Starling Since childhood I wanted to be an artist and I knew where I would end up when I grew up. in the Faculty of Art and Graphics. And in the 11th grade I enrolled in preparatory school. There I met Zhenya Skvortsov. He was much older than me. Almost an old man who has seen life. He was 23 years old. At the age of fifteen, I didn't understand why people lived past thirty - after all, all the most interesting things had already happened by that age. Or it didn't happen. And then, all the more, what's the point of living longer if there's nothing to remember. Zhenya respected ancient art, went to the rocking chair, played the piano, listened to modern foreign music and raised a Great Dane named Chain. He returned his debt to his homeland in Mongolia, which was also unusual. I came to visit him, we drank a lot of strong tea, smoked a lot of strong cigarettes and listened to a lot of music that was new to me. Madonna, Depeche Mode, Syed, George Michael, Prince, Eurythmic, Pet Shop Boys and other relevant 1992 stuff. Zhenya, in principle, did not listen to Russian rock, called it secondary, and, moreover, played poorly. And he saw that the metal of various degrees of severity that I liked was loud music for teenagers. With patience and understanding for my age, after listening to the autopsy vinyl I had brought, Zhenya put the Yellow record on the player, and we continued to talk about painting while having tea with Phil. Zhenya believed in God and went to church. So I attended the Easter service for the first time in the company, and a few years later I was baptized. Zhenya became my godfather. I entered the institute, moved to Omsk, graduated from the institute, instead of an artist's studio with vodka and models, I found myself in a studio, with a much more interesting palette of all kinds of dizzying things, and along the musical ski route I moved to Moscow. Zhenya stayed in Tara. I listened to music, picked up and cared for stray dogs, drew and taught. We rarely saw each other.

Starling Since childhood I wanted to be an artist and I knew where I would end up when I grew up. in the Faculty of Art and Graphics. And in the 11th grade I enrolled in preparatory school. There I met Zhenya Skvortsov. He was much older than me. Almost an old man who has seen life. He was 23 years old. At the age of fifteen, I didn't understand why people lived past thirty - after all, all the most interesting things had already happened by that age. Or it didn't happen. And then, all the more, what's the point of living longer if there's nothing to remember. Zhenya respected ancient art, went to the rocking chair, played the piano, listened to modern foreign music and raised a Great Dane named Chain. He returned his debt to his homeland in Mongolia, which was also unusual. I came to visit him, we drank a lot of strong tea, smoked a lot of strong cigarettes and listened to a lot of music that was new to me. Madonna, Depeche Mode, Syed, George Michael, Prince, Eurythmic, Pet Shop Boys and other relevant 1992 stuff. Zhenya, in principle, did not listen to Russian rock, called it secondary, and, moreover, played poorly. And he saw that the metal of various degrees of severity that I liked was loud music for teenagers. With patience and understanding for my age, after listening to the autopsy vinyl I had brought, Zhenya put the Yellow record on the player, and we continued to talk about painting while having tea with Phil. Zhenya believed in God and went to church. So I attended the Easter service for the first time in the company, and a few years later I was baptized. Zhenya became my godfather. I entered the institute, moved to Omsk, graduated from the institute, instead of an artist's studio with vodka and models, I found myself in a studio, with a much more interesting palette of all kinds of dizzying things, and along the musical ski route I moved to Moscow. Zhenya stayed in Tara. I listened to music, picked up and cared for stray dogs, drew and taught. We rarely saw each other.