Published: 18 July 2020 on the first anniversary of Victor Ryabinin’s death
Victor Ryabinin died on 18 July 2019
For those who knew him well, it has been a difficult 12 months. The first 12 months after someone dear passes away always is. There are so many occasions that memory will not let go of, everything becomes a commemorative anniversary of the last time, and it is virtually impossible not to fall victim to the ‘this time last year’ syndrome.
As the anniversary of Victor’s death closed in, it has also been impossible not to fall under the insidious spell of that morbid countdown: viz, this time last year Victor had only four weeks left to live … It is a macabre thought is it not, that last 60 seconds of life ticking inexorably away and then nothing? Not just the physical man himself gone but, as Leonard Cohen so eloquently puts it, “that tangle of matter and ghost”. A lifetime lost in a second. A unique loss of personality, thoughts, talent, experience, good nature, kindness, humanity. It is, indeed, a morbid thought, but as a friend of mine pragmatically said about death, “Well, you can’t stop it, can you?”
There is nothing much longer than eternity, but notwithstanding in the past 12 months those of us who were fortunate enough to be counted among Victor’s friends and those whom he taught and mentored have been just as busy preserving his memory as we have been cherishing it and missing him.
Book celebrating Victor Ryabinin’s work
As well as my blog, which is dedicated to Victor Ryabinin, to his artistic talent, to the magic that he found in and brought to Königsberg-Kaliningrad and to the man himself, one of Victor’s closest friends, Marina Simkina, herself an artist, has been working with writer and journalist Boris Nisnevich to bring to fruition a book about the life and work of this remarkable man: a thematically related text with essays, personal recollections, interviews, letters and poems which taken together speak of the rich legacy that Victor has bequeathed in his paintings, assemblages, collages and diaries and, for those of us who knew him personally, in the light that his sincerity, goodwill, open nature and profound interest in everything he heard or saw brought into our lives.
On the first anniversary of Victor’s death, I have added another article to the pages of my blog contributed by our friend Stanislov, whom Victor introduced us to shortly before he passed away
Catalogue of Victor Ryabinin’s work
Stas, as we know him, is actively involved in a project which will hopefully see the canon of Victor Ryabinin’s artistic work and his collection of Königsberg ‘relics’ housed and displayed in a permanent exhibition here in Kaliningrad. He also hopes to catalogue Victor’s work and produce a definitive version in print of the extraordinary talent of this man whose self-genre as Königsberg’s art-historian captured, celebrated and ultimately cast him as the spirit of the ruined city he had spent his life divining ~ the very Spirit of Königsberg.
Victor Ryabinin’s love affair with the interconnectivity of Königsberg’s past and Kaliningrad’s present, the surface paradox of two cultures hammered together in war but mysteriously wed by time and destiny, was as devotional as it was unconditional. For him, both transition and movement were seamless; it was the place itself that ‘drew people in’ as it had drawn him in.
Victor’s childhood impressions and art-historian perspective surpassed that of mere academia ~ he lived and breathed Königsberg. It was not a lifestyle choice; it was made for him; it was predestined. The symbiotic relationship that he formed with this special, this unique place, as he called the Königsberg.-Kaliningrad continuum, continually reminded him that his soul existed in two cultures, both Russian and German, and as much as he enjoyed anywhere else he intuitively knew he belonged nowhere else. He could not precisely say why, ‘I cannot explain this magic’, but as a child of Königsberg’s ruins he instinctively knew “this is my city”.
His city, represented symbolically through the artistic fusion of his childhood memories, the interaction between Gothic ruins and Hoffman’s Gothic fantasy, transcended time and place, engendering philosophical interpretations on a universal scale. His enduring belief in the insolubility of the past’s effect on the present and of existence viewed as a fantastic web of interconnectivity may suggest that whilst he had a definite sense of place and his place in it, he was also a child of the universe, but if so he was a prodigy.
In memory of Victor Ryabinin
The oft-cited opinion of those who were close to him, that he exhibited an almost childlike fascination in everything new that he saw or heard, was not a slight on his character but a character trait to be envious of. For the majority of people, interest, as with every other human faculty, slips further and further away from us the older we become, but not so with Victor, who remained alert, fascinated, enthralled to the last. Even in the latter days of his life, when in hindsight, by recourse to photographs of that time, he appeared discernibly older and more frail, he never lost his curiosity, he never grew old as others grow old, giving up his zest for life only when life itself decided that the time had come for him to paint his last picture, make his last entry in his pictorial diary and drink his last cognac with friends.
In the shadow of death and even more desperately in its gloomy, memory-filled aftermath, we rake among the embers not of the life that has passed, the life that has been extinguished, but in what remains of our left-behind lives, in hope of consolation.
But my consolation in Victor’s death lies in the certain knowledge that whilst we grieve for ourselves, we have no real need to grieve for him, for he has returned to the self-same spot where it all began. He is a child again in the ruins of Königsberg. His spirit has gone home. He is now a part of that history which so fascinated and clung to him from the moment of his birth. It is my belief that it never let go; he was just given to us on loan; and he drew us into Königsberg as he himself had been drawn in.
If you do not believe me just listen to and read the testimonials of those who knew him and what they have to say ~ his students, friends and colleagues. Through their words and their impressions, they seek to understand the mystical aura with which Victor was endowed. We may never comprehend it entirely, but we share one thing in common which is a sense of pride and privilege that in this ephemeral but interconnected world it was fortunately predetermined that our paths should cross with his.
We shall miss him always, forget him never.
Victor Ryabinin died on 18 July 2020 Forever Königsberg
Stanislav Konovalov ~ Stas ~ passed away in November 2020 from post-operative complications whilst undergoing hospital treatment. We salute him for the memories he has bequeathed us and grieve for those that would have been had death not suddenly deprived us of his company. The biographical article that follows was originally written and published on 18th July 2020. It stands in testament to Stas’ love of the history of this city and this land and as a tribute to Stas himself, a man that we are proud to have known and been able to call our friend.
About Stas Konovalov Stas Konovalov is a professional tour guide who specialises in tours of Kaliningrad and the Kaliningrad region. His tours are given in Russian and English. His love for this land was nurtured and advanced by his friend and mentor, Victor Ryabinin, the legendary artist-historian, for whom life began in the ruins of Königsberg and for whom Königsberg became his life. Under Victor’s tuition, Stas honed his knowledge of the city and its region, from its ancient Prussian roots, through the years of the Weimar Republic, through its rise, fall and eventual destruction from the beginning to end of WWII, its fate under Soviet rule, onto the modern bustling city, attractive coastal resorts and UNESCO heritage status by which it is defined today. Stas’ tours, given in both Russian and English, can be either broad-based or thematically tailored to suit individual or group interests. He refers to them in the second half of this article, where you will also find links to his internet tour page and his introductory YouTube videos.
Originally published: 18 July 2020 on the first anniversary of Victor Ryabinin’s death
My wife and I were introduced to Stanislov (Stas) in the winter of 2018 by Victor Ryabinin. He prefaced the meeting with “I want you to meet a very good friend of mine. He has a love for Königsberg. He is an interesting man, with a very interesting flat!”
At that time my wife and I were in temporary accommodation, looking for property to buy in Kaliningrad. It was but a short walk from where we were living to ‘the interesting man and his flat’. It had been snowing and it was snowing, and I will always remember Victor jumping up and down outside the door to the block of flats where Stas lives and clicking his heels together to shake the snow from his heels, saying “This is possibly the only flat in Kaliningrad where you are not expected to take off your shoes and run around in your socks.” Apart from this phenomenon, the interesting man and his interesting flat did not disappoint.
Sadly, our mutual friend Victor died in the summer of 2019.
At the end of his funeral, we thanked Stas for his support and his company. He replied, simply but sincerely: “I think we consoled each other.”
Since then we have continued to console each other, and Stas and his girlfriend (another Olga) have become good friends. I said to my wife, Olga, it was very fortunate that Victor introduced us to Stas when he did. Typically, Olga replied, “It was no coincidence. It was meant to be.”
Stas is planning to produce a catalogue of Victor’s work and is directly involved in attempts to establish a permanent exhibition, where the legacy of Victor’s art and relics from Königsberg can be properly displayed for future generations.
This is Stas’ story, of his life leading up to his meeting with Victor Ryabinin and how under Victor’s tutelage his life going forward has been directed and shaped.
Stanislav Konovalov ~ a brief biography
Upon leaving school, I entered the Kaliningrad Technical University Commercial Fisheries Department. In 1985, it was not difficult as that department was no longer popular. The course was not easy to follow in that it covered all aspects of engineering in depth, that is theoretical mechanics, strength of materials, physics, mathematics and so on.
My university study was interrupted for two years by national service in the Soviet Army. It was a period in the mid-1980s called ‘children of the children of WWII ’, when the army had to compensate for staff shortages by enlisting students, even from technical universities in spite of the fact that these had their own military departments.
My national service was undertaken mainly in the chemical defence forces. Once completed, I was so afraid that military service had kicked my brains out that when I returned to university I needed to prove otherwise and worked as hard as I could.
Army life ~ Only 100 Days to Go!!
At university, I met old friends and made new ones who felt the same way about the possible adverse effects of army life, so we united as a group of six to seven guys and studied eagerly. Soon, we were enjoying our studies and were surprised to find that on completion of our first ‘after army’ exams we were not as stupid as we thought. Thereafter, having developed a taste for study our later successes did not surprise us so much.
As undergraduates we were eager to invent and implement something extraordinary which would push commercial fisheries forward. My diploma thesis supervisor was Professor A L Fridman, who had studied under Professor F I Baranov. A street in Kaliningrad is named after Professor Baranov, who was the founder of scientific application for commercial fisheries. His name is well known among colleagues worldwide, as his book Techniques ofCommercial Fisheries, written in 1933, was translated into many languages.
The idea which I presented to Professor Fridman was to combine fish biology (fish behavior) with specific fishing equipment in order to develop efficient and selective fisheries.
Professor Fridman, who had professional contacts worldwide, arranged for lectures to be given at our university by two doctors of science from the Aberdeen Marine Laboratory, Scotland. Some of the topics encompassed by these lectures approximated to ideas covered in my course project, so I asked if I could meet with Clem Wardle, one of the visiting lecturers, to discuss these. I felt quite confident about my English, and besides Dr Wardle had extensive experience of communicating with non-English students.
These discussions led to me being invited for a training course at the Aberdeen Marine Laboratory, prior agreement having been made that two students from our university would participate in studies in Scotland.
I presented my Diploma Statement in both Russian and English, and the next day I became an engineer and assistant of the Commercial Fisheries Department of the university. But it did not last long. Perestroika was in full swing, and I had to channel my time and energy into earning money to feed my young family, which left little time for scientific research.
When did you first become interested in art?
I was seven years old when an art enthusiast, Alevtina Maksimova, created an experimental art group in the Kaliningrad Art School. At that time, entrance was restricted to children in the 10 to 12 age group. I cannot begin to imagine the effort she must have put into creating such a group under the Soviet system. Anyway, she succeeded.
Bureaucratic barriers having been overcome, she visited schools in Kaliningrad, examined children’s drawings and selected potential students on the basis of their work. I was one of them. Initially, the art lesson lasted 15 minutes, three times a week, but gradually class time was extended to normal hours.
For the next four years, I studied sculpture, painting, drawing, history of art and so on, and it soon became routine.
When did you first meet Victor Ryabinin and what part did he play in your artistic interest?
We were drawing and painting still life and in warm seasons went outside to practise. The last academic year included the subject Applicable Composition (Design). Viktor Ryabinin was our teacher.
As for the arts, Ryabinin directed me more towards feeling the harmony and philosophy of art. It was a sort of magic. He did it so gently that I thought that I had discovered it myself.
Stanislav Konovalov
At first sight, from a teenager’s point of view, he was this small and funny man, but very soon our attention was attracted to his methods of teaching. He was a breath of fresh air in my understanding of art. He was so alive in comparison with many of the other teachers. He ignited our imagination. He was not backward in pointing out our mistakes, but he inspired! And he took a sincere interest in our artistic development, which extended beyond the classroom.
When he invited us to his art studio, I was impressed on two accounts: first, that he had invited us at all; and second, by the studio itself. It was not as cluttered as it became in later years, but it had a special atmosphere that charmed me forever.
As for the arts, Ryabinin directed me more towards feeling the harmony and philosophy of art. It was a sort of magic. He did it so gently that I thought that I had discovered it myself.
With Victor’s help, I became interested in many artistic genres: Symbolism, Surrealism and others, and creating in graphics or in colour. Ryabinin attracted my attention to Impressionism as a means of playing with colours. Still life and landscape pictures are definitely important to me as are learning basic techniques from which drawing skills accumulate that can be implemented in any genre.
As a mentor, Victor was kind but did not hold back when pointing out mistakes. Drawing my attention to the Impressionists, he repeated the words of his mentor Valentine Grigoriev, “dark – darker, light – lighter”. What this means, for example, is that the shadow of a green apple must never be painted in a dark, green colour. He said (about any object drawn): “It must be tasty and alive!”
I continued to draw and paint after finishing art school. I showed Victor each new picture, listened to his remarks and very often corrected mistakes to which he alluded and even re-drew some of my pictures. When a new picture was ready, I would telephone Victor, and we would agree on a time to meet at his studio. Later, when I stopped drawing, we remained in contact.
What made you become more interested in the history of Königsberg than to proceed with your art studies?
I have been charmed by Königsberg for as long as I can remember. Of course, in my youth there were a lot of myths circulating among children and teenagers about underground objects relevant to old Königsberg that impressed my sense of fantasy. But it was Victor who inspired a new surge of interest in the history of the city and the surrounding land. Victor was an authority on Königsberg urban life. He knew very well the history of certain districts and even certain houses. He was an excellent storyteller, often attracting your attention to particular details that had passed you by in daily life.
Through Victor, I learnt many things that I had seen throughout my life in Königsberg but had never really thought about.
Stanislav Konovalov
I learnt a lot of things from Victor of this nature, for example about the hatches on the streets and pavements, in which factories they had been made and how they were brought to Königsberg; that the granite curb stones and cobbles used in the construction of the pavements and roads had been shipped from Scandinavia. Through Victor, I learnt many things that I had seen throughout my life in Königsberg but had never really thought about.
Have you any particular memories of your association with Victor both as mentor and friend?
Victor was always pleased when I arranged to meet him at his Kaliningrad studio with visitors from other Russian cities and from abroad. By the way, the first signature in his Guest Book was that of Noel Mizen, an engineer from the ELGA Pure Water Company, England. I was an interpreter for him when he installed the purification system at Kaliningrad’s vodka plant.
Being an artist, Victor had a sharp eye. I remember once walking with him among the ruins of Balga Castle and around the lagoon coast. We had a flask of cognac, from which we sipped from time to time. The weather was good and the leisurely walk enjoyable.
Next to the water’s edge Victor picked up a small piece of something and showed it to me. He explained that it was a metal button from the trousers of a Wehrmacht soldier. I was impressed that such a tiny detail had not escaped his notice. This was part of his magic: his ability to give a lesson invisibly.
I am happy I knew Victor and that I met with him a lot. For the last years of his life we lived almost in the same street, so we would bump into each other quite often. Victor appreciated my cooking. I used to invite him for a meal, and we would sit in my kitchen, talk, and often look at and discuss the latest entries in his pictorial diaries.
I am very lucky to have met Victor and to have been his student. I learnt a lot from him. He was a great artist and a good man.
By the way, I also feel lucky that I took lessons in in martial arts from Guy Aerts, 6-dan master, the student of Tanemura Sensei, the patriarch of the Traditional Jujutsu school and that I took guitar lessons from one of the best musicians and guitar players, Sergey Teplyakov.
Stas learnt to play the guitar, but he did not mention anything about horses!
Although, I can count some achievements, I have no pretensions of being a star student. I remember the words of one of the martial arts masters: “All your achievements are the achievements of your teachers. All your defeats are the result of your remissness.”
However, I keep in contact with all my teachers, and it seems to me they enjoy it too ~ I hope!
History-based tours of Kaliningrad
(a) Can you remember the first tour that you organised? To be honest, I can’t remember my first tour. It sometimes seems as if I have been doing them all of my life. As a child I shared the knowledge that I had gained about Königsberg-Kaliningrad from adults that I had met and from my parents’ friends with my mates. When I was older, I would use that knowledge to entertain visitors in the companies where I worked. I knew more about Königsberg than my colleagues, and this enabled me to arrange sightseeing trips. Of course, looking back I see how funny and unprofessional those tours were, but the main purpose was achieved – people came on my tours, received a first impression of the place they were interested in and, wanting to know more, returned again and again.
There are two occasions that I remember in particular. The second half of my national service was undertaken in Kaliningrad, but through my national service I had made friends with guys from all over the USSR. One of them came from Samara (at that time Kuibyshev) before he was sent to Kaliningrad. This friend would walk a lot through the city. He even created a chart of the routes he had taken.
He once opined that there was nothing to see in Kaliningrad. Although we were friends, his comment irritated me. Nevertheless, I patiently asked where exactly had he walked and what had he seen? He replied, and I explained to him exactly what he had seen and what had escaped his eye. After my ellucidation his route chart extended dramatically.
Later ~ 20 years later ~ thanks to the internet, we contacted each other again. He decided to visit me in Kaliningrad and stay for five days. When I met him at the airport, he introduced me to his wife: “Meet Stas, who I told you about,” he said. “It was he who made me fall in love with Kaliningrad.”
The second occasion that I recall concerns the regional manager in Germany of the company for which I worked. She had visited the company where I would eventually work six years before I joined it and had been avoiding Kaliningrad ever since! We got to know each other and met several times at events in Moscow and in Germany. Finally, she came to Kaliningrad again.
I didn’t try to show her something extraordinary in Kaliningrad or ‘the best of the best’, after all she had lived in Bremen and Schweinfurt for decades ~ two interesting cities. I simply showed her Kaliningrad, and we went for a walk around the coastal resort Svetlogorsk. I told her about Kaliningrad after the war and included some true stories about families that I knew. At the close of her visit, I gave her a lift to Gdansk Airport. As we embraced and said our farewells, she paid me the highest compliment: “I disliked Kaliningrad,” she said, “but, thanks to you, I have almost fallen in love with it!” For me, who loves the city and introduces visitors to it, what could be better to hear?
(b) How have your tours progressed since then? Having been told by many people for whom I have organised tours that I am in the wrong job, ie that I would be better as a tour guide, I asked if I was such a bad logistics manager. My friends and colleagues then tried to assure me that I was an excellent logistics manager, but my tour-guide abilities are superb. So, whilst accepting the compliment, I still doubt my logistics professionalism.
As I became more involved in giving tours, I set about reading up on the history of Königsberg-Kaliningrad and researched particular topics. It is one thing to give sightseeing tours to friends but quite another to visitors who might be well-read on the history of Königsberg and interested in specific details. My biggest problem is memorising exact dates, and this worried me. After a while, however, I consoled myself with the thought that bachelors and masters graduates of university history departments are not typical of the type of people who want to enlist my tour service, and that ‘normal’ people don’t usually want to be overloaded with precise dates (except, perhaps, with regard to a very few extremely interesting places or situations).
Exactly a year ago, as I am writing this, I received a tourist from Moscow. The young lady, a manager in a big international company in Moscow, had a background in history. She knew the history of Königsberg quite well. I must admit that I was rather nervous about the prospect of showing her around, especially as I was recommended to her by a mutual friend. I felt that it was more like an exam for me than an excursion for her. The excursion took about 10 hours instead of the expected three-and-a-half to four hours. She was open-minded, analytical but happy to see what it was that she had read about. We understood each other well, and I think I calculated quite accurately what she wanted to see on the tour and what would impress her. Several times I hit the bullseye!
(c) Which tours specifically do you offer now? Normally, I offer a general sightseeing tour, with some particular interest deviation, for example the history of beer brewing in Königsberg-Kaliningrad, Königsberg as a fortress city, the exploration of certain districts comparing its history with its modern life, the Curonian Spit, Baltic seaside towns and so on. What is most interesting for me about guiding is trying to identify the ‘general trend’ that a particular tourist or group are interested in ~ what they expect to see and hear.
The more detailed I am able to make a narrative, the more excited they get. But I never invent my own myths; I extract the expected theme from the history I have researched and then animate it. I focus on their interest with a view towards inspiring further interest in a specific topic, place and the history that surrounds it.
YouTube videos
(a) How many YouTube videos have you completed to date? There are six at the moment. The first video I did was undertaken for a tour guides’ competition. When it was completed, I watched my video and compared it with the videos made by other participants. I was pleased to discover that the theme of my video went beyond the format required by the contest. I immediately prepared two more videos. I did not get any reward for these, except for a phone call from a federal radio channel and the pleasure of having a couple of minutes conversation on-air with radio presenters whom I particularly like.
I posted my videos on my Facebook page and also on the YouTube channel and got a few positive responses, so I thought it would be a good idea to make some more videos, the idea being that they would act as a video business-card. In my opinion, very few people are prepared to read about you, but people respond to videos in the same way as they interact with television, using the remote-control mentality. You press a button listing the TV channels. If something attracts you, grabs your attention, you might stay on one channel for a few seconds. If not, you list forward. So, my videos are brief. On one hand, to demonstrate who I am and my ability to communicate, and on the other to provide a glimpse of what my tours are about and what can be learnt at a deeper level.
(b) Elaborate on the work involved, the difficulties and the positive aspects I’m not sure if I followed it to the letter, but I keep in mind Chekhov’s idea, “be short with words, but wide with thoughts”. It took quite a while to write texts based on that precept. The initial texts were excluded. When I checked the time that it took me to read them, I was able to work out what needed to be excluded. It was a good experience. After the fourth video, my camera man, a professional, said to me “You can now work on TV”, as we made fewer single-takes than we had before.
(c) Which of your current videos do you like the best and why? I both like and hate all of them. I hate my appearance in all of them. I like what we did and how we did it. I became friends with the camera man, Mikhail. My son handled the video editing. It was, besides the purpose behind producing them, fun to make these videos. Once my son, Ed, presented me with a ‘gift’ video; it contained all my pratfalls. I laughed watching it. That was great!
Good news. I talked to Galina Zabolotskaya, the Director of the Art Museum, and she told me that they could mount a permanent exhibition of Victor’s work within a hall on the museum’s ground floor in which they commemorate artists of Königsberg and Kaliningrad. She proposed that Victor’s masterpieces be displayed in a room reserved for his work exclusively. In my estimation, this could take some time. Sergey, Victor’s nephew, wants, on one hand, to bring Victor’s pictures and his collection to as wide an audience as possible but, on the other, he is extremely cautious about who he entrusts Victor’s work to.
I can see no benefit in trying to persuade him to act until he himself is ready; in fact, I am of the opinion that too push too hard will simply provoke resistance. I keep in contact with him, and we have taken some important steps in the right direction. I feel that he is pleased with what we have done.
Apart from, and in addition to, setting up a permanent exhibition, I would like to see Victor, the man and art-historian, and the unique contribution that he has made to the memory of Königsberg, commemorated by publishing an album, or catalogue, of his work and collection. I am on the case and will keep you informed about how things are progressing.
I first met Victor Ryabinin in the spring of 2001. A friend of my wife’s, knowing how much my wife liked art and how fascinated I was with anything to do with the past, suggested that we meet this ‘very interesting’ man, who was an artist and a historian.
When somebody prefaces an introduction with ‘you’ll like him/her’, the Imp of the Perverse often ensures that you won’t, but there is no doubt in my mind, or memory, that I warmed to him immediately. This surprised me, because I am naturally, or unnaturally depending on your definition, cautious when meeting someone new, and I am somewhat selective when it comes to making friends. But Victor won me over in an instant.
How much of his good nature, depth of intellect, openness and sincerity were perceived at that moment is open to question, and I am sure that the surroundings in which I found myself contributed not a little to my relaxed frame of mind, but I still recall that overriding impression of being in the company of someone very special.
The Studio: Victor Ryabinin Artist Historian
We met in Victor’s studio ~ a small, wedge-shaped room at the top of a non-descript concrete Soviet block of flats. Little did I know then as I climbed the tier upon tier of crumbling steps leading to his studio, how many more times over the next 18 years I would climb them or how enthusiastically.
As an inveterate collector of vintage, antiques, junk, and having been obsessed with the past for as long as I can remember, at least from the age of four, Victor’s studio was an absolute paradise. It was a cornucopia of relics, a living memorial to the past splendour of Königsberg, a stimulating reminder of its World War II legacy and its subsequent reincarnation as the Soviet city Kaliningrad.
The back wall of the studio alone was worth travelling one thousand, one hundred and seventy-five miles for! It had been clad from floor to ceiling with a carefully orchestrated mosaic of old enamel advertising, information and military signs, some from pre-war Königsberg, others of wartime origin, identified as such by the presence of the Nazi swastika.
Victor Ryabinin & Mick Hart in The Studio, Summer 2015
The back wall of the studio alone was worth travelling one thousand, one hundred and seventy-five miles for!
Everywhere else there was stuff: bottles dug out of the Königsberg ruins, the corroded remains of wartime weapons, vintage Soviet uniforms, metal wall plaques ~ including profiles of Hitler and Stalin ~ German and Soviet military helmets, plates, cutlery, bits and bobs of jewellry, fragments of porcelain, bottle tops. Everywhere ~ on tables, shelving, walls and floor was stuff ~ relics from a dissolved city, sublimely intermingled with Victor’s works of art-history: symbolic paintings, surreal sculptures and unique subliminally haunting ‘assemblages’.
Living history: Victor Ryabinin Königsberg Kaliningrad
In one corner, by the wall, there was a set of old wooden steps that led to a small gantry, which had a slatted rail to the front. When we first visited the studio, this rail was adorned with one or two vintage flags and three or four military visor caps. In those days, the ‘upper storey’ had been sufficiently empty for Victor to bed down there if the mood so took him. When we last visited in 2019, however, the entire front rail of the gantry was obscured with all manner of flags, hats and other items and the gantry itself was full. This, as they say, was a man after my own heart! The studio was a nostalgists heaven! And a work of living history to a city that had ceased to be.
Victor Ryabinin’s Art Studio 2019: Victor Ryabinin Artist Historian, Königsberg-Kaliningrad
On our first visit to the studio, we had taken with us a ‘picnic’: some meats, cheeses, salad items, crisps, olives and pickled gherkins. We had also taken some vodka and sat around the small rectangular table shared by all sorts of interesting bygones, including the busts of Karl Marx and Lenin, who were watching us intently. This set in motion a social ritual which would be practiced many times over the next 18 years.
Artist Historian Victor Ryabinin Königsberg Kaliningrad
On my office wall, in the antique emporium that we used to run in England, I had a framed photograph of myself and Victor taken during a rainy day on Svetlogorsk (Rauschen) beach in winter 2004, together with a framed printed plaque of Lenin, which Victor had presented to me in the form of a spoof award. On this plaque he had written the presentation in beautifully scrolled and flowing calligraphic script, and because he did not know my last name and as at the time when he produced the plaque I was living in Bedford, he wrote the dedication to me in the name of ‘Mick Bedford’.
Victor Ryabinin in true form discards his umbrella on this cold, wet day: ‘Ne problem!’
{January 2005, Svetlogorsk (Rauschen) }
These two items were guaranteed to raise questions from friends and customers alike, and I was only too happy and extremely proud to introduce them to my friend Victor, a Russian from Kaliningrad who was an accomplished artist, philosopher, historian and a wonderful human being.
I would show them the many photographs of my trips to Kaliningrad, when we were in Victor’s presence, especially photographs that had been taken in the studio, and I would say to them, “It is worth going to Kaliningrad, just to meet this man.”
Sometimes I liked to add a touch of mystery. Just before I left for Kaliningrad, I would drop a hint that I was off on holiday. Where too? they would ask. My answer: “To the Shrine to Königsberg.” ~ Victor’s studio.
Fragments of Königsberg in the company of one of Victor Ryabinin’s symbolic artworks: Victor Ryabinin Art Studio
Victor Ryabinin Artist Historian: Königsberg
Whenever I holidayed in Kaliningrad I would make the most of it, staying there for four or five weeks at a time. Victor and the studio were constantly top of my itinerary list, and I have lost count of the number of social evenings we spent in that hallowed place, the studio, and, later, the excursions we went on, both around Kaliningrad itself and further into the region. Suffice it to say, they were wonderful times.
We had begun talking about moving to Kaliningrad as far back as 2015, although I do not think that I had any intention of committing myself at that time. However, Victor’s enthusiasm, positivity, indefatigable interest in novelty and his sincere affirmation, ‘of course you could live here!’, must have worked its magic behind the scenes of consciousness, for, one day, when my wife and I were discussing the prospect more earnestly, it suddenly dawned on me that if I did move to Kaliningrad I would be living in Victor’s city, the city that was his life and his life’s work.
That I believe was the defining moment; that was when I made the decision to move. I looked upon the possibility of living in Victor’s Königsberg to be an honour and a privilege. I could hardly believe that by doing so I would be able to associate with him more often and looked forward to more historical excursions around the city and region and, under his tutelage, developing my historical knowledge of the city’s past. I was also looking forward, of course, to those evenings of camaraderie, sitting in the atmospheric studio, the Shrine to Königsberg, relaxing in the company of mutual friends, chatting whilst drinking vodka or cognac.
From that moment, it was no longer a question of should I move, but how quickly could I move?
Unfortunately, the practical aspects of relocation took too long and by the time we arrived in Kaliningrad in December 2018, unbeknown to us and to Victor himself, Victor’s life was ebbing way and in seven months’ time he would be dead.
Victor Ryabinin Königsberg Kaliningrad
Victor Ryabinin was, without question, one of the finest people I have ever known. He was an exceptional human being. In the words of a mutual friend, “I am proud that I was close to this great man”.
I admired him for his artistic talent; I respected him for his phiIosophy; I adored him for his love of history; I loved him as a person.
When he died, last July (July 2019), of cancer, it was a great personal tragedy for me. Apart from my wife, Olga, he was the single most influential person to tip the scales in favour of me coming to live in Kaliningrad. If he was here today, he would correct me at this juncture ~ “Königsberg, Mike!” In fact, this became something of an in-joke. I would purposefully refer to the city as Kaliningrad just to have him correct me. He continues to do so. I think he always will.
Victor Ryabinin was not just an artist-historian. He was far, far and away beyond that. He was a time traveller: a man who could talk to the past, empathise with the past and commune with it.
He was a man of small stature but great presence. He had an aura about him, a magnetic personality and was thoroughly and utterly engaged and engaging. The magic ethos with which Victor was infused stemmed from many sources. His personality was one of calm and calming repose. He was good natured, good humoured, his sense of humour was playful but never acerbic. His philosophy of life seemed to be based on two short words: ‘ne problem’ ~ things could be an ‘issue’ but never ‘a problem’, and issues could always be resolved, or would resolve themselves in the fullness of time. This reassuring attitude, this positive philosophy made Victor’s company always good. No matter how you felt before meeting with him, you came away from his company with an overwhelming sense of wellbeing. Victor’s company had the feelgood factor.
The Spirit of Königsberg
As an artist and historian, there was profundity and depth, but they were free from the heaviness and pretentiousness by which these qualities are so often confounded. Victor practised humility and was never confrontational. He would express himself and then move on. He never forced his point of view upon you.
The magnetism of his innate character came from a spiritual energy, which I believe was made more potent as it was drawn from the same source, the same well from that which Königsberg drew its spiritual energy. Victor was not just one among a number of talented people who originated from or who worked in Königsberg, he was the Spirit of Königsberg.
Last but by no means least, there was Victor’s inquisitiveness. It was one of his most endearing character traits.
At the gathering of friends and family after his funeral, Victor’s nephew said of Victor that he had a childlike inquisitiveness, a curiosity to know, to learn, to explore and that this quality remained with him throughout his life. It is true that Victor exhibited profound and sincere astonishment at every new revelation. He was a keen observer of life for whom everything had an intrinsic interest; nothing passed him by. As Boris Nisnevich records in his article An Artist Who Can Hear Angels Speak, Victor himself said, “I can only guess what boredom is”.
“I can only guess what boredom is”.
Victor Ryabinin
Another of his friends claimed that ‘Victor created his own reality’. I suppose that each and every one of us does this. Victor’s reality is possibly best summed up in the name he gave to one of his final compositions (‘assemblages’, as he liked to call them). He called it The Relics that will Save my Soul.
In the last analysis, it is impossible to extricate, separate or divorce Victor Ryabinin from Königsberg. Whenever I see the word Königsberg and whenever I hear it, it is impossible not to think of Victor. The two were, are and always will be synonymous.
In the work that follows, a biographical essay of Victor’s life and the experiences and influences that informed his art and love of Königsberg, Boris Nisnevich celebrates the life of a unique artist-historian and an exceptional human being.
Victor Ryabinin could talk to angels, there is no doubt about that, and through his work and in his memory those angels speak to us.
I miss him.
Victor Ryabinin, Artist, Historian, Philosopher ~ The Spirit of Königsberg {17 December 1946 ~ 18 July 2019}
Victor Ryabinin Königsberg Kaliningrad by Mick Hart
Revised 18 July 2024 | First published: 17 April 2020
I first met Victor Ryabinin in the spring of 2001. A friend of my wife’s, knowing how much my wife liked art and how fascinated I was with anything to do with the past, suggested that we meet this ‘very interesting’ man, who was an artist and a historian.
When somebody prefaces an introduction with ‘you’ll like him/her’, the Imp of the Perverse often ensures that you won’t, but there is no doubt in my mind, or memory, that I warmed to Victor immediately. This surprised me, because I am naturally, or unnaturally, depending on your definition, cautious when meeting strangers, selective with whom I associate and when I do make friends I do so on my terms. But Victor was a prodigy; he won me over in an instant.
How much of his good nature, depth of intellect, openness and sincerity were perceived at that moment is open to question, and I am sure that the surroundings in which I found myself contributed not a little to my relaxed frame of mind, but I still recall that overriding impression, the one of being in the company of someone very special.
The Studio: Victor Ryabinin Königsberg Kaliningrad
We met in Victor’s studio ~ a small, wedge-shaped room at the top of a non-descript concrete Soviet block of flats. Little did I know then as I climbed the tier upon tier of crumbling steps, how many more times in the next 18 years I would retrace my steps and how enthusiastically.
As an inveterate collector of vintage, antiques, junk, and having been obsessed with the past for as long as I can remember, at least from the age of four, Victor’s studio was an absolute paradise. It was a cornucopia of relics, a living memorial to the lost splendour of Königsberg, a stimulating reminder of its World War II legacy and a personalised reflection on its curious reincarnation as the Soviet city Kaliningrad.
The back wall of the studio alone was worth travelling one thousand, one hundred and seventy-five miles for! It had been clad from floor to ceiling with a carefully orchestrated mosaic of old enamel advertising, informational and military signs, some from pre-war Königsberg, others of wartime origin, validated as such by the presence of the swastika.
Victor Ryabinin & Mick Hart in The Studio, Summer 2015
The back wall of the studio alone was worth travelling one thousand, one hundred and seventy-five miles for!
Stuff was everywhere: bottles dug out of the Königsberg ruins, the corroded remains of wartime weapons, vintage Soviet uniforms, metal wall plaques ~ including profiles of Hitler and Stalin ~ German and Soviet military helmets, plates, cutlery, jewellery, fragments of porcelain, bottles and bottle tops, religious icons of every shape and size, bits, bobs and all sorts of a thought-provoking nature. Everywhere ~ on tables, shelves, walls and floor was stuff ~ relics from a vapourised city sublimely sharing space with Victor’s works of art-history: his symbolic paintings, surreal sculptures and subliminally haunting ‘assemblages’.
Living history: Victor Ryabinin Königsberg Kaliningrad
In one corner, by the wall, there was a set of old wooden steps that led to a small gantry, which had a slatted rail to the front. On our first visit to the studio in 2001, this rail was adorned with one or two vintage flags and three or four military visor caps. In those days, the ‘upper storey’ had been sufficiently empty for Victor to bed down there if the mood so took him. When we last visited in 2019, however, the entire front rail of the gantry was obscured with all manner of flags, hats and other items and the gantry itself was full. It was easy to see that Victor was, as they say, a man after my own heart! The studio was a nostalgists heaven! A work of living history to a city that had ceased to be.
Victor Ryabinin’s Art Studio 2019: Victor Ryabinin Königsberg Kaliningrad
On our first visit to the studio, we had taken with us a ‘picnic’: some meats, cheeses, salad items, crisps, olives and pickled gherkins. We had also taken some vodka. The small room was crowded, but we happily sat around the small rectangular table shared by all sorts of interesting bygones, including the busts of Marx and Lenin, who were watching us intently. This snack and vodka gathering in Victor’s room set in motion a social ritual which would be practised many times over the next 18 years.
Victor Ryabinin Königsberg Kaliningrad
On my office wall, in the antique emporium that we used to run in England, hung a framed photograph of myself and Victor taken during a rainy day on Svetlogorsk (Rauschen) beach in winter 2004, together with a framed plaque of Lenin, which Victor had presented to me in the form of a spoof award. He had written the presentation in beautifully scrolling calligraphic script, but because at the time of the plaques creation he did not know my last name, only that I lived in Bedford, the dedication had been duly made out not to Mick Hart but ‘Mick Bedford’.
Victor Ryabinin in true form discards his umbrella on this cold, wet day: ‘Ne problem!’
{January 2005, Svetlogorsk (Rauschen) }
These two items were guaranteed to raise questions from friends and customers alike, and I was only too happy and extremely proud to introduce them to my friend Victor, a Russian from Kaliningrad who was an accomplished artist, philosopher and social historian and, simply but emphatically, a wonderful person to know.
I would show them the many photographs of my trips to Kaliningrad where Victor was present, especially photographs that had been taken in the studio, and then would assert that “It is worth going to Kaliningrad, just to meet this man.”
Sometimes I liked to add a touch of mystery. Just before I would leave for Kaliningrad, I would drop a hint that I was off on holiday. Where too? They would ask. “The Shrine to Königsberg,” I would reply, meaning Victor’s studio.
Fragments of Königsberg in the company of one of Victor Ryabinin’s symbolic artworks: Victor Ryabinin Art Studio
Victor Ryabinin Königsberg Kaliningrad
Whenever I holidayed in Kaliningrad I would make the most of it, staying there for four or five weeks at a time. Victor and the studio were constantly top of my itinerary list, and I have lost count of the number of social evenings we spent in that hallowed place, the studio, and, later, the excursions Victor took us on, both around Kaliningrad itself and further into the region. Suffice it to say, they were wonderful times.
We had begun talking about moving to Kaliningrad as far back as 2015, although I do not think that I had any intention of committing myself at that time. However, Victor’s enthusiasm, positivity, indefatigable interest in novelty and sincere affirmation, ‘of course you could live here, ne problem!’, must have worked its magic behind the scenes of consciousness, for, one day, when my wife and I were discussing the prospect more earnestly, it suddenly dawned upon me that if I did move to Kaliningrad I would be living in Victor’s city, the city that was his life and his life’s work.
That I believe was the defining moment; that was when the decision to move was made. Living just up the road from him, I could hop on a bus or tram, take a taxi or even walk and be there at the studio. The advantages now were clear to me. I looked forward, under his tutelage, to developing my knowledge of the city’s past, to the excursions he would organize both in and around the city and, of course, to memorable evenings ~ evenings of camaraderie ~ sitting together with mutual friends in the studio, discussing art, culture and history, chatting and snacking away whilst drinking vodka or cognac. To live in Victor’s Königsberg would be an honour and a privilege, not forgetting a joy.
From that revelatory moment, it was no longer a question of should I move, but how quickly could I move?
Unfortunately, the practical aspects of relocation took too long and by the time we arrived in Kaliningrad in December 2018, unbeknown to us and to Victor himself, Victor’s life was ebbing away. Seven months later, he would be dead.
Victor Ryabinin Königsberg Kaliningrad
Victor Ryabinin was an artist-historian, but he was far and away beyond that. I thought of him as a time traveller or at least as a man who could talk to Konigsberg’s past, empathise with the cruelty of its fate and commune with the ghosts of its people, whom, he told us, were constant visitors ~ they invaded his dreams at night.
Victor was a man of small stature but great presence. He had an aura about him, a magnetic personality and was thoroughly and utterly engaged and engaging. The magic ethos with which Victor was infused stemmed from many sources. His personality was one of calm and calming repose. He was good natured, good humoured, his sense of humour was playful but never acerbic. His philosophy of life seemed to be based on two short words: ‘ne problem’ ~ things could be an ‘issue’ but never ‘a problem’, and issues could be resolved, or would resolve themselves in the fullness of time. This reassuring attitude, this positive philosophy made Victor’s company always good. No matter how you might be feeling before you met with Victor, you came away from his company with an overwhelming sense that all was well in your world. Victor’s company had the feelgood factor.
The Spirit of Königsberg
As an artist and historian, there was profundity and depth, but they were free from the heaviness and pretentiousness by which these qualities are so often confounded. Victor practised humility and was never confrontational. He would express himself and then move on. He never forced his point of view upon you.
The magnetism of his innate character came from an energy that seemed almost preternatural, which I believe was made more potent as it was drawn from the same cosmos source, the same mysterious well, from that which Königsberg drew its spiritual energy. Victor was not just one among a number of talented people who originated from or who worked in the city of Königsberg, he was the Spirit of Königsberg ~ the personification of the spirit of the past.
Last but by no means least, there was Victor’s dynamic thirst for knowledge, which was one of his most endearing traits.
At the funeral gathering of friends and family, the term ‘a childlike inquisitiveness’ used by Victor’s nephew captured the essence of what it was: Victor had a curiosity to know, to learn, to explore, nothing was not without wonder, and it remained that way throughout his life.
As Boris Nisnevich records in his biographical essay An Artist Who Can Hear Angels Speak, it was Victor himself who said, “I can only guess what boredom is”.
“I can only guess what boredom is”.
Victor Ryabinin
Another of his friends claimed that ‘Victor created his own reality’. I suppose that each and every one of us does just that to some extent.
Victor’s reality is possibly best summed up in the name that he attributed to one of his final compositions (‘assemblages’, as he liked to call them). A framed composite of bits and pieces from the wreckage that remained of Königsberg, he christened it with the title The Relics that will Save my Soul.
It is impossible, in the last analysis, to extricate, separate or divorce Victor Ryabinin from Königsberg. Whenever I see the word Königsberg and whenever I hear it spoken, I see and hear Victor Ryabinin. The two were, are and always will be synonymous.
When Victor died of cancer in 2019, I was devastated. Apart from my wife, Olga, he was the single most influential person to tip the scales in favour of my coming to live in Kaliningrad. It makes me smile to think that if he was here today, he would correct me at this juncture: “Königsberg, Mike!” he would typically say. I liked him to pull me up on this and would often say ‘Kaliningrad’ just to have him correct me. He continues to do so to this day. I think he always will.
Victor Ryabinin was, without question, one of the finest people I have ever known. Apart from and in addition to his accomplishments as a much-loved art teacher and artist of the symbolist genre, he had the gift just by his company of making you feel that perhaps, after all, life was worth the struggle. “I am proud,” said another great man,” Stanislav Konovalov, Victor’s student and friend, “that I was close to this great man.”
I admired Victor for his artistic talent; I respected him for his philosophy; I adored him for his love of history; I loved him as a person. My only criticism of him is that he went and died when he did, making me miss him for the rest of my life.
In the work that follows, a biographical essay of Victor’s life and the experiences and influences that informed his art and love of Königsberg, Boris Nisnevich celebrates the life of a unique artist-historian and an exceptional human being.
Victor Ryabinin, Artist, Historian, Philosopher ~ The Spirit of Königsberg {17 December 1946 ~ 18 July 2019}
Victor Ryabinin could talk to angels, of that there is no doubt, and through his work and in his memory those angels speak to us.
9 April is a very significant day in the history of this city and region. It was the last day of a siege that had begun in January 1945 as a successor to heavy bombing by the RAF in August 1944; it was also the first day of Königsberg’s last day ~ if not in spirit, at least in form.
The actual Battle of Königsberg lasted four days only, but it was a bitter and bloody battle. The encircled German forces put up stiff resistance bolstered by Königsberg’s formidable fortifications, a defence system comprising three rings of forts which had been constructed at the end of the 19th century, some modernised and reinforced, and all heavily supplemented with anti-tank systems and landmines.
The assault began at dawn on 6 April 1945. Intense artillery shelling, which followed several days of bombing by the Soviet air force, was the immediate precursor to the first stage of the city’s invasion. By the fourth day of the attack, 9 April 1945, the Soviet army had breached the enemy’s main defences and in a punishing feat of urban warfare ~ building by building, street by street ~ was bearing down on what remained of the enemy entrenched at the heart of the city. Although both in numbers and fire power German resources were not yet totally depleted, Otto Lasch, Fortress Commandant of Königsberg, in direct contradiction of Hitler’s orders, realising that all was lost, initiated his army’s surrender. Negotiations were implemented and the surrender of the defenders of Königsberg and Königsberg itself was finally ratified just before midnight in Otto Lasch’s control bunker.
Battle of Königsberg
By the time the assault was over, 80 per cent of the city had been obliterated, partly as a result of earlier aerial bombing raids, later soviet artillery action and the urban warfare that followed. Whilst statistical records differ it is widely held that the Germans suffered between 40,000 and 50,000 casualties and between 80,000 and 90,000 Germans were taken prisoner. Of Königsberg’s civilian population, estimated pre-war at 300,000, 200,000 survived but were subsequently forced to leave the city and region. Soviet casualties over the four-day assault is said to number around 4000.
Kaliningrad 9 April 2020
It is hard to believe as I sit here on this beautiful spring day in Kaliningrad, buds and leaves returning to the trees, flowers in first bloom, azure blue sky above, birds singing, that 75 years ago the very building that I occupy and the cobbled streets outside would have been ringing with the sounds of gunfire, the last fading echoes of a seemingly apocalyptic onslaught which had left thousands dead, dying and maimed, hundreds of years of history shattered, a once grand city reduced to ruins and an entire culture and its adherents teetering on the brink of expulsion.
Some say history repeats itself, others that it never goes away. One thing is sure, the present is with us a lot less longer than the past. In less than two hours from now, Otto Lasch will put his signature to a document the contents of which will seal the fate of this city and change the course of history here forever.
The former Königsberg Stock Exchange, aka the Khudozhestvennaya Galereya, is home to a permanent exhibition, the title of which is The Shadow of Königsberg. It also holds temporary exhibitions on a regular basis. Two exhibitions attracted us recently, Alexander I and Napoleon Meeting on the Neman and Rhythms of Kaliningrad.
The Königsberg Stock Exchange (now the Khudozhestvennaya Galereya) is an impressive two-storey Neo-Renaissance-style building, which stands on the southern side of the Pregel River.
The grand building, which
opened in 1875, was the work of architect Heinrich Muller and Emil Hundrieser,
the latter to which is owed the external decoration, including the allegorical
figures at roof-top level and the two lions on either side of the entrance
steps.
As with most of Königsberg’s municipal buildings, the Stock Exchange suffered extensive damage when bombed by the RAF in 1944 and again during the Siege of Königsberg in 1945. It is believed that it narrowly escaped the systematic demolition programme of what remained of Königsberg after the war, as the new owners and powers that were ~ the Soviets ~ identified Russian Neo-Classical features in its construction (pphhhewww!). Since the building was reprieved, reinstated and reconstructed in 1967, it has passed through various transitions and is today one of Kaliningrad’s most important, and unequivocally, one of its most regal cultural centres [see the Tripadvisor website for photographs of this magnificent building].
Khudozhestvennaya Galereya
Napoleonic exhibition
The Khudozhestvennaya Galereya stages changing exhibitions on a regular
basis. The building can accommodate two or three exhibitions at any one time,
depending, of course, on the size, using dedicated and versatile screening
facilities. To the right of the entrance hall and on the second floor, space is
reserved for a permanent exhibition, The
Shadow of Königsberg, which traces the history of this unique city and
region through the turbulent transitions of its 20th century
history. Whether you are a professional historian, amateur historian, budding
history scholar or are simply fascinated by the changing fortunes and character
of Königsberg-Kaliningrad, The Shadow of Königsberg
provides a pictorial timeline of indelible significance through drawings,
sketches, paintings and photographs, supported by detailed models and
electronic simulation. Its depiction of pre-war Königsberg in contrast with its
post-war ruins and subsequent Soviet inheritance and legacy, that of life lived
for three decades among weed-strewn, crumbling buildings, a hollowed out shell
of a once noble city, has a pathos seldom encountered in the modern world we
inhabit today.
I really would like this poster …
Alexander I and Napoleon Meeting on the Neman
The exhibition, Alexander I and Napoleon Meeting on the
Neman [River], opened in the former Königsberg Stock Exchange building, now
a cultural centre, on 19 October 2019 and runs until 15 December 2019. The
exhibition is dedicated to one of the two Tilsit* Treaties, that which took
place on 7 July 1807 following Napoleon’s victory in Friedland. The treaty,
which was well-satirised in the British press of the time, examples of which
are included in the exhibition, is unforgettable not least because it took
place on a purpose-built raft anchored in the middle of the Neman River. But
its real importance was the ensuing impact it had on regional and world
geo-politics. The principal loser of the treaty was Prussia, which was forced
to surrender almost 50 percent of its territory. Russia and France achieved a
peaceful settlement, a settlement which not all Russian’s were agreeable to,
but the peace only lasted five years: in 1812 Napoleon returned to the Neman
River, crossing it this time with invasion in mind. Be this as it may, the treaty
inspired numerous artistic representations, both in Europe and Russia. And this
is what this exhibition is dedicated to.
The exhibition contains
about 60 exhibits from the collection of The State Hermitage Museum in St
Petersburg, including paintings, drawings and sculptures, as well as original
uniforms of Russian and French soldiers and is complemented by works
contributed by the Kaliningrad Museum of Fine Arts and Private Collections.
*Tilsit was renamed Sovetsk when the East Prussian region changed hands at the close of World War II. It is located in the Kaliningrad Oblast.
Rhythms of Kaliningrad
Exotic & Ornate & Highly Desirable!!
The Rhythms of Kaliningrad exhibition comprised an eclectic selection of art ~ paintings, sketches, drawings, sculptures ~ and even elaborate contributions from the Kaliningrad region’s world-renowned amber industry, examples of which included handmade jewellery of the most imaginative and exquisite calibre, highly detailed icons and an urn of Classical and Baroque form lavishly adorned. Designer clothing, handmade and avant-garde, added an unpredictable dimension to what was already an exotic and exhilarating showcase of regional artistic talent.
Taken as a collection, the thematic denominator subsumes the randomness of each subject into a distillation, and the compendium of impressions is a lyrical exposition that neither aggrandises nor underestimates the unique heritage, urban environment and natural images by which it is informed but rather acknowledges them and celebrates them as a compound expression of an esoteric experience. Sunsets across water, abstracts, natural landscapes, urban landscapes, pseudo-incarnations of Königsberg’s nobility ~ the castle and the city’s monuments ~ (none of which ever existed in the modern artist’s memory), Expressionism, Impressionism, Surrealism, Realism, Painterly and the rest, a gamut of artistic subjects and the styles through which they are brought into being vying to define, striving to encapsulate what it is about this place, this city and its territory, that draws you inexorably into its soul.
A personal reflection
Haunting painting of Konigsberg by Sherbak-Pyankova
In delivering the essence of the exhibition’s title, Rhythms of Kaliningrad, no one artwork should be singled out for being lesser or greater than the others in its company, but spectators and critics alike are fickle, prone, as we all are, to the common human failing for putting personal preference before impartiality, and thus although I would shy away from the impossible task of deciding which work of art was the best, whatever the given criteria, there was, inevitably, one among the paintings which resonated resoundingly with my not altogether impartial predilection for the sublime and metaphysical.
This painting was by the artist Sherbak-Pyankova. It was the study of a Königsberg house, a villa, set back in its own grounds, surrounded by its own garden, demarcated by iron railings with a wrought iron gate of unusual splendour.
Naturally, reliant on the theme of the exhibition, the subject matter in and of itself was not by any means a surprising leap into incongruity, but to narrow down the appeal criteria not to what had been painted but the way in which it had been painted ~ no, more, much more than this ~ the manner of its composition, its inherent composition and the intrinsic affect it had upon me, is how I would like to proceed.
In this
respect I have no inclination to classify the artist’s technique within a
particular school or style, because by doing so I would by default promote
taught technique above inspirational teaching and, ultimately, individual
creativity. My attraction to this piece of work was at once instantaneous ~ an
impulse, a reaction ~ the rationalisation that ensued, if indeed you can call
it this, being a process of thought, of mind.
When I first
examined the painting I was, as is the norm, standing relatively close to it.
The outlines of the house were distinct enough but the details, although present, impressed me with the notion that they were fading before my eyes. It was as though my view was partially obscured or obfuscated by a thin veil, or a light film, as though the building was slipping away from me. Suspecting the fault lay in my eyesight, I stepped back a few paces and took another look. From my new, more removed, position, unless I was mistaken, the subject on which I now gazed had developed a clarity hitherto unseen. Encouraged by this promising shift in perspective, I removed myself still further, at which greater distance the details became so clear that I could well have been standing outside the house itself, next to the ornate gate, not viewing it on canvas.
So now I began walking slowly back towards the picture and, as I did, I was relieved to discover that the suspicions about my eyesight were unfounded. With each step that I took the mist that had so impeded my vision from the moment I looked upon the picture was, by stealth and with steady degrees, returning.
I repeated
the exercise, just to make certain.
I was of the understanding that the further I removed myself from the Königsberg house the closer I came to it, or it to me; conversely, the closer I came to the house, the further away it became, until almost evaporating.
This
inversion of physics bemused as much as the metaphysics eluded, but then, with
a Eureka moment, Romanticism kicked in and the haze before the house, being the
haze behind my eyes, lifted in the subjective sunlight.
Of course,
the visibility of the house was so much better delineated from a distance. The distance
between myself and the house was not the insoluble distance of time that I had
first believed it to be, but in fact quite the reverse. The further I walked
away from the house the closer I came to Königsberg. Walking back was walking
back in time towards the point of origin. But when I approach the house, in an
attempt to go backwards, I walk back into the present, Königsberg slips from my
grasp and all that I am left with is the hazy, phantasmagorical image of
something I aspire to see, to experience in the physical world.
Konisberg street by Sherbak-Pyankova
This painting, and a second painting of a street in Königsberg-Kaliningrad by the same artist, got both my vote and my wife’s Olga’s before we knew anything about either the artist or her mentor. However, given the profound effect that her work had on us, it should not have surprised us to learn that the artist she had studied under, and had an enduring respect for, was a mutual friend ~ Victor Rybinin.
Victor had taught art for many years at the Kaliningrad Art School. He had, as he said, ‘grown up among the ruins of Königsberg’ and was ‘the product of two cultures’; he invested his entire life in the philosophical, artistic and historic exploration of the Königsberg-Kaliningrad continuum. As our artist and historian friend Stanislav Konovalov said, who had himself been taught by Victor, Victor’s artistic representations came from the heart, they are each and every one imbued with a symbolic mysticism, a profundity, a deep soulfulness which emanates from his appreciation of and unwavering love for Königsberg-Kaliningrad, always described by Victor, with characteristic understatement, as ‘this unique place’.
That none of Victor Rybinin’s art saw inclusion in the Rhythms of Kaliningrad exhibition is a sorrowful oversight, particularly since those who knew him and who know his art share the conviction that he was and will remain a principal figure in the city’s and its region’s cultural history ~ history being the final judge.
Romanticist
attribution or irony of fate? Either way it is an uncanny coincidence that we
should choose as favourite the painting which we chose today …
Our second cultural day in a row (yesterday we attended an unusual art exhibition) found us heading off for a guided tour around a flat that had belonged to a Königsberg merchant in the early 20th century. I had heard of this flat from our dear friend Victor Ryabinin ~ artist, philosopher, historian (sadly now deceased) ~ who had, as with all things Königsberg, stimulated my curiosity by informing us that the flat in question had been preserved, and restored where necessary, in all its original glory.
The flat we were going to visit today is located at
11-1 Krasnaya Street, Kaliningrad. The official name of the venue is simply but
effectively ‘Apartment Museum’. A century ago, it was the home of merchant and
grocery store owner, Gustav Grossmann, and his family. As the advertising
leaflet boldly and honestly claims, the authentic interior allows you to
‘travel back a hundred years’ and experience life ‘as a citizen of Eastern
Prussia’.
Public interest in and success of the project had prompted the exhibition owner to invest in a retro café on the site of Grossmann’s original store, which is located in the same building as the merchant’s flat, and it was here that we were rendezvousing with friend and Königsberg historian Stanislav Konovalov, known to us as Stas.
The café, which is housed in a corner section of the historic apartment building, extends from the main structure out towards the pavement. The entrance to Grossmann’s apartment is recessed, away from the pavement, a small flagstoned area leading to the front door, and can therefore be easily missed. However, the café signage does a wonderful job, calling your attention to a building of stature, which is distinctive and old-world gentrified thanks predominantly to the large show window on the ground floor and above it on the first and second floors the unusual arched windows.
The lower window has been fitted out with shelving and, even before we climbed the small flight of steps leading to the café entrance, it excited us to see a variety of bygone items beckoning us inside. The artefacts displayed included, but were not limited to, kitchen pans, clothes’ irons, ceramic pots, oil lamps and the stock in trade of antique emporiums in this part of the world, the ubiquitous German stein.
Gustav Grossmann Cafe, Kaliningrad
Anyone obsessed with the past could tell, from the demeanour of the building and the items displayed in the window, that you would not be disappointed when you stepped inside. The interior of the building has been subject to a complete and comprehensive retro makeover, with so much by way of antiques and collectables adorning shelves, festooned on the walls, cuddling in cabinets, swinging from the ceiling and dotted here and there that ~ as it is with the nature of such places ~ it was impossible at first glance and even ten minutes afterwards to take everything in. Certain features, however, made their mark and stayed there. Behind the front counter, for example ~ a long counter and one of impressive height ~ wall-to-ceiling shelving has been erected, and this shelving, consisting as it does of different sized compartments, the top section reserved for larger items such as a pair of antique radios, is occupied by a mixture of vintage and antique objects rubbing shoulders with the modern accoutrements that are vital for running a business like this, such as branded cups and saucers, selections of teas, different kinds of coffee varieties and so on. The café till, which may be modern, appears on the customer side of the counter as though it is made of wood, whilst the coffee machine, all made of shining chrome, is, in shape and appearance, an icon of the 1950s. Indeed, not everything in the café was what we English would call Edwardian or of early 20th century origin: the radio in the window, which has most likely been fitted with an electronic player, was post WWII, although the music it aired pre-dated it as late 1920s or 30s.
Window Seat, Apartment Museum, Kaliningrad
As with the interior décor no expense in detail had been spared with regard to the café’s furniture, all of which has a heritage background, from the open-sided armchair beside the counter to the two armchairs and circular salon table in front of the window. As these chairs were occupied by patrons, who were studiously observing an unwritten code of conduct, which is, or so it would seem, to adhere to a kind of library silence in the presence of the past, we took up temporary residence in the only seats available, Olga on a dining chair with a Rococo-style splat and myself on an interesting settle, which was comfortably upholstered and had, at either end, small fitted cabinets with carved, pierced fronts.
Partaking of tea in Apartment Museum Cafe ~ Königsberg
Tea was served in two dish-shaped china cups with matching saucers, backstamped Konig… . We could not make out the exact wording, but we felt certain that the proprietor of this establishment would not have trusted us with an original Königsberg tea service.
Vintage china tea cup, Gustav Grossmann Cafe, Königsberg
More or less observing the silence that everyone else was bound to, we drank our tea and continued our visual assessment, taking in the various enamel-fronted advertising signs that no antique-oriented premise should ever be without and recognising three wall-mounted cast-iron signs as tram destination plates, each bearing the number of a specific tram and the Königsberg districts which each tram had served. These distinctive and, I should imagine, highly sought-after Königsberg mementoes, which remembered the route that specific trams took, I had only seen once before and that was in the art studio of our late friend Victor Ryabinin.
Apartment Museum Cafe sells antiques
Alas, these plaques were not for sale, but some of the items were. There were three large wood and glass display cabinets containing all manner of small antique pieces ~ ceramics, tableware, relics from Königsberg ~ as well as some larger items, such as a silver-topped walking cane and a silk top hat, all of which could be purchased. Both Olga and I took an interest in the two-tier, Art Nouveau plant stand, which was slightly more unusual than the standard fare, but as the asking price was considerably higher than that which I would normally expect to pay for a similar piece in England, our interest remained just that.
We finished our tea and now that Stas had arrived and wanted a smoke, we joined the other interested parties who were waiting outside on the damp and chilly streets for the venue to open.
As 11am came and went Stas took the initiative to ring the doorbell. And seconds later the door was opened by a tall lady appropriately dressed Edwardian style, that is in a high-necked blouse and long woolen dress fastened and highlighted around the waist by an enamel-buckled cinch belt.
We were shown in to the communal hallway of the
building, a spacious entrance hall with a flight of six or seven steps to the
ground-floor landing, beyond which could be seen a rather imposing wooden railed
staircase.
The door to the time capsule we were about to enter was mid-brown wood, with long vertical paneling , the upper section letting in light through a series of small windows, the glass inside being of the wire-reinforced variety. Our little entourage filed one by one inside and as we passed ~ me gratefully ~ from the 21st century into the past, I pointed out the doorbell to Olga, which was housed in a metal plate wrought into a typical and prepossessing Art Nouveau design.
Art Nouveau doorbell, Apartment Museum, Kaliningrad
The corridor inside the flat was rather narrow and, indeed, we were soon to discover that this merchant’s flat was of no great proportion anywhere. Naturally, the space was made considerably less by the unusual volume of people that it now occupied, all at once milling and jostling as they tried to divest themselves of their outer winter garments to place in temporary storage within the deep, but not very wide, cloakroom reserved for this purpose.
Naturally, the initial impact of the transition from now to then, from new to old, would be better served with less people present, but ventures such as these need to be administered and maintained, and I would anticipate that the fee for a private viewing might prove cost-prohibitive. Nevertheless, I did find room to reflect on how reserved and dignified Mr Grossmann’s hallway was, with its black and white tiled floor, tall dark doors fitted with ornate and heavy brass handles and its wonderful bygone telephone, equipped with open cradle and sporting a large pair of bells.
Open-plan design
When we were all partially disrobed, so to speak, we were led into the living quarters, which was fundamentally one large room divided into two halves by the simple decorative effect of wooden vertical frames and pierced and moulded fretwork where the uprights meet the ceiling.
The door through which we had entered had taken us effectively into the living room/study. In the corner of the room, in front of the window, was a desk with shelves and drawers in all the usual places and with more incorporated in the elevated section of a glazed cabinet super structure. The desk held various interesting and curious pieces, including the first typewriter I had seen manufactured by Mercedes Benz. Next to the desk there was a large double-fronted glazed cabinet, containing many antique artefacts, and next to that a small sofa and copper-topped circular table.
This table was one for us. It had a built-in standard lamp, with a large bell-shaped fabric lampshade centred above it, c.1920s. Other objects of interest in this part of the room included a small, circular gramophone table complete with horn-type gramophone, a very nice carved and stuffed-over seat corner chair, used here as a desk chair, and various wall-hung paintings and antique ornaments.
Mr Grumpy (photograph withheld)
One thing that Olga had not forewarned me about was that Stas would be translating as the guide spoke, and Stas, in turn, had not been forewarned that Mr Grumpy was present. Mr Grumpy took umbrage at Stas’ mumblings in English, and even after Stas had explained his intent and purpose, Mr G could not quite permit himself the liberty of graciousness, turning every now and then to scowl at us, until eventually he slid away. At first I felt myself lean charitably in his direction, after all had not he paid for the tour like everyone else? ~ so why would he want to be distracted by Stas’ infernal utterances? But by and by I noticed that he was pretty much dissatisfied with everybody and everything. Perhaps his wife had dragged him there when he should have been in the bar? (If that had been the case, then it was perfectly understandable!)
Gustav Grossmann? No, Mick Hart at Gustav’s desk!
The guide’s talk continued for some time but the duration was necessary as we were not after all in the Palace of Versailles but in a very small, lower middle-class apartment, which, had the guide whipped us through, would have no doubt had Mr Grumpy demanding his entrance fee back!
Judging by the reaction of the rest of the group, with the omission of Mr Grumpy, the guide’s efforts appeared to meet with universal appreciation. Even with my sparse knowledge of Russian I could tell that she was a good speaker, instigating and maintaining interest and adding to it, from time to time, by drawing our attention to certain curious items, which she passed around for people to hold and examine, asking if anyone knew what they had been used for in their previous life. This technique was adopted throughout the tour, and, I am proud to say, I got most of the items right, except for a small pagoda-style, black-lacquered miniature house which, it transpired, had been a pet sanctuary for crickets, no less. As they say, and quite rightly so, you learn something new every day.
The second half of the room into which we had first been shown functioned as the dining area, the taper-legged table and simple but appealing early 20th century chairs occupying centre place. Behind the table, set against the wall, stood a typical Könisbergian lump of a sideboard. I do not mean to sound disparaging, since these heavy, massy pieces of furniture typically adorned with heraldic and armorial appliques and supported on chunky ball and claw feet or, as in this example, large lion pads, solicit the Gothic in me, but I fully understand that their dominating presence is not, as we English are wont to say, everyone’s cup of tea.
Apartment Museum magnificent fireplace/stove
In this instance, however, it was the fireplace that got the better. Here we had a typical German glazed-tile fire-come-boiler affair ~ a masonry heater ~ distinguished above any I had seen hitherto, with the possible exception of one very ornate example, which may or may not be original, which resides within a hotel bar on a picturesque stretch of the river a few kilometers from Königsberg.
The fireplace we were privy to today owed its impressive status to its two-tiered format, and the fact that the decorative tiling was taken up from floor to ceiling, the top being surmounted with a rather elaborate carved and scrolled finial.
The metal grate doors at the lower level of the boiler also expressed an Art Nouveau intricacy, the artistic quality of which I have not witnessed elsewhere in this region.
Overall, the furnished and decorative note struck in Mr Grossmann’s flat was a mellow and conservative one, possessing and conveying an unaffected dignity. Towards this consummation the doors, all of which exhibited the same uniformity of design, added not a little. In fact, they stamped an authority of social standing on the nature of this abode, their dark-wood, tall and sober character surmounted by a dignifying architectural gable pediment.
Crotchless bloomers
The next stop on the itinerary was the bedroom. It was not at all very spacious and the two wooden single beds pushed together to make a pseudo double bed allowed for nothing more than a cabinet and a dressing table. The most remarkable bygone in this room was the mannequin, or rather the female underwear in which it was dressed, of which the principal feature was the long pantaloons. These, our guide revealed, were split-crotched in the most significant manner, which, my wife concluded, explained why men in the early 20th century made such an eager audience when young ladies danced the can-can.
Apartment Museum guide, Kaliningrad
You see what I mean when I say, ‘you learn something
new every day’.
We could not all get into the confines of the bed chamber, so some of us were necessitated to undertake our viewing from the hall, along which we then walked, as instructed by our guide, to the kitchen.
Nowhere does bygone domestic life impress itself more contrastively than in the kitchen setting. The kitchen décor of our modern age and the implements we use therein would seem so thoroughly futuristic from an early 20th century point of view, and also more recently for those who lived in the 1940s, as to make them impossible to envision. In years gone by kitchen items were heavy, solid-state, screwed, riveted, mechanical; they were constructed from metal and glazed stoneware, cast and wrought iron, and they were obviously made to last, which is why they are still with us. A few people aspire when they behold kitchens of yester-year to recreate something similar in their own home as a retro statement, but few people ~ only those of the most stalwart nature with a near to obsessive love of obsolescent times ~ are willing to go the whole hog, completely renouncing smooth, easy-to-clean surfaces and modern, time-saving kitchen utensils [see Art Exhibition Kaliningrad] for their more quirky but difficult to use and maintain predecessors.
Early 20th century kitchen utensils
In Mr Grossmann’s flat, the kitchen was quite small. Too many cooks was certainly not an option. The kitchen stove, or range, ruled the visual roost, it was, after all, an indispensable piece of home-living equipment, in this case cast iron, the front beige and green-enamel tiled and the whole raised on sculpted, ornate cabriole legs.
Above the cooker there was a row of hooks containing various kitchen utensils and, on the wall, cream and white enamel back-plates with integral hooks on which hung various straining, stirring and other culinary implements. The back plates to these utensil holders are lovingly shaped and are much sought after today by discerning collectors and interior decorators. Enamel products were, of course, the kitchen equipment stalwarts of their day, and another nice example, one of which I had seen before in Victor Ryabinin’s studio, was a three-compartmentalised kitchen-cleaning substance holder, which included a slot for a product well-known in England, Persil, the name of which, along with others, is printed on the surface.
Slider-controlled enamel kitchen shopping list reminder, c1910-20
One item that I was not acquainted with was an early refrigerator. The appliance looked like a tall, square, solid wooden box, but when the lid was lifted the top section could be seen to contain a perforated metal basket. The cabinet space below held the provisions whilst the ice above cooled the interior. A simple mechanism indeed, but I suppose it must have worked.
The kitchen was large enough to accommodate a dresser,
with glazed cabinets to the upper middle section flanked by two enclosed
cabinets, in which an assortment of curious contraptions were displayed, and
the storage space offered by this piece of furniture was augmented by a small
larder in the corner of the room, containing a stimulating jamboree of bottles,
tins and jars, many with ageing contents.
The last room on the inventory was the toilet and bathroom, and this indispensable facility was to be found on the left just inside the door. You’ve just got to love a proper toilet, being one with a high-rise cistern with a chain and porcelain hand-pull, of German heritage of course.
Gustav Grossmann’s toilet requisites
Whether large country estate, stately home or a relatively small apartment such as this one, the question I always ask myself at the conclusion of my visit is not did it interest me but did it have the desired effect, namely during the time I spent there was I there at the time and in a different time at the same time? The answer in the case of Kaliningrad’s (Königsberg’s) Museum Apartment is Yes. Thank you Apartment Museum and thank you Mr Grossmann!
