WHAT A WEEK - I LIVE FOR THE SAKE OF SUCH ONES (visiting Parajanov, Khachaturian or being in a fairy tale)

Yerevan accepted me as his own person. I lived for four days in the fabulous artist’s studio, Avesyan Hmayak. Every morning I woke up in the walls, where there was no free space because of the canvases. The day began with the stories about Armenia from Anehid’s mouth (Avesyan’s granddaughter), who, despite the earthquake, cold and hunger, did not sold any of her father’s works, promised him before his death to save the house museum. (A joke that was in Armenia after the house crumbled like a house of cards: A taxi driver’ – Where are you going? – I need to go to the third heap, please.)


There was a lullaby from “Gayane” in Khachaturian’s mansion that jollified me and “Masquerade” that recalled me about the inner spread, which my soul is capable of. It demanded from me the correspondence that forced my ribs feel tickles. I was in the audio room for 2 hours, and the day of classical music continued, and in the evening I happen to get to the premiere of the opera “Carmina Burana” which ending made me feel a shiver. Coming out of the room, I saw on Narine’s finger a stunning ring with an artificial ruby ​​and gave her a compliment. The woman smiled, looked me in the eyes and put a ring on my finger. “In memory of Armenian, my girl”. I tried to catch up, restore, and believed in my happiness only after the next phrase: "You’re young, you need it more! You like silver, I can see it! With all my heart ... "

 


At the exhibition of avant-garde I was lucky to get acquainted with a wonderful sunny artist Tigran Matylyanom (we were pictured in front of his work), who in his turn introduced me to Zaven Sarkisian, a creator of the Museum of Parajanov. And then it began!! Yes, yes, yes!!! I wore hats, made by the hands of my idol!!! I could not dream of it. Everything in the house is saturated with Parajanov’s talent and desire to make everything out of nothing, in spite of the circumstances, the grayness of the era and the untimely birth of the author. Collages and installations gave clarity on what I really should do. Sergei spat on the word “handicraft” and gave a new quality to much handicraft industry; he untied my hands and brains. The second Parajanov’s wife said: “He is beautiful, but unbearable”. His first wife was killed by her relatives because she married Sergei. In January, they got married, in February he buried her. That’s why Marichka of “Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors” is so tender. But let’s not talk about bad things, let’s have more meat.
It is not easy to wander in Yerevan without a fellow traveler. I didn’t feel such pressure from men in Tbilisi, Muslim India, and in amorous Budapest ... I can call everything what happened as a trial of fire. The Armenians are divided into 2 categories. Some do not believe that it is possible to miss the married Slav and behave like complete idiots, others are always ready to protect her from the first, and try not to miss, giving themselves as guards, apologizing and showing good manners. The police and the Iranians also refer to this category. In short, being alone is almost impossible. I agreed to be protected and did not regret since I visited the most picturesque places of the city. And I had a possibility to visit the Iranian club. I had two different feelings at the same time: delight and confusion. It turns out that the Persians do the belly dance on the discos to this electronic music, sometimes in pairs, winking at each other and making a variety of signs with their hands. It looks a bit womanish, but if a man really knows how to dance in such a way, it is impossible to take your eyes off.

 

 

Back in Tbilisi, I came to Shevchuk’s concert. I managed to push myself into the sector with journalists under the stage. Later, I even managed to hug him and talk on business (I cannot believe in what I write, but I will not give out secrets). It is unlikely that such a possibility could have happened to a simple mortal artist, who has no relation to the mass media in Ukraine. No - no - no only during the journey!!!

“The long-awaited far awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! How many times my rolling head from the crowded block flew here, where ...” Soon I will be!

 

© Даша Марченко, 2017