My interlocutor is Elena Vladimirovna Orlova, a kind and charming woman, Director of the Children’s Art Gallery, Honored Worker of Culture of the Russian Federation, Associate Professor and Head of Department at VGIK — the Volgograd State Institute of Culture and Arts. She is also a well-known artist, not only in our city, a master of watercolor, included in the 2005 encyclopedia “Best People of Russia.”
I came to meet her when crimson autumn twilight was already descending over the city, but Elena Vladimirovna was busy: she was giving painting lessons to five-year-old Gelya Krivova. I found something to occupy myself: I gladly examined the magnificent works by VGIK students displayed in the gallery halls as part of the festival dedicated to our fellow countryman, the artist Ilya Mashkov. I especially liked Elena Vasiltsova’s Turgenev-like women — as it turned out, she was E. V. Orlova’s diploma student.
— How did France welcome you? How did you get there? Was it frightening? I showered Elena Vladimirovna with questions as soon as she was free.
— When I was descending from the aircraft steps at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, I thought I was heading into a nightmare. That was all the passengers were talking about — the riots in Paris, in Lyon. But I did not manage to see anything: those meeting me immediately took me by the arm and put me on a high-speed train to Dijon.
— How did you communicate with the French? Or do you know French?
— That is precisely the point: I know only a few phrases in French. I travelled to Dijon on my own, without accompaniment, and when I got off the train I began to doubt whether I had arrived in the right place. I asked the first people I met: “C’est Dijon?” But everyone started recoiling from me, as if wondering whether Madame was in her right mind. Imagine a foreigner arriving in our city and asking taxi drivers, “Is this Volgograd?” What would he hear in response?..
Confused, I wandered on. I saw policemen loading three burnt-out cars onto tow trucks. Dijon residents surrounded me: “What happened here, madame?” I tried to explain that I was completely at odds with French. “Are you from England?” “No,” I answered in English — thank God I know it at the everyday level. “Oh, you are Spanish!” I left that question without comment. In my head there was only one thought: how to get to the exhibition hall? In a mixture of languages, and mostly with my fingers, I tried to find this out from a passer-by in Dijon. Smiling, he took me by the arm and led me to an old palace. “Here is the exhibition hall, madame!” Embarrassed, I thanked my rescuer.
— So no one met you in Dijon?
— My own fault: I had not warned them when I would arrive. André Belleville, president of the Bourgogne-Erkazi association, who had invited me to exhibit in Dijon, apologised very much. I reassured him as best I could, saying that for me the invitation itself — especially to the capital of Burgundy — was a great honour.
— How did the exhibition opening go?
— Oh, it was something! First of all, during those days the French were celebrating All Saints’ Day. But the exhibition hall was packed. The people of Dijon are great connoisseurs of painting, and especially of Russian painting. Besides, do not forget that Dijon is Volgograd’s twin city. Not only my works were exhibited, but also paintings by local artists. The exhibition was opened by the deputy mayor of Dijon, and he stirred up passions by presenting me as an artist from Volgograd.
— What did you present there at your solo exhibition?
— I was able to bring only eight of my paintings.
“Dijon?” they kept asking me, pointing at my city landscapes. I had to disappoint them: it was Lviv, where my student years had passed. Although in some ways the two cities are similar in architecture and nature. But they would not leave me alone: could they buy them, and these still lifes too?
André Belleville came to the rescue. “No, ladies and gentlemen, these are not for sale!” By the way, he persuaded me to leave my exhibition in Dijon until spring.
“This is what the French love very much,” he convinced me.
— So you could live comfortably in France?
— What are you saying! I spent only ten days in Dijon, but I missed Volgograd so much that I counted the days until departure...
— Did you dislike Dijon that much?
— On the contrary. I enjoyed that wonderful city, its pointed medieval buildings, luxurious nature and hanging flowerbeds. Imagine: it is November outside, and everything is in bloom. All my free time I wandered the streets of Dijon, admiring the Burgundy Canal, the café-chantants, the splendour of shops where there was everything imaginable, and above all watching the people of Dijon — cheerful, resilient people, from a successful banker to the last homeless person.
— Did you stay in a hotel?
— No, I was taken in by the vice-president of the Bourgogne-Erkazi association, Madame Gisèle Beaugen.
“No buts, my dear,” she told me. “You will live with me, full stop.” She studies Russian, as many people in France now do...
The grey-blue eyes of my interlocutor radiated kindness, and I thought how lucky her little pupils are to have found in her a good fairy in this magical looking-glass world. Let me remind you that last summer the gallery opened through Elena Vladimirovna’s efforts celebrated its 15th anniversary.
— How many artists have come out of its walls, and how many paintings have you painted yourself?
— I have not counted, but many. I gave some of my works to friends; some went into private collections and are kept by their owners in the USA, France, Holland, Belgium, Germany, Poland...
— Which of the paintings you have made is dearest to you?
— The graphic work “The Kiss.” It “left” me immediately. And I do not regret it; let it warm the souls of good people.
I confess that throughout this dialogue I could not shake the feeling that my interlocutor was thinking all the time about something of her own.
But she anticipated my question: “Forgive me, I am still there, in Dijon; I have not yet had time to adapt properly. I only returned yesterday...”
I can imagine what it was like for her to find herself alone, without knowing the language, in a foreign country. So I changed the subject.
— Your birthday is in December. What do people usually give you on that occasion?
— Oh, on that day my apartment resembles a flower garden: so many flowers, including my favorite chrysanthemums. And our cat Prokhor, very, very old already — I picked him up as a kitten in the yard about fourteen years ago — wanders stunned among all this splendour with the mute question: “Where have I ended up?”
— Besides flowers, they probably give you something else?
— Of course. Perfume, figurines of cats — I adore them, especially since the cat is the emblem of our gallery.
— Do you have some secret wish, something you dream of?
— You will fall off your chair, but I would not refuse a villa in France. Seriously, I love sitting late into the night with an interesting book. Reading is my passion...
— Probably fashionable detective stories by Darya Dontsova?
— What are you saying? I am rather cool toward her work, though I love detective stories. Georges Simenon, for example, or Agatha Christie. I adore the classics — Kafka, Camus, Sartre...
— Perhaps in some other life you were French?
— I do not know. Although my former passion was “The Master and Margarita.” Even now I can quote individual chapters; I know them by heart. I would not mind wandering around Patriarch’s Ponds in Mikhail Bulgakov’s time. And I adore jazz.
— As far as I know you, Elena Vladimirovna, you are a strong nature; and suddenly I discover that you are also a romantic...
— Yes, the mistress of the gallery agrees. And in this contradiction lies my whole essence. By horoscope I am a Capricorn, and those born under this sign are destined for a thorny path, by no means strewn with roses. And I walk it, I hope, with dignity. What comforts me in the most difficult moments are my pupils, and also my sons and my mother — the dearest people in the world.
— I hope your sons followed in your footsteps?
— Not at all. Both of them, the elder Seryozha and the younger Anton, draw beautifully and have more than once received Grand Prix awards at exhibitions. But alas... Seryozha chose the profession of translator, and Antosha went into hacking. That was after a computer appeared in our home.
I see on Elena Vladimirovna’s desk a photograph clearly made from one of her paintings.
— Is this your work?
— Yes, it is my “Sveta with a Fan.” She is an old friend of mine, a dentist; she now lives in the USA, married to another dentist, and her house is a museum of my paintings. She keeps inviting me to visit, and not for a week or two, but how can I go without the gallery, without VGIK, without my sons and my mother? Besides, I have plenty of plans of my own.
— What plans, if it is not a secret?
— To meet my jubilee with dignity, and it is not far away. To take part in competitions together with my pupils...
— And the New Year is ahead, I prompt Elena Vladimirovna. Do you know that 2006 is the year of the Fire Dog, the Wild Dog?
— I have been afraid of dogs since childhood, but I think I will somehow get along with these. I just do not know what is needed for that.
— The main thing, astrologers advise, is that they recognise you as their friend. So at the New Year table make a toast to friendship and devotion; that will be just right. Wear a blouse or dress with Dalmatian coloring on the festive evening, and light as many candles as possible, since it is the year of the Fire Dog.
— And what should I hope for if I do all that? my interlocutor asks with a smile.
— Naturally, for all your plans to come true.
— Well then, I will wait and hope...
Ivan Barykin, “Volgogradskaya Pravda,” November 28, 2005