RUDOLF KHACHATRYAN

Foreword to the Catalogue of the Solo Exhibition

Artists’ House of Armenia, Yerevan, 1980

Rudolf Khachatryan’s name has long been well known to connoisseurs and admirers of Soviet Armenian art. From his very first independent steps, he established himself as one of the most distinguished and consistent masters of Armenian graphic art.

It seems that Rudolf Khachatryan was born with a pencil in his hand. All children draw. Later, that fascination passes with childhood, leaving behind only naïve, vivid, fantastical colours, often little more than products of the subconscious. Even in his earliest, inexperienced drawings, Rudolf already thought like an adult; and the works he made at the age of fourteen astonish in their striving for classical clarity and completeness. The artist’s selfless devotion to the art of Leonardo da Vinci grew ever stronger, and the work of the great Italian became the guiding star of his life.

At a certain stage, the influence of Rembrandt also made itself felt in his magnificent portraits executed in sanguine. Here Rudolf pays less attention to detail; the drawings acquire lightness and a refined expressiveness.

A portrait drawing exhibited in Vienna earned Rudolf the title of laureate at the Seventh World Festival of Youth and Students. He was twenty-two years old…

Classical art became the young artist’s only school and touchstone. After all, he had received virtually no training at any art institution. This, of course, is not the rule but an exception—and in this case a fortunate and successful one.

Thus Rudolf Khachatryan’s artistic credo was determined from the very beginning, although, naturally, there were also certain deviations…

The broad, all-embracing wave of information that burst into the artistic life of Armenia in the early 1960s did not pass Rudolf Khachatryan by. Like parched travellers, artists—whether they understood what they were doing or not—threw themselves upon the “search” for paths that had long existed and long been established. In this chaos it was impossible to avoid imitation, and at times even direct borrowing. There was probably a certain logic to the confusion: a desire to break free from the circle of rigid, standardised ideas; a wish not to lag behind the pace of life or the achievements of contemporary world art. Like new wine, these searches fermented and seethed, sometimes becoming pure, strong, unadulterated wine, but more often vinegar. Everything, of course, depended on the degree of talent and personal discipline. Gifted and receptive people are by no means rare; those capable of asserting their own position and remaining true to themselves without timidity or retreat are exceedingly few. These are perhaps the qualities most valuable in the formation of talent.

Rudolf Khachatryan’s art witnessed the sharpest leaps and wanderings—from Surrealism to Cubism—yet the drawings of the fourteen-year-old boy, often taken out of their portfolio, made their presence felt with a certain reproach. Nevertheless, within those unrestrained wanderings one could sense both courage and a desire to attempt solutions to new problems. Undoubtedly, all this proved useful: it broadened his horizons and ultimately confirmed the direction of the artist’s subsequent development.

Years passed, and one of the most avant-garde Armenian artists began to create realist works, consistently turning to the model. A qualification is necessary here. Neither in this text nor in his thinking generally does the author of these lines deny in the slightest the evolution of form or the vigorous search for new paths in art. What has been said above concerns, first and foremost, the artist’s honesty and conscience, his fidelity to his own ideals. Rudolf Khachatryan found his own path. What was this? Flight? A retreat from his position? A sign of weakness? Or, on the contrary, strength—an affirmation of will and faith? I am convinced it was the latter.

Looking at the pencil portraits of recent years, one recalls the artist’s youthful works, made without the slightest trace of childish impatience or immaturity. On the contrary, one has the impression that their author was never a child at all, but judged from the very beginning like a mature artist. Yet if in the early works the aim was limited to mastering the craft and, frankly speaking, no mystery can be discerned beneath their virtuoso “apprenticeship”, then at the new stage—marked by a return to the original credo—we encounter a mature master of graphic art, for whom drawing itself is the creative act, art itself, a complete work.

In art it has always been difficult to remain active, consistent and principled. The immense mass of information that literally descends upon each of us like a storm is a heavy burden, and not everyone can bear it. The absence of a firm position leads to the ridiculous, and often to the absurd. In brief, individual personalities arise in our day, as in every age, yet today more than ever it is difficult to preserve one’s independence. On the one hand are fashionable, opportunistic temptations; on the other, the burden of information accumulated by world culture over centuries, which may make it seem that everything has already been said and done… Amid the turmoil of life, a person may lose everything of his own and become an appendage to the projectile hurtling at enormous speed that is called the twentieth century.

Everything talented and original is acceptable in art. The more freely and precisely an artist expresses himself, the more valuable what he creates will be to society. An artist’s hand and method are not merely products of his will; more than that, they are the nature and essence of his creative individuality. It is purity, truth and sincerity that have carried the breath of distant centuries down to us.

This brief monologue is not a lyrical digression. On the contrary, it is directly connected with the true subject and theme of our discussion: the work of the Armenian graphic artist Rudolf Khachatryan.

In every age, people have naturally assumed that their own era was exceptional. Worldviews, criteria, systems and social orders have changed, but the value of art, beyond all else, has always been determined by quality. It is precisely this quality that brings together artistic phenomena belonging to the most opposing tendencies, uniting them under the concept of “world culture”. In one form or another, every age has known both the more emotional and expressive mode and concentrated, meticulous thought. Talent decides everything.

That Rudolf Khachatryan was talented became evident almost from his first works, made in adolescence. Yet it would have been extremely difficult to predict how the young artist’s subsequent development would unfold—not only for the viewer but, as later became clear, for Khachatryan himself. It was here that the individual’s struggle against information and the other temptations of the age made itself felt. Nevertheless, if we follow the entire path travelled by Rudolf Khachatryan, it is not difficult to understand where the authentic lies and where the alien element from which he ultimately managed to free himself, finally affirming his artistic credo. The unblemished “self”, lost at some stage and hidden in a narrow corner of the soul, prevailed, established itself firmly and for ever. The doors of his soul are open, but not everyone is granted entry. The seeming accessibility of his graphic works—in which the naïve are attracted and astonished by craft alone—is itself naïve and insulting both to the artist and to admirers of his gift. Just as works by the old masters hold our attention for a long time, so Rudolf Khachatryan’s drawings demand a more penetrating gaze.

Rudolf Khachatryan’s graphic works should least of all be viewed as a pursuit of illusionism through polished technique and pathological refinement, or as a desire to astonish through virtuosity. They are, above all, manifestations of faith and spiritual strength. The Self-Portraits (1972, 1976), Portrait of a Woman (1973), Still Life with Fish and Onions (1976), and Portrait of an Armenian Linguist (1976) impress through their depth and astonishing mastery of execution. Without exaggeration or forced overstatement, they may be called masterpieces of graphic art. They are pure and perfect.

No artist should depict what is alien to his perception of the world and his worldview. No critic has the right to write about an artist who does not move him.

Otherwise, truth will suffer. The issue is not only ability, but honesty. Unfortunately, not all the works to be presented at this exhibition are known to the author of these lines. Now, as this foreword is being written, they are not yet known even to the artist himself; they are maturing in his subconscious. Yet there can be no doubt that the best among them will be worthy of art.

Rudolf Khachatryan’s works are imbued with a profound artistry that rejects outward mastery and virtuoso display. There is a steadiness here that leads not to monotony, but to an endless penetration into the nature of the object. Frequent jumping from one thing to another and an absence of concentration arise from an incapacity concealed beneath the name of “creative searching”. For Rudolf Khachatryan, the time of searching has passed; in his art the hour has come to affirm that in which he deeply believes. Chance, spontaneity and improvisation have been completely cast aside. Penetration into his own self and into the essence of the model has become the principal feature of his art.

For Rudolf Khachatryan, graphic art is not something auxiliary or applied. He confines himself to pencil and paper not because he is unable to master other materials—of which the visual arts today possess a great abundance—but because he seeks, again and again, to express his feelings fully through an ascetic medium, one that demands exhaustive expression through clarity and rejects spectacular outbursts. The seriousness and significance of Rudolf Khachatryan’s finest graphic works require a searching gaze from the viewer and compel respect for the art of drawing.

He is not an advocate of destruction. He represents a tendency that purifies what is depicted until the object attains absolute crystallisation, and this path is as limitless as the abstraction of the model. The further the artist moves away from an elementary reading of visible nature, the more active his role becomes in the transformation of matter. Paradoxical though it may seem, abstraction manifests itself not only in abstract art, but also in the crystallisation of the model, of nature itself, to the point of extreme purification. Put more simply, art has two poles, not one, as many artists and art historians of our time appear to believe. And naturally, the movement of the visually perceived object towards either pole demands perfection. The farther the visible materiality of nature is displaced from the centre, the greater the degree of creative transformation.

Rudolf Khachatryan completely rejects narrative subject matter and storytelling, which often become supports and ancillary means of attracting the viewer. Such an approach is exacting: it demands boundless purity, courage and mastery. Few are capable of renouncing curiosities, effects and false exceptionalism. Every artistic position, whether new or old, is real only when it discovers ever new confirmations of truth. In that case, the artist is always an innovator.

For all the precision with which he renders nature, Rudolf Khachatryan is far from shying away from the term “precision”; on the contrary, he affirms it with such zeal as to draw every eyelash, precisely because he is so far removed from naturalistic or photographic recording. Such a statement may seem somewhat paradoxical. Yet this is indeed the case, for the artist is concerned with the interplay of light and shadow and with the combination of dense lines and lines that are barely perceptible. The artist does not resort to colour. Perhaps he is not endowed with the gift of a colourist. Here, however, the lack has become an advantage: tone plays so decisive a role in his graphic art that one seems to sense colour itself.

Rudolf Khachatryan does not seek effects; above all, he strives for quality. His drawings are perfect in their truth and purity. An inner light seems to stream from the drawing. For the artist, an onion, a button, a strand of hair and the eyes of the sitter are equally interesting and significant; he treats everything with the same love and attention. The most important element in Khachatryan’s graphic works is the accent. It is precisely this factor that many draughtsmen—even good ones, or rather competent ones—lack. The accuracy and aptness of the accent, the strengthening or weakening of the line, lend Rudolf Khachatryan’s drawings a particular refinement. He possesses the ability to create an object—an object of beauty—and a constant desire to overcome the unattainable barrier. For beneath the haste and bravado of many artists there often lies a desire for quantitative accumulation which, alas, does not always lead to quality or to the creation of enduring value.

The mystery of nature lies in the endlessness and inexhaustibility of moments. A rapid, virtuoso drawing may be made in sanguine. But it is a far more difficult task to preserve purity and sustain emotional tension through prolonged drawing sessions without resorting to an eraser. Over twenty or thirty sessions, moments of especially intense emotion arise. The accumulation of such moments—their proportion within the whole—is the artist’s greatest dream. Ultimately, it is through precisely this accumulation that perfection is born in art. Instinct and craft are not enough here. What matters is a “divine” communion with nature, an organic merging with it in which one’s own “self” is neither levelled nor lost but, on the contrary, affirms the birth of new matter—the product of human reason, a mystery destined to belong to eternity.

HENRIK IGITYAN

Source: Rudolf Khachatryan. Catalogue of a Solo Exhibition. Artists’ House of Armenia, Yerevan, 1980. Armenian text: pp. 6–11; Russian text: pp. 12–17.

Translation note: English translation based on the corrected Armenian text and cross-checked against the Russian version printed in the bilingual catalogue.

TRANSLATION AND EDITORIAL NOTES

This English translation has been prepared from the corrected Armenian text of the catalogue foreword and checked against the Russian version printed in the same bilingual edition. Where the two versions diverge, the Armenian text has been treated as primary. The notes below record differences that materially affect meaning, titles, dates or terminology.

Textual variants

1. Youthful works. The Armenian text refers to the artist’s youthful works. The Russian version’s “childhood draperies” appears to be a textual or transcription error and has not been followed.

2. Portrait of a Woman. The Armenian title is rendered here as “Portrait of a Woman”; the Russian version identifies the sitter as the artist’s wife.

3. Self-portraits, 1972 and 1976. The Armenian text gives two separate dates, rather than the continuous range 1972–1976 found in the Russian version.

4. Direct borrowing. The Armenian phrase has been translated as “direct borrowing”. The stronger Russian term “plagiarism” is not used.

5. The two poles of art. A complete sentence stating that art has two poles, not one, is preserved in the Armenian text but corrupted in the Russian version. Its meaning has been restored in the English translation.

6. Precision. The Armenian text explicitly states that Khachatryan does not shy away from the term “precision”. The Russian wording contains an internal contradiction, apparently caused by an omitted negative.

7. The artist’s “self”. In the Armenian text, the artist’s own “self” is neither levelled nor lost in the encounter with nature. The Russian version omits the negative and thereby reverses the meaning.

8. Curiosities, effects and false exceptionalism. This sentence is present in the Armenian text but absent from the Russian version; it has therefore been retained in English.

Editorial conventions

• British English is used throughout, including catalogue, colour, centre and crystallisation.

• Graphic art and drawing are used contextually for the Armenian term referring to works on paper; the modern digital sense of “graphics” is avoided.

• Sanguine is used as the established English name of the drawing medium.

• Titles of works are italicised and are not expanded or altered beyond what the source text supports.

• The festival in Vienna is identified by its fuller historical name in the English translation.

These notes may be presented on the website as an expandable section following the article.