Stanislav Suknenko’s new documentary Tetiana Yablonska: Inspiration of Solitude was recently screened at the Central Artist’s Building.
The screening and a one-day exhibit of Yablonska’s pastels, held at the Maliovnycha Ukraina (Scenic Ukraine) Gallery of the National Artists’ Union of Ukraine, took place during a soiree commemorating the Ukrainian artist. It was organized and emceed by Hanna Yarova, the gallery’s director, in collaboration with the 1+1 television channel and the Union of Artists of Ukraine. This was the first in a series of soirees dedicated to prominent Ukrainian artists and held in conjunction with the union’s 75th anniversary.
Yablonska was such a vivid personality that a soiree in her honor could not have been held in a tedious format. The Ukrainian writer Hryhorii Tiutiunnyk once said, “There is no mystery to talent, there is only the lasting mystery of love.” This phrase, quoted by the art historian Ihor Buhaienko, served as the best epigraph of the soiree.
“In the twilight years of her life Yablonska spoke little, but later her words seemed to grow in you,” recalled the artist Liudmyla Krasiuk. “You’re walking home, seeing the sky and the trees, and you hear her voice in your heart. Her silence was even more impressive; it seemed to encapsulate the experience of the entire world.”
The artist Vasyl Hurin, one of the guests at the soiree, said, “This small gallery is now displaying things that cannot be described. Everything is here: life, music, and breath. It’s as though she is present in the hall, bestowing her purity and light on everyone.”
Listening to the colorful and emotional stories recounted by the artist’s colleagues and pupils, you realize that it is high time to publish a book of recollections by Tetiana Yablonska and open a museum of her works in Kyiv.
The documentary film Tetiana Yablonska: Inspiration of Solitude has a smooth rhythm, like a river. It is like the passage of time: it captivates you, like sunrise in the mountains. First, there is a series of magical transformations. The material world, consisting of a window, a balcony, an armchair, flowers, birds, the sky, and even the wind, is instantly replaced by paintings and drawings, as though brought forth by the artist’s single glance.
Suddenly her profile is replaced by that of a girl in a black-and-white photograph. Then, with lightning speed you are taken back dozens of years with the help of photographs that appear in quick succession. One of them shows little Tetiana with her parents, brother, and sister. Another shows her as a student, and later as a young mother. After her children are grown, you see her with her grandchildren. And she is always working. The expression in her eyes never changes: it remains youthful, careful, inquisitive, cheerful, and courageous. Her daughter Gaiane Ataian said, “My mother lived with her back straight, with her head held high; she knew her way out of difficult situations. Work was always her salvation.”
ON THE THRESHOLD OF ETERNITY
What is old age? It means living without leaving one’s apartment, seeing the same landscape out of the window. “I am happy in my limited space,” Yablonska said in her twilight years.
The film’s unique documentary footage captures one day in the life of a person on the threshold of eternity: a windowsill with objects made of clear glass: a pitcher, a goblet, and a jar; a tall tree outside the window, its green leaves flutting in a wheelchair, painting with her left hand. We see the entire process, starting with the first strokes of her pastel sticks. She smears them with her fingers, takes a closer look, thinks for a while, and then starts drawing again. The whole sheet is almost filled and you see a work of art. We are seeing an artist who, in bidding farewell to the world, presents it with a masterpiece.
“And so I am back where I belong, and I feel completely free in my creative work.” This is the off-screen voice of Ada Rohovtseva, who reads from Tetiana Yablonska’s diary, quoting her thoughts that reflect her daily quest for the sense of life and creativity. The artist seems to have found an answer to her question and it fills her eyes with a special light.
The closing scene of the film shows the artist sitting on her balcony, holding a small flower. She is not looking at the camera or the viewer. There are words on the screen: “Each of us has a window through which nature looks — Tetiana Yablonska.”
Yablonska’s daughter Gaiane was always by her mother’s side, until the final moment. She looked after her mother and did her utmost to make it possible for her to keep working. She described the background of the filming. “To make this picture, the filmmaker had to be a sensitive person. Many photographers and television journalists came to see us. But I turned them all down. I didn’t want to bother Mother. But then Stanislav called and I thought I could trust him. I introduced him to my mother and she said, ‘Why not? Let him come with his camera.’ During the shooting we felt calm and natural. For 40 minutes Mother painted on camera with inspiration, and this footage doesn’t make you feel as though she was posing for the camera.”
THE SCREENING
After the screening of the documentary at the Artist’s Building, I had an opportunity to talk to Stanislav Suknenko.
What led you to make a film about Tetiana Yablonska?
One day I thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make a “triptych” about extraordinary Ukrainian women who have become symbols of our culture, about personalities who embody our spirit of songs, art, and poetry. Naturally, I was thinking of Nina Matvienko, Tetiana Yablonska, and Lina Kostenko.
Then I saw the pastels that Yablonska did in her final years. I was overwhelmed, and when I learned that she had done them with her left hand because she was almost paralyzed and confined to a limited space, I started figuring out how to say all this on the screen. When she was younger, she had painted all the windows in her apartment, but in her final years she only painted the window in her kitchen. The still lifes changed one after the other on her windowsill, as nature changed outside the window. She painted her wheelchair, her kitchen, and the window. She painted with her left hand every day. I saw these scenes from my future film; they stayed with me. I realized I had to make this film, no matter what.
For me, Yablonska comes from childhood memories of Bread and her other classic canvases. She is an acknowledged master whose works are on permanent display in various museums. Her pastels struck me with their unexpected technique, completeness, and energy. I had the feeling that they were done by a young and strikingly original artist with a free hand.
When I was preparing for my meeting with her and secretly hoping that I would make this film, I read and researched everything I could find about Yablonska. Then I saw everything in a different light. Now it was clear to me that she had never stopped her creative quest, despite her titles and awards. She never cared about them. She cared about her soul and the essence of art that her soul could master, and vice versa. Yablonska’s style constantly changed. To me she is a person who was on a quest until her dying day, even after her body betrayed against her. By the way, my film shows the work that Tetiana Yablonska created on the last day of her life.
I was absolutely convinced that people would be interested in seeing a film about a person of such beauty and willpower.
Is there anything you remember especially clearly after meeting Tetiana Yablonska?
When Gaiane allowed me to come to their home, this first meeting was for us to get acquainted. Our agreement was that I would be able to film her mother only if she liked me. So the first meeting was strange and exciting. I was like a young man on his first date, holding a bouquet of flowers in my trembling hands.
I also realized the complexity of the task I had set myself. It’s one thing to meet a woman of this age and in that kind of physical condition, and another thing to train a camera on her. After I passed muster and was allowed to shoot, filming turned out to be easier said than done because at times there was a lot of emotion. For example, Yablonska and I were looking through her old photographs (she was very beautiful when she was young) when she suddenly burst into tears, saying, “What do you need all this for? I’m so ugly, so old. I’ve accomplished nothing in my life, I’m no hero. Take Nina Matviienko. Now she’s a hero. But I?”
That was tough. I was about to give up the idea when she asked me to push her into the kitchen, and that was where she immediately started working on a still life. The cameraman barely had time to turn on the camera. Suddenly I saw a different woman, a strong, pretty, and inspired one. Yablonska was aware of why we were there and what I wanted. She gave us the kind of footage we needed while remaining her natural self, as though she were oblivious to the hustle and bustle in the kitchen and the camera’s cold eye.
Can you tell us a bit about your colleagues, the composer and the cameraman?
The composer, Ihor Lebedkin, wrote a striking score. He perceived every nuance, mood, and underlying theme and mood. He knew what I wanted. His music breathes life into the film. I used Myroslav Skoryk’s Melody because I wanted to preserve it. Ihor’s music also harmonized with the main theme. I also used the song “Oi ty, soloveiko,” performed by Nina Matvienko. Yablonska loved it. But 90 percent of the music on the soundtrack belongs to Lebedkin.
The people who saw the film always wonder about the cameraman. His name is Ruslan Hrytsenko and he is an unusual young man. This was his debut, and he did a great job despite the excitement and the limited amount of time. While Yablonska was working, she didn’t pay any attention to us and it was impossible to ask her to redo something. I think that during the 40 minutes of filming and delicately “dancing” around the artist, Ruslan managed to portray more than the master’s creative process.
Some scenes in the film are absolutely fantastic. The way the artist looks, the expression in her eyes, reminds you of ancient Oriental sages who achieve enlightenment at the end of their lives.
I know that Yablonska was interested in Oriental culture and poetry. At first I wanted the film to reflect this. The first draft had a lot of Oriental music, but then I realized that the Oriental theme is present in the final version in the form of individual audio effects. Yablonska’s entire appearance, the way we saw, emanated a striking kind of energy. You said “enlightenment.” That’s precisely how I formulated what I saw and heard. If anything like this is present in the film, it’s a miracle that the camera could capture it.
It was a remarkable coincidence, what with everything happening at the right time. I thank my lucky stars for having been allowed to film the brilliant Tetiana Yablonska.
