NOW - 24.8.2007

23. 08. 2007, 23:21 | by anton

Several ways of living for those who want to devote their life to the arts.

A person pursues his favourite occupation. In the remaining time he makes his living by simple physical labor that does not employ his art and skills.
A person limits his social requirements as much as possible and pursues his favourite occupation while living on alms.
A person divides his time between the favourite occupation and additional earning in the “art field” such as mass-media, TV, cinema, parties, bad productions, etc., understanding clearly that all those are just “hack work”.
A person pursues only his favourite occupation and, after spending years to achieve perfection in it, he reaches the time when his stage work allows him to survive in society ensuring him creative, financial and geographical independence.
A person understands that he won’t have enough time and energy to obtain independence through his favourite occupation, so in order not to sell himself he makes the decision not to pursue it or anything related to it, but instead to make money and pave the way for the creative independence and happiness of another person: Husband, Wife,
Children, Friend.
A person finds a social structure or another person, which (or who) supports him, making it possible to be occupied only by his favourite art and not requiring “loafing”.
A person decides not to do anything at all and leaves for the monastery. He relies upon maintenance from a certain prosperous organization or person.
A person puts an end to his life.

It is necessary to assign names of people who you know well or of celebrities to each point of the list. For example: Bashlachev, Faulkner, Moguchiy, Nikitin, Makarevich, Modigliani, Maximov, Jodorowsky, before starting to tear your ass with a pike crankbait. The ways and methods of transition between the listed models are intriguing. Propose and try.

* Methodological blunders are commited in this text on purpose.

Original text: Anton Adasinsky.
Translation: Niki
English text editor: Jennifer Williams
Photos: Elena Yarovaya

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NOW - 15.08.2007

15. 08. 2007, 12:45 | by DEREVO

I see my hands. They are stained with oil. Old cars are around me. Apparently I’m working in a garage. Alone.

There’s some annoyance in my sleep: should I change jobs? But there are obscure liabilities. This is not my dream. A sort of a junk movie.

I’m sure I’m handsome and manly. I search for a mirror and whistle something.

Powerful blows at the gates which open upwards slowly. Red-hot stripe of the sun-tide crawls the floor.

The customers are from the 30s. The blonde man remains in the car. The miniature girl comes out. She smokes a cigarette squinting in the sun.

Seems like I’m hearing jazz and realize – if the music stops I will be shot down. I know this pair. The girl is Bonnie Parker.

I know how they will die. She will turn 23.

One of my friends in St. Petersburg bought herself an old soviet government limousine. ZIM or something like that. Every little gap is filled with sand. Sort of bullet-proof doors.

It is possible to die in sleep. So I answer in good English that I recognize their faces; that I have no money in the garage but I point out the idea of car doors filled with sand. I’m showing them where I can put the sand in.

“Not bad”, says Bonnie (I will never be able to forget her voice),”but where would we get so much sand, my boy?”

“In a fire-protection bin” – I smile and want the blond guy to see that.

I’m going to the bin. Car’s door slammed. Maybe he’s got out. It’s hot in the car.

At last it’s summer.