|Arts : Paintings : Yuran Yuran|
A FEW WORDS
In the beginning I became acquainted with the man, far later — with his works… Our first meeting happened to be in Nakhichevan, a land soaked with colour — with red colour. The red colour brought a sensation of belonging to the heart of life — in a cleavage of stone, in the colour of pomegranate, in a ray absorbed by the earth, in the soil cracked with heat… Yuran studied at the Academy of Arts in Leningrad at that time. The things he made did not fit the canons of classicism. He created what suited himself. He played with colour, played grimly smelting and fully burning it out. He created according to laws not recognised by the academic community. Rebellious spirit, tense look, utmost honesty in relations with himself and surrounding people: "painting can convey the truth" — these are words I have heard more than once from Yuran. This truth was an inherent aspiration arising under the tremendous pressure of powerful feelings, merciless to himself, to colour… We met not once… Every time our meeting left a sensation of the great intensity of his life. He held nothing back — from painting, friendship, love confirming the idea of the infinity of a man in creation…
RECOLLECTIONS ADOUT MY FATHER FROM EARLY CHILDHOOD LINKED WITH THE WORLD OF MY CHILDREN'S DREAMS AND FANTASIES
As far as I remember myself pictures were around us everywhere. They inspired warmth and joy, charmed and carried light.
It seems to me that colours for my father also had a "sound". This helped him to transfer them to canvas so pure and sonorous and to reproduce so precisely shades of sensations received from nature. Such a "melodiousness" of a world perception made his painting seem improvized, intuitive.
That must be jazz became one of his most beloved past times which charmed him with its freedom and courage of selfexpression. He played saxophone well and he could express himself in the process of creation with the most varied means: be it painting or music... All his pictures are surprisingly lyrical. Poetic notes constantly sounded in father’s heart.
I feel sorry that at the present time I do not have the chance to communicate with my father directly during my own creative searches and to be an apprentice with him. But I am happy that his pictures live and help me as a mute message through time. And I try to read these characters and signs sent to me from the past...