the same one another far away

tobacco smoke hovering over the table

and melts blue at dusk

guarding your evil shoulders

No will, no hope, no desire

there is also no determination

look for the past here is not worth a trace

went into the woods forever gait doe

The evening is over; again without desire

We make a new date

Gabrielle Chanel

Flickering your names

often hides a damp veil

my prayer is turned into a fire

incinerates without burning out

On your shore the land is full

then songbirds, then scream, then play

but I see the times go by

without filling the moat without expanding

We live as allies but in disarray

not closely tied together by affection

promise me to spend together

one of the evenings that year

And will not endure the suburbs of Rome

the weakening heart of a pilgrim

Ek. Vlad. Matte

Again on life's boredom

Laid down the conversation strip:

I rock felucca joys

And spread the sails

Standing above the deep waters

In the promised swim

Dolphin words one by one

Raise the blue.

And crumbling gradually

Beneath a tilted ship

Smiles lacy foam

Turns white in a circular run,

Exhausted playfully ...

But the dance started again.

How seductive the tides

How are your hair dyed.

Gold-Sun

Veronica Berchman

The golden sun of Veronica's hair,

Gold sacristies of Christian Rome.

The Great One goes into the breadth of horizons

The flame of spring and winter rye.

The yellow eye accomplishes victories,

The black night has collapsed.

Hear the clatter of Diomedes' horses

Daggers crave brave warriors

Red leaves fly to the columns

The old grove rejoices in saffron;

Foam born in the green sea

You will be the intercessor of our desires.

The West will pour wine on the steps,

It seems like the lords fought for the land.

my desk light bulb

Anxious bless

sacred lyceum,

What centuries-old radeya

Wants sharpens maces.

Exalted stronger

Opponents of the Universe

Liberator from captivity

The delight of the last floors.

But having bored the albatross

Circling over the coastal soap,

But the house to the unloving bears

Multi-window has not grown.

Hope on the pavement

Mimic berets

Warmed by impatience

In the snowy epitrachil

The earth is full of graves -

Guide to another

From leaf fall, humus

The drunken sister.

M. Argutinskaya-Dolgorukaya

Under the non-sunset holiday of the Day

You will be the forgotten stars

And your forehead, not twisted with ivy,

No one will remember like me.

You won't go with me to the mountains

Torturing tortuous roads

Will the gods be close to you

Not knowing the sun in the morning.

Behind the strings of time

You will not receive the kingdom of the world,

Like a verse marked in purple

My divine names.

Leaving the search for Rune,

You betrayed me Aldons

In the night you buried the sun

And you are doomed to death.

In autumn, the Sun quenches love ...

In autumn, the sun quenches love

Gives the hills a dark blue bunch of grapes.

Splashing juice waters the dying earth

every fruit.

Sunflowers, pears sing,

melons lie in the gardens in heavy lumps.

There is a sharp-nosed hoopoe by the river.

Looking for bugs. In dark winepresses

They drink with shouts, pour new wine.

Ladles and wineskins quickly empty.

Shepherds drive their flocks from the mountains to the plains.

With bleating sheep run, long-haired goats

trample flowers, cut grass.

Pablo Picasso

In vain trembling grasping a pen

trying to poet sheets maraya

bring back centuries of paradise lost

forever forbidden good

write about and about and about

the attempt is equally empty

a flock flies to other edges

and a rare forest covered with silver

And this book over which Pablo

we bowed together for three years

a bygone life a vain imprint

her bed is rumpled with frost

do not call anyone shouting

picking up a pair of dropped gloves

Vintage

A. Taktakova

The grape harvest will continue for a long time,

For a long time we tear green brushes,

In the mountains to graze a fine-fleeced herd,

Weave blue wreaths in the morning,

At noon, get drunk from a deep look.

The dance has grown. Hurry up, hurry up.

Many sheaves are destined to tie.

Let's be dressed with joy here

Slowly drink new wine

Lying under an old, tall cherry tree.

Round lips of banana honeys.

Round lips to round lips.

Throwing up the sunset flame of saffron

The wind is tormented by sadness of desire,

Long kisses gray mists.

In the sky, a conflagration of drunken poison,

The heart does not need any sacrifice or bribe,

The heart of the hay holiday is happy.

Round lips hugged the fruits,

The grape harvest will continue for a long time.

The heavy firmament mourned the late hour...

The heavy firmament mourned the late hour,

behind the cast-iron gate the house calmed down.

In a peony wreath, on a stone terrace

there was a woman entwined with hops.

The gray-haired lilac dress laughed,

Rustled pagan spoiled mouth,

but the dress hid the comedy of the Crucifixion,

forehead - torn reflections of worries,

On the yellowed trampled bed

A broad-winged rook took off from the fig tree.

The face was thrown away in a cracked tub,

Sunny weeping pierced his eyes.

Dark green trimmed thuja

They captivated the abandoned wasteland with walls.

Spoiled mouth blue kisses,

a humble soul asked for a monastery.

In the transparent twilight by the ash grove

the bat rushed about talking about the night.

But quietly over the alder inexorably skinny,

like a boy, the foolish dawn sobbed.

By the noisy embankment of the frightened river...

By the noisy embankment of the frightened river

The fourth day they repair boats with laughter,

Axes are rattling. Burning bottles of vodka.

Hammers are dancing on the old sides.

The foaming water melted the prison.

Sew up the sails. It's time to squeal the plane.

We will cover the mangy nose with verdigris,

whitewash will give a high stern.

But the shores were closed with caustic soot,

the short saw is crying too sharply,

wet chisel slips out of hands,

wiped mute cuffs tremble.

Above the head is a black Norman window,

Away the festival of the great ice drift.

But I see weeping hardships in the festival,

path to the musty, sunless bottom.

Damage to Love

D. Mikeladze

I dedicate

cars dig rough crowd faces as

whether the moon sucks the ore of the left left gang of the sol-

the ground beetle circles the arks of the poor lay on

pavement pieces of wood darkness the darkness the coffee shops

bridges with fright are jumping now threshing

woman hustle lackeys like tangent like

tangent pillars stick out

telephone wires braided the street red-haired

the stars of the constellation speak to them

the earth is evil

hooters raise the suburbs poison prosons

city ​​variety show fox terriers lick lick

people pus

destroy work poles corroded by wormholes

Noah wires in red tatters of grief, grief of the state

fall shot down with fumes on the sidewalks cap- Impromptu

Having uncorked Benedictine,

Half listening to Polyakov

Ilya Mikhailovich alone

On the ottoman of your new one.

Looks Vladimir Solovyov

In troubled shadows

Reading while dreaming

Volkonsky's article about the stage.

I former man...

I'm a former man what's my point

brought back to life you carelessly

when I don't believe in anyone's good

my words entail a lot of guarded

touch my plague

Fate corrupted my soul from a young age

corroded desires long ago vice

in my depths layers of silt

defined extraordinary rock

in the struggle for grief to be a hero of the home front

At first I thought fortunately ahead

break through in the simplicity of my naive

the punished did not remember the past

for precious paid hryvnia

for dog's devotion only evil

What to do with youth homeless

where to find care and advice

years wasted in the pursuit of absurd

dreamers do not allow the light

grains of my possibilities are rotten

Sympathy in vain I searched

not embittered and believing in something

smile instead found a grin

without moving minds what is worse than the beast

without touching hearts that are harder than rocks

What the hell are we looking for in our lives

first success and then peace

refusing to sleep behind the bottom

when parting with the stick at the end

beggar to be laid in a pine coffin

And if it comes true sometimes

let's assign someone more biased

then without delay for a year

death comes and is not satisfied with howling

hyde is shouted to the graveyard horses

Getting rid of superfluous hobbies

by people without parsing the seed

came to me flattering and barking

that without hope there is better for me

with me alone she is not evil

I'm finally tired of believing her

Machamu miku on sacks

Yaks vyka plow