The Old Soviet landowner: Pyotr Konchalovsky's painting connected the epochs
The leader of the Russian avant—garde is an exemplary Soviet realist. A follower of the traditions of Cezanne and European innovators, and at the same time a Stalin Prize winner who strangely avoided accusations of formalism and managed to preserve his "I". Finally, he is the son of an outstanding publisher and the grandfather of two major directors. It's hard to believe that all these characteristics relate to one person. His name is Peter Konchalovsky. February 21 marks the 150th anniversary of the painter's birth, and an anniversary retrospective will open in the Russian Museum in the spring. It's time to remember what this paradoxical master created and how his amazing life turned out.
A respectable avant-garde artist
Pyotr Petrovich Konchalovsky was the full namesake of his father, also Pyotr Petrovich. The founder of the dynasty worked as a publisher. It was thanks to him that Vrubel illustrated Lermontov's "Demon" and "Hero of Our Time", and Konchalovsky Sr. himself for the first time completely translated Defoe's "Robinson Crusoe" and Swift's "Gulliver" into Russian.
The work of the artist Peter Konchalovsky "Bullfight" (1910) at the exhibition "Images of Spain. Russian art of the XIX–XXI centuries"
Since childhood, Petya Konchalovsky was surrounded by art, great painters, and, in addition, received an excellent education: he studied for a long time in France, then at the St. Petersburg Academy of Arts. In his youth, he traveled all over Europe, where he was able to see the latest achievements of the Impressionists and modernists, primarily Cezanne, who became the main style reference for Konchalovsky. Peter was completely amazed by Spain: in 1910, he painted a whole series of paintings with images of bullfighting, and although critics and colleagues point to the influences of Matisse, Van Gogh, Mashkov, the cycle becomes Konchalovsky's first major success.
He was older than many avant-garde artists: due to prolonged education and travel, Konchalovsky entered the art scene when he was already 30. But almost immediately he became a very prominent figure. In 1911, together with Larionov, Lentulov, Mashkov and other young rebels, he founded the Jack of Diamonds society, and also participated in exhibitions of the Union of Youth and the World of Art (although already at the later stages of the association's existence). In general, I used every opportunity to declare my creativity.
At the same time, Konchalovsky's works have always, even in this era of futurism, been devoid of provocation, outrage, and the desire to impress the public with purely formal finds. He is a stranger to any kind of radicalism. Interestingly, even portraying himself ("Self-Portrait in Gray" from 1911 and "Self-Portrait" from 1912), Konchalovsky creates an emphatically decent bourgeois image, which seems to be completely at odds with the status of one of the leaders of the avant-garde. Let's compare this with Ilya Mashkov's famous "Self—Portrait and Portrait of Pyotr Konchalovsky" (1910), where the co-founder of the Jack of Diamonds presented himself and his friend as half-naked muscular machos (a real challenge at that time).
At the recent exhibition "Our Avant-garde" at the Russian Museum, this particular canvas became a key work: as soon as the viewer entered the exhibition space, he met face to face with the heroes of the era, led by Mashkov and Konchalovsky. While the art of Peter Petrovich himself, invariably present in all such projects (as well as in the permanent exhibitions of both treasures of Russian art — the State Russian Museum and the Tretyakov Gallery), still finds itself a little in the shadows, in the background. He lacks the flashiness and audacity that we involuntarily expect from the avant-garde.
Meyerhold instead of Stalin
But perhaps this is what helped Konchalovsky to find himself after the revolution and not to lose himself in the Stalin era. Yes, his style has become significantly more realistic, the color scheme has moved away from the "cezanne" cold and earthy shades towards greater colorfulness and decorativeness, cubist and primitivist elements have disappeared, but the themes of creativity have remained the same. And, most importantly, the view of the world itself is the same. Calm, cheerful, optimistic, avoiding any extreme manifestations.
While other painters painted battle paintings on the theme of revolution and civil war, immortalized images of party leaders, glorified industrialization and collective farm records, Konchalovsky created serene, sun—drenched landscapes, portraits of the Soviet creative elite, still lifes ... Of the latter, he was particularly successful in numerous images of lilacs - so much so that years later one of the varieties They'll even call him by his name.
There is a well-known story of how Peter Petrovich masterfully avoided a government order for a portrait of Stalin. "I would be happy, but I am a realist, and therefore I cannot work from photography, I need live sessions," he told the envoys from the Kremlin with forced regret. Of course, the leader of the peoples did not want to allocate a lot of time for posing. The work did not take place. At the same time, Konchalovsky painted a portrait of Meyerhold when he was already in disgrace (researchers consider the image visionary: the painter managed to show the confusion of the seemingly imposing hero).
Surprisingly, all these seditious facts, all this apolitical attitude and independence of creative aspirations not only did not cost Konchalovsky his life and freedom, but, on the contrary, did not prevent him from receiving endless titles, awards and privileges. He was one of the first to become a full member of the USSR Academy of Arts, his exhibitions were held one after another, and the apotheosis of the mercy of the authorities was the Stalin Prize of the first degree, which was awarded (at the height of the Great Patriotic War!) not for a specific job, as it usually happened, but for achievements in general.
Why was he so favored at the top? Why wasn't it touched during the most dangerous years? The answer probably lies precisely in the very content of Konchalovsky's art. In difficult, hungry, anxious times, it served as a kind of antidepressant. It created the illusion of well-being, abundance, harmony, and the fact that everything was going on as usual.
"Everything went well again"
Not everyone accepted this approach. In 1933, after the opening of a large retrospective dedicated to the 25th anniversary of Konchalovsky's work, a huge article by the famous art critic Abram Efros appeared in the Izvestia newspaper, where he analyzed the artist's work in detail and, noting the unconditional skill, lack of failures, diligence, came to an ironic conclusion.:
"And what will they tell their descendants, what can these dozens and hundreds of canvases by Konchalovsky say? They say: in the 1930s, a peaceful, blissful and satisfying lazy life went on around the artist: apple trees bloomed, women swam in rivers, there were a lot of fruits, bouquets were on the table, children slept smartly under pink satin blankets, young people played the piano, hunted a lot, killed a lot of hares and game the pig, fat and monumental, captivated the eye and imagination, Moscow, as from time immemorial, was a large village, and St. Petersburg, as always, was adorned with Baroque Empire buildings, latticework; here and there Pushkin was read and depicted. Is that all? It's like everything! No, one more significant addition: there were not enough lacquered trays, and the artists undertook to fill the gap: they filled it, and everything went well again."
Visitors at the painting by the artist Pyotr Konchalovsky "Tolstoy is my guest" (1940-1941) at the exhibition "Pyotr Konchalovsky. Towards the Evolution of the Russian Avant-Garde" at the State Tretyakov Gallery
In fact, Efros is right. Landscapes, still lifes, portraits of Konchalovsky are an escape from reality. But they did not lie, they did not embellish the life that ordinary people had, showing collective farms as an earthly paradise, but they gave an opportunity to look into completely different realities. Like the cosmic Ocean in Tarkovsky's Solaris, they embodied the subconscious dreams of the audience.
Here, for example, is "Alexey Nikolaevich Tolstoy visiting an artist." In front of the sleek, important writer, there was a table set: a huge ham, red fish, baked poultry, vegetables, a glass of ruby tincture (Konchalovsky made it himself — that's what the family called it: "konchalovka"). Was this how the rest of the country lived? Especially in the year when the portrait was created: 1941…
Konchalovsky Mountains
In the early 1930s, Konchalovsky became a real landowner: he bought the Bugry estate near the villages of Belkino and Obninskoye. He went hunting, ran a farm, walked with his grandchildren, the future famous directors Andrei Konchalovsky and Nikita Mikhalkov, resisted any signs of progress, using kerosene lamps. In general, I created a complete illusion for myself that nothing had changed since Turgenev's time. Many works, including the very portrait of Tolstoy, were painted by him in Mounds.
Very close to his estate in 1946, work began on the creation of the world's first nuclear power plant. It was commissioned in 1954, during the artist's lifetime. But in the Hills, time flowed in its own way, progress did not affect them. The master was only a few days short of his 80th birthday. And after his death, the science city of Obninsk was founded next to the estate, part of which today is a forested hill called the Konchalovsky Mountains.
People's Artist of the RSFSR Pyotr Konchalovsky with his family
At the top of this hill there is a manor house, which has not been built for a long time and has been waiting for restoration for years. Near her, behind the fence, in a publicly accessible part of the forest, there is an unusual tree: a cork oak. How he got there and, most importantly, how he survived in a completely unsuitable, by no means tropical climate, is a mystery. Its trunk is not particularly thick, and outwardly the tree is not very remarkable. But it's amazingly resilient. Old-timers claim that the oak appeared even before the foundation of the nuclear power plant, that is, under Konchalovsky. Wasn't it from his bark that the artist made corks for bottles of his signature concoctions?
In a sense, Pyotr Konchalovsky himself was such a mysterious tropical tree in the harsh Soviet "climate" — cultivated on European art and traditions, strangely aristocratic, but firmly rooted in Russian soil and safely survived all the vicissitudes of Russian history in the first half of the 20th century. And today his work pleases no less than in the pre-war years, inspiring hope that everything will pass, but there will remain fragrant lilacs, family traditions, and ancient oaks in ancestral nests.…
Переведено сервисом «Яндекс Переводчик»
