Filial Memoir

In Memory of My Father

It has been going on six years since my father passed away - Petr Nikolaevich Maltsev (23.02.1926 - 28.08.2010). On the eve of his 90th birthday, I consider it a filial duty to share my recollections of a man immeasurably dear to me, a man of uncommon character, whose creative legacy is of genuine artistic value, and whose labours as a gifted teacher and mentor will live forever in the memory of his grateful pupils. His difficult path through life, filled with all manner of trials, sorrows, and joys, is worthy of the deepest respect...

1. Origins

My father's parents were natives of Maslovka, a village situated on the bank of the Seversky Donets, ten versts from Chuhuiv. Their native tongue was Ukrainian; my father called his papa "tato" and considered himself Ukrainian (according to family tradition, our surname was originally rendered in the Cossack form - Malets, subsequently altered to Maltsev in the course of Russification; nevertheless, to all appearances, various generations of my ancestors regarded now Ukrainian, now Russian as their mother tongue, and vice versa).

I know that my great-grandfathers were: Grigory Maltsev, who before 1917 served as manager of a local estate, and Pavel Bureiko, who was among the most prosperous of his fellow villagers.

They even managed to recover during the NEP period after the ruinous grain requisitions. Thereafter their farms were again subjected to plunder and ruin. Bureiko was dispossessed as a kulak. Thanks to his stubbornness, rare single-mindedness, and ceaseless labour, he managed once again to achieve a degree of prosperity in his household, was subjected to a second dispossession, but even after that did not give up... Having earned money in the mines of the Donbas and returned home, my great-grandfather again set about restoring his farm. After that, not only was everything taken from him, but he himself was arrested. Remarkably, my great-grandmother managed to gain an audience with G.I. Petrovsky - the then chairman of the All-Ukrainian Central Executive Committee in Kharkiv - and somehow convince him of her husband's innocence. And my great-grandfather was released, which in those times was almost unheard of. He summed up his life with the words: "Remember, only what you have eaten is truly yours..."

My father's parents were Baptists; they led a modest and ascetic life, observed moral and ethical commandments and norms, and were people of conscience. They raised their children strictly - no arguing with elders was permitted and was firmly suppressed; children addressed their parents respectfully using the formal "you"... Through faith, and through a religious and even, in some measure, philosophical apprehension of biblical stories and parables, they sought salvation and consolation from all the unending calamities that befell their generation. Sometimes I reflect and realise that I can scarcely imagine what went on in the minds of these people, who had lived through the First World War, several revolutions, the Red Terror, grain requisitioning, the Civil War, the NEP, collectivisation, famine, industrialisation, the Second World War, the postwar famine, devastation and reconstruction, the repressions of the Stalinist regime, the denunciation of the cult of personality, Khrushchev's voluntarism, the Brezhnev stagnation, and even Gorbachev's perestroika... Naturally, my relatives were deeply sceptical of any authority. In the era of mass repressions they shared their views on what was happening around them - views wholly at odds with the pompous bluster of the Soviet ideological machine - even in the closest family circle, and not without fear. It is from here, apparently, that the roots of my father's free thinking spring - his rejection of the hypocrisy of those in power, and his search for salvation in the apprehension of the laws of beauty and harmony in life and in art. Despite all this, my father was never a dissident - he remained at heart a naive idealist and romantic.

1. Bitter Schooling

The next terrible blow of fate to strike the Maltsev family - as it did all the other inhabitants of Maslovka - came in 1931, when they were abruptly expelled from their homes, their cottages and farms demolished overnight to make way for a military training ground... Our family was resettled in Bashkirovka, and they had to start acquiring their modest belongings all over again. But the most terrible calamity came in the years 1931-34, when my father, then still a seven-year-old boy, had seared into his memory forever the monstrous scenes of a terrible and unending famine. "Those were the thirties, when people were dying like flies. People were carted off to ravines and graves weren't even dug. I saw all of this." (From an interview with P.N. Maltsev, 18.09.1999). Goosefoot was considered a delicacy; cannibalism was encountered; many people simply lost their human likeness. Our large family was saved by my grandfather, Nikolai Grigoryevich, who worked double shifts with legs swollen from hunger at the construction of the Kharkiv Tractor Plant. For this he was allotted a kilogram of black bread per day, which was divided among all the members of the family and valued truly beyond price... In my grandmother's view, this terrible famine was deliberately organised by the authorities. My father said that human life in that country was worth absolutely nothing.

It was precisely these realities that shaped my father's character and outlook, hardened his nature, and having lodged in his memory forever, became in time the source of deep reflection and thought. That, perhaps, is where an artist is born: when he has lived through everything himself, he has something to think about...

From childhood, my father's inclination toward drawing was clearly evident - having begged a pencil stub and a scrap of paper from soldiers, he would draw whatever he had seen with abandon, compose fanciful fairy-tale and epic subjects, was very fond of drawing heroes of Ukrainian and Slavic epic tradition, and developed his creative imagination. He saw the surrounding world in a distinctive way, capturing the full diversity of nature's colours and shades.

Barely having survived the famine and not yet risen from their knees, the people were struck by yet another misfortune - a bloody war with Nazi Germany. In the first days of the war my grandfather was called up to the front.

Already at the very outset of the war, after one of countless bombardments, a vast crater filled with water at the bottom gaped where our family's home had stood, and only a single wall remained, with an iron bedstead embedded in it. Fortunately, no one happened to be inside at that fateful moment. And so, nearly until the end of the war, my relatives huddled in cellars and dugouts, wandering from village to village amid the fighting through the occupied and practically front-line zone. My father was an agile, hardy, physically robust youth. He was constantly turning up among the soldiers at the front line, where they fed him, and from time to time he was used to gather intelligence. Having added a year to his age, he managed to be conscripted into the army in July 1943, thereby escaping death by starvation or by bombing in the front-line zone. Having completed the school for junior commanders in November 1943, Sergeant Maltsev was sent to the front.

1. Half of Europe on His Belly

Recalling the wartime ordeal, my father said that besides the deaths and woundings of comrades, what tormented him was a constant gnawing hunger and a terrible, unrelenting fatigue. They were almost perpetually on the march somewhere, all the while pushing artillery pieces, hauling ammunition, or digging dugouts and trenches - for themselves and for the guns - all of this in any weather: rain, snow, slush, in piercing wind and cold... With bitterness my father sometimes recalled the reckless orders of commanders, the absence of adequate supplies both of provisions and of ammunition, which ultimately resulted in enormous losses among the troops. Fear, hunger, brutal labour, hopelessness - and yet through it all a faith in victory. Thus did my father describe the war, at least its first half.

My father saw direct combat service for more than half a year. He participated in the battles for the liberation of Eastern Europe and in the assault on Berlin. He was wounded and treated in a military hospital in Linz, Austria. From 1943 to 1950 he served in the army as a senior sergeant and commander of an artillery piece, receiving various combat decorations - the Order of the Patriotic War, medals for Valour, for Combat Merit, for the Capture of Berlin, and others.

Only after the victory in 1945, while still serving in the army, did my father return to his childhood passion and with enormous pleasure carried out commissions for the artistic decoration of his military unit, drew portraits of fellow soldiers, and painted studies.

1. A Dream Comes True

After demobilisation in 1950, my father returned to his native Slobozhanshchyna. Here his truly professional activity began - first at the Kharkiv arts and crafts factory, concurrently studying at an art studio under instructors S.M. Besedin, E.N. Tregub, and V.M. Nasedkin, and later at the Art Fund. My father's work was noticed and appreciated at exhibitions, and after his marriage to my mother - Praskovya Grigoryevna - he enrolled in and successfully completed by correspondence the graphic arts faculty of the Ukrainian Printing Institute named after Ivan Fedorov in Lviv, in the studio of the noted graphic artist Kasian.

In 1966 the need arose for a director of the Chuhuiv Children's Art School named after Repin, and it came about that my father was offered the position.

1. A Fateful Turn

The school, which barely counted some two dozen pupils, was at that time on the verge of closure. My father recalled that upon seeing the sorry state of the institution, he nearly lost heart - matters were far too bad, and the material and technical base was practically non-existent. "My predecessors said to me: 'Nothing will come of it - do you think you're smarter than us?'" Then, as always, my mother gave my father invaluable support. They began by seriously establishing the foundations of the teaching methodology, systematically strengthening the technical equipment, and improving the conditions of study for the children. "Then we copied down from the school registers the addresses of those who were doing well in their studies, and I went around the courtyards and, in the presence of parents, explained what art is, how fortunate a person will be and how much he will come to know by joining the art school." (From an interview with P.N. Maltsev, 18.09.1999)

The result was encouraging - by September around a hundred applications had come in from those wishing to enrol. The school urgently needed to expand its teaching staff, and fortunately on the home ground of the great Repin there have always been enough talented artists; the unprecedented enthusiasm and energy of the Maltsev couple were happily supported by the local authorities, who rendered every assistance in this good work. And so it was that by common effort, grain by grain, the beloved creation of my parents developed, year by year gaining ever greater popularity and high repute. My mother - a mathematician with three honours diplomas of higher education, including a distinction diploma from the Physics and Mathematics Faculty of Kharkiv State University - additionally qualified as a teacher of technical drawing and art history. She worked as a teacher of mathematics and technical drawing in a general school, and concurrently introduced young artists to the world history of art at the art school.

I once happened to overhear her confession to an acquaintance, in which my mother admitted that she had consciously sacrificed a career as a scholar - she had been promised enticing prospects in postgraduate study - for the sake of my father's artistic talent, of which she was deeply convinced. My mother fulfilled this noble mission to the full - she relieved her husband of many domestic and organisational burdens, was his faithful companion and ally, enabling him to concentrate on what mattered most: his artistic and pedagogical work.

1. "The Art School - the Repin School" - A Name to Be Proud Of!

"Anyone can learn art. For what is talent? It is colossal capacity for work. If a child draws both at school and at home and cannot live without it, that is talent. Thirty years ago I put forward the principle that all children are talented - one need only find the right approach to them. At first people joked about it: Maltsev has geniuses and talents everywhere. Then they became convinced that it was so. After all, it is not for nothing that in Japan mathematics and visual art are taught on equal terms. And you can see what heights the Japanese have reached.

One can give youth, love, and life to art - I tell my pupils. When you understand this, you will live a full life. Everything else is mere stage scenery. If someone wishes to know art, God opens doors for such a person. And we, the teachers, help them to look beyond those doors. What is the meaning of a teacher's work? It is clear that a person must labour from the soul. A happy person is one whose work is his beloved occupation..." (From an interview with P.N. Maltsev, 18.09.1999)

In time the Chuhuiv Children's Art School named after Repin, which my father led for nearly four decades, became one of the finest in Ukraine, nurturing hundreds of talents. Its graduates continue to bring glory to the Repin land, winning the hearts of lovers of visual art at numerous exhibitions, including international ones. I am proud that my remarkable parents played a significant role in this creative process, and the fond memory of them, I am certain, lives on in the hearts of many graduates and mentors of our beloved art school and all our fellow townspeople.

1. Artist and Teacher

My father loved his many pupils, tirelessly shared his professional secrets with them, sincerely rejoiced in their creative successes, and was deeply concerned about how their lives were unfolding. Being a workaholic by nature, he never idled, turning every moment to good account. At the first opportunity he would work with abandon over a canvas, rendering on his paintings the beauties of his beloved land, portraits of fellow townspeople, genre compositions. He gave preference to oil painting and the classical realist style.

Over the entire course of his creative career he produced approximately one thousand works, many of which were simply given as gifts and now reside in galleries, museums, and other state and public institutions, and private collections. In 2005, by Decree of the President of Ukraine, Petr Maltsev was awarded the title of Honoured Worker of Culture of Ukraine for his significant personal contribution to the cultural development of the country, his substantial achievements, and his active public work. By resolutions of sessions of the city and district councils, my father was awarded the titles of Honorary Citizen of the City of Chuhuiv and Honorary Citizen of Chuhuiv District.

1. We Remember, We Love...

I was fortunate enough, apart from my years of military service, to have lived side by side with my parents under one roof until their passing into another world... I often talked, discussed this or that event, sometimes argued with my father, but only now am I beginning to understand that I should have understood him still more deeply, learnt more fully about my own family history, said more kind words to him... My parents did not place the pursuit of material comfort as a priority; they lived modestly, and their whole life was devoted to the search for some possible meaning. In infancy, three of their first children died one after another before I and my younger brother Alexander came into the world. And yet wise father and mother were sufficiently demanding of us and raised us strictly. My father had golden hands, and he did everything he could to pass on his skills to my brother and me. The abilities we acquired proved very useful in life. We both completed art school, thanks to which we learned to see the beauty and harmony in the world around us. Of course my brother and I are proud of our parents. For everything we have achieved in life, and most importantly - for our positive outlook, our diligence, our humanity - we are indebted to our infinitely beloved parents.

Yuriy Maltsev