Рудольф Хачатрян: «Художник должен нести свет» Rudolf Khachatryan: “An Artist Must Give Light” Ռուդոլֆ Խաչատրյան. «Նկարիչը լույս պիտի տա»

AN INTERVIEW ON THE EVE OF THE EXHIBITION

— …And so you are in Yerevan again. Have you come with an exhibition?

— I am always in Armenia: sometimes with pictures, sometimes without. And in spirit, always. And it goes without saying that two decades ago too, when I was living outside the republic (in Moscow), I first arranged my new exhibitions in Yerevan and afterwards in other cities.

— Is it so this time as well?

— This time as well. And in every case hereafter it will be so.

— Have the works of the exhibition opening tomorrow at the Yerevan Artists' House not yet been in the exhibition halls of other cities?

— The people of Yerevan will be the first to become acquainted with them. In general I do not like to present myself to art lovers with old works, to move a picture from exhibition to exhibition. For this show I have chosen 50 works, 45 of which have only just come out of the studio. They have not heard the noise of a gallery; they are used to the silence of the studio. They are my works of the last two or three years.

— What is most interesting in your work of the recent period? What new things will you show visitors?

— Analysing an artist's works is the business of art critics. I will only say that what is new for me is turning to the technology of levkas, with which the old masters worked. As far as I know, of our contemporary artists I am so far the only one working in this way. Let me recall: levkas is a way of treating the surface of a board, thanks to which that surface is faced with a special ground material. This opens new possibilities before the draughtsman. I consider it my task to reveal by this means all the possibilities of drawing. Let me explain: until now we have drawn on paper, on cardboard. With the living substance of the pencil we created art on dead paper, on dead cardboard. But chalk levkas is a living ground. Mixing, the graphite and the ground give rich possibilities. I am entering new bounds.

— You constantly use the word "drawing" and avoid the universally accepted term "graphic art"…

— Because I do not like the name "graphic art". I am not a graphic artist, I am a draughtsman, and I modestly call my work drawing… For the painter and the sculptor, drawing is a school and a foundation, an auxiliary means in creating a picture or a sculpture. I make the line the principal thing. The art of the twentieth century is the art of LIGHT, and light is the line. The art of the ancient world — sculpture — was the art of FORM. The art of the Renaissance — painting — was the art of COLOUR. The art of the twentieth century, in my opinion, is the art of the LINE, of drawing. For there is a holy trinity: sculpture, painting, drawing; they are one, as in the Bible the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit are one. From the ancient world down to our days, in the history of the development of art they have always appeared together. But in each period one of them has predominated: in ancient art, form (sculpture); in the art of the Renaissance, colour (painting); now for me the predominant one is light (drawing). For in darkness light gathers itself into the shape of a line. Have you ever noticed the beam of a searchlight: it falls on the sea — a line… For me the main thing is the line; that is how I build my art.

— Until now you have spoken about your method of work and about the creative principle expressed in it. Now I should like you to present what is new in terms of subject matter.

— I have drawn and will show new series of Armenian landscapes, still lifes and portraits. In my opinion the thing itself is already a subject; I do not like introducing a literary plot into painting. Here in my still lifes are dried flowers. For me they are not dead flowers. They have their own painting, which, whatever happens, is a living world, and they themselves appear alive.

I have a portrait cast of mind. A thing, a landscape, a still life have their portrait: I create portraits of a dried flower, of a copper pot, of other things. All this is also nostalgia, longing. I paint my childhood. I greatly love old courtyards. They have stayed in my memory from childhood. I remember our villages, where I used to be as a small boy. Painting old courtyards and villages, I paint my childhood.

— What thought guides you when you create portraits of people? What are your principles?

— Portraits of people… An artist always paints the one who is closer to him — spiritually, philosophically. The same is true of me. I am drawn to people with a rich inner spiritual world. When I paint, I do not think what to put into this person: I live. The main thing is to love. The greatest artist is the one who loves most of all. Dostoevsky said that beauty will save the world. I say: love will save the world. Because beauty is born of love, and to love is the hardest thing of all. Love comes first; afterwards comes the question of by what means, by what profession you express your love. I am happy that I express my love through drawing. And it is probably a double happiness when people accept your way of loving, and, having accepted it, themselves begin to love the world and man a little in that way — with your love.

Of course love too has its quality. The measure is what the quality of your love is. If people accept it, then I am doing my work rightly. Art must make people happy. The ability to love is a measure of culture. We are fortunate that behind us stands a great culture which goes before us. What new thing the artist brings in this case — there is the measure. The true artist is the one who has that great culture of ours within him; yes, and I too, possessing it, can say that I have the right to draw. Of my recent works, very important to me are turning to the image of our great Narekatsi, turning to the great Komitas, whom I am painting for the second time, and creating portraits of a number of other figures of Armenian culture. They are important because I managed to paint the great men of my people. For me Narekatsi is a man like God, a divine man. While working I sought to reveal in his image the divine, the spiritual world of the hermit. In the large pictures of Narekatsi and Komitas, Komitas looks into the church from outside, while Narekatsi is there, inside the church. And although they are separate pictures, they seem to be speaking to each other. Among my portraits these two stand apart for me.

— With what unexpected side will the People's Artist of Armenia Rudolf Khachatryan present himself to us at this exhibition?

— In the pictures of the previous exhibition the background was absent. This time it occupies a large place. Whereas before I painted only on a white ground, now there is a certain change in my works.

— How do you explain it?

— They are done with a freer cast of mind. It is not excluded, however, that tomorrow I shall return to the pure ground again. That is, I do nothing contrived.

— Our conversation began with the assertion that you are always here. Yet here we are talking in a hotel. How is it that a man who is always here rents a hotel room on every visit?

— I very much want to have a house in Yerevan. If I had my own house I could stay and work in Yerevan longer. In the end I must return to my homeland. My dream is to gather all my works in my future house-studio in Yerevan and later to give them to my homeland. In Moscow I am offered a mansion regarded as a historical and cultural monument; in Yerevan I would be content with a more modest dwelling. I should like to work half the year in Armenia: to paint my countrymen, my native nature, the villages, the courtyards — so as to paint them more.

— Is that your supreme purpose?

— For me painting begins anew every day; life begins anew. Forget what you have done, create something new. The moment I take up a pencil it seems to me that I am only just beginning to draw. I would wish for it to go on like this.

— Then, when beginning a new work, you must feel fear.

— No. He who loves is not afraid. I experience wonder and admiration before life. Is not everything a miracle? An apple has remained an apple; it has not changed. How many artists have painted an apple! Why have they all painted the same thing — since it has not changed? So they all loved the apple, all admired it. If we add up their love… what an immense force it would be, directed at one small apple! And what a varied love! The whole of humanity is for me one Man. How this one Man has admired the apple! How many-sidedly he has seen the apple! And yet that apple remains uncreated. It is inexhaustible. That is the miracle. That is the "word"…

The artist must paint not only with his eyes and hand but also with his heart (I return to the "supreme purpose"). The artist must consciously have "God" within himself. Not somewhere in the sky. For God was "the first artist". He was the first to sculpt. Adam is the first "sculpture", to whom God granted breath. That God, as I imagine him, is light. The inner light. The artist must give light. And that is good.

The interview was conducted by H. AYVAZIAN

Photograph by A. Yesayan