Memories

Based on the recollections of the artist’s widow, Galina Stepanovna Androsova (Surikova).

Viktor Borisovich Surikov was a descendant of the ancient Cossack Surikov family, who, alongside Ermak, helped settle Siberia, travelling to Transbaikalia, then to the Far East and the Amur region, and eventually settling in the Albazin fort. Viktor Borisovich Surikov was born on 8 March 1940 in the village of Sivaki in the Tygdinsky District of the Chita Region (now the Magdagachinsky District of the Amur Region) into a family of Cossack settlers. His great-grandfather, Alexander Surikov, moved with his family to the Amur, to the confluence of the Shilka and Argun rivers. They lived in the Cossack village of Pokrovka, a further six versts upriver. They were known as the Amur Cossacks. My grandfather, Pyotr Alexandrovich Surikov, had a large family: nine children. Of these, six were sons: Nikolai, Innokenty, Vladimir, Boris, the twins Fyodor and Mefodiy, and three daughters: Cleopatra, Ekaterina and Elizaveta.

In 1932, my grandfather was repressed for being a kulak, and in 1933 the whole family was exiled to the Chita Region, as far as Sivaki station, then another 32 kilometres along a narrow-gauge railway deep into the taiga, where there was just one barracks, and six kilometres away was a settlement where the resettlers lived. It is still called that today – Pereselents. My grandfather worked there as a stable hand. He taught the children how to make various household items, how to harness and unharness horses, and how to ride properly. He then worked at the Sivaksky sawmill as a loader, a timber haulier, and a labourer on the PTH-5 narrow-gauge railway line. Victor’s father, Boris Petrovich, and his mother, Evgenia Vasilievna, worked in the logging industry. It was gruelling, back-breaking labour. His mother also came from a well-to-do, large family, the Fedotovs, who had been exiled from the Tobolsk Governorate to Mogochi, then to Neryungri, and finally to Sivaki, for being classified as kulaks. It was there that she and his father met and married. In 1937, their son Yuri was born, and in 1940, Viktor. But soon the Great Patriotic War against Nazi Germany began. Following a malicious denunciation by Vauilin and Nechipurenko, my grandfather was arrested and taken to Chita to the NKVD. His family never saw him again and knew nothing of his fate. In 1942, his daughter Lyudmila was born, and that same year his father, Boris Petrovich, was deported to the Chita Region to work in the coal mines at Bukachacha. They extracted ore and coal, working 10–12 hours a day, all for the front, all for victory. Sparing no effort and drawing on their last reserves of strength, the Soviet people – the home front workers – toiled selflessly in the harshest conditions of war in the coal mines. They performed a labour feat, forging victory for the front. This coal was destined for blast furnaces, for factories and plants, and for the boilers of steam locomotives. Sometimes they went without sleep for nights on end, but they kept the coal coming. The climate there was very harsh. Sometimes snow would fall in August; water had to be brought in, and vegetables failed to ripen. Terrible famine, scurvy and all manner of diseases ravaged the people. But despite this, my mother gathered her three young children, their milk cow Martha, and their meagre belongings, and in 1946 travelled by train to join my father at the mine. At first, they lived in a communal barracks, partitioning themselves off from the others with a cloth curtain. A year later, his father built a small house. They survived there thanks solely to their milk cow. In the post-war period, the country was in ruins and suffering from famine. The national economy, plants and factories were being rebuilt. Life was hard for everyone at that time; they endured a terrible famine, and bread was rationed. Viktor was 6 years old and Yura was 11; they would take a large sack used as a mattress and walk up the hill to pluck grass with their little hands to feed the cow several times a day. A year later, their father made them small scythes, and they mowed hay for their cow, Marta, all by themselves. In Bukachachi in 1947, Victor started school in Year 1, and the family’s fourth child – a daughter, Valentina – was born.

In 1949, their father’s term of exile came to an end. And in 1950, another daughter, Galina, was born into the family. Later, having sold the cow, they moved to a new home in the Khabarovsk Krai, at Obluchye station. With the money they got for the cow, they bought a dilapidated little house, roofed with old shingles, and with no vegetable garden to boot. His father found work as a forester, earning just 42 roubles, whilst his mother and sons cleared a large vegetable patch behind the station, raking the ground to remove the stones (the soil there was rocky). They began growing potatoes and vegetables, but still lived in poverty, barely scraping by. At times, they went 3–4 days without bread. From early childhood, Victor was introduced to hard work. He and his brother mowed hay for the livestock, helped their mother look after the farm and the vegetable patch, gathered brushwood and firewood, carried water for the livestock and the family, and went into the taiga to gather mushrooms, berries and nuts. Their father taught them how to set snares for hares and shoot hazel grouse. As the little cottage they had bought was small and dilapidated, their father began felling timber in the taiga, whilst Yura and Vitya planed it and hauled it back to the homestead by horse-drawn sledge; they also helped their father build the house and strip shingles for the roof. Viktor and his brother helped their parents cope with the hardships of life, lending their frail little shoulders to the task in every way. There was very little time left for games and children’s pastimes.

Fate had not been kind to him since childhood. They were constantly plagued by want, poverty and malnutrition. Yet, despite his harsh lot and such a difficult life, Victor saw only beauty in everything. He loved his parents, the family in which he grew up, the people around him, and nature. He loved his homeland and marvelled at the beauty of the Far Eastern taiga. As he communed with nature, he sought to capture that feeling on paper and canvas. Consequently, after completing Year 7 at school, he enrolled at the Birobidzhan Art College. His elder brother, Yura, was studying at the Khabarovsk Technical College of Communications. There were already six children in the family; in 1956, another brother, Alexander, was born, and his parents were unable to support two students. Added to this was his father’s reproach that Victor had chosen a frivolous profession; so, to avoid being a burden on the family and to enable his brother to finish technical college, Victor dropped out of his studies. He went to the station and boarded the first train that came along. That is how he ended up in Blagoveshchensk, where he had neither family nor friends, and not a penny to his name. The first thing he did was find a temporary job. Alone and hungry, he unloaded a wagon of coal; having received his cash, he went to the canteen at the flour mill. As he later recounted: ‘The smells from the kitchen made my head spin; I bought everything my heart desired to eat, and once I’d had my fill, I felt a real intoxication, as if from alcohol. If I hadn’t experienced it myself, I wouldn’t have believed anyone who said such a thing was possible.’

It was there, whilst chatting about accommodation and permanent work, that some diners offered him a job as a porter at the flour mill. Victor was a tall, sturdy, strong lad, hardened by life. Having secured a place in a hostel, he worked at the mill until he was called up for military service. He sent part of his earnings to his mother. In his spare time, he attended Pyotr Sergeyevich Evstafyev’s studio at the Amur Art Workshops. There, he learnt the art of brushwork.
In 1959, we met him in Pervomaisky Park in Blagoveshchensk. In those days, it was a favourite leisure spot for young people. In the evenings, the favourite tunes of our youth could be heard from far across the city. The brass band played ‘The Waltz of the Flowers’, ‘Aginsky’s Polonaise’, the waltzes ‘Waves of the Danube’ and ‘On the Hills of Manchuria’, and many other wonderful pieces. Viktor loved to dance, especially the waltz. We danced the tango, the foxtrot and the Moldavian polka with him. We always made sure to perform a figure waltz on the dance floor that evening; we particularly enjoyed whirling around to the rhythm of the waltz. What a wonderful time that was!
Viktor was a very modest young man; he never complained about the hardships of his life, never boasted about his successes, and even modestly kept quiet about his passion for painting and his classes at the studio. I only found out about this when he enrolled at the Vladivostok Art College.

In the autumn of 1960, he was called up for military service. He served as a radio operator in Spassk-Dalny for three years. Whilst on leave, he asked for my hand in marriage, and we got married. But soon afterwards, in 1962, he received some terrible news: there had been an accident at the Obluchye station depot, in which his father had been killed.

In the early 1990s, his grandfather, Petr Alexandrovich Surikov, his parents, Boris Petrovich and Evgenia Vasilievna, as well as Yuri, Viktor, Lyudmila and Valentina, were rehabilitated.

After being demobilised from the army in 1963, Viktor decided to continue his studies and enrolled at the Art and Teacher Training College in Vladivostok. That same year, his daughter Elena was born. Having completed his first year, Viktor rented a room in a private house and moved us to Vladivostok. During his first year of study, Victor ‘acquired’ gastritis with low acidity due to an irregular and irregular eating pattern. After classes, he would rush off to work; there was never enough time to eat, and sometimes not enough money either. Those five years of study seemed like an eternity to me. We lived in private flats; no one helped us financially – there simply was no one to turn to – so we relied solely on our own strength and resources. I worked and studied by correspondence, whilst Victor studied full-time; after his studies, he worked as a graphic designer at the Party School. In 1965, at Victor’s insistence, we had another son, Boris. We were desperately short of money. My entire salary went on rent and nursery fees. We had to scrimp and save on everything. We ate, albeit sparingly, but now Victor could always have hot, fresh food – be it cabbage soup or porridge – but at least it was on time. From our meagre budget, we still occasionally allowed ourselves the luxury of taking the children to the theatre or the cinema.

Despite the hardships of everyday life, Victor and I were the happiest couple. We got on very well; there were no arguments or misunderstandings between us. The landlords where we rented a room, our neighbours and friends were always envious of us. We were held up as an example. Victor was a loving husband, a caring and wonderful father, and a devoted family man. He was a good student and a good friend. Our home was always full of friends. Throughout his studies, Victor was the group representative. He didn’t like an idle lifestyle; he didn’t waste time, always tried to do everything quickly; he didn’t walk, he ran – he was choleric by nature, so he tried to do everything ‘at a run’. Every day he would bring me several sketches and drawings to ‘look at’, which he’d done on the way home from lectures, on the go. If something caught his eye, he would be sure to capture it on paper, card or canvas. Be it a public garden, an old, crooked shed, a building site for a new development, children playing in a sandpit, an old man resting on a bench, or a group of elderly ladies discussing the latest world news. He always carried a folder with paper and a sharply sharpened pencil. Wherever he was – whether walking home from class, on his way to work, or out for a stroll with us in the park – he was always drawing something. At the weekend, he would go out to paint from life in oils or watercolours. As he used to say: ‘You’ve got to go out and capture the mood’, whether it was the sunrise in the morning or the sunset in the evening. He often took us along with him. He would work whilst we walked around with the children nearby, without disturbing him. For some reason, Victor loved to paint gloomy days, and there were as many of those in Vladivostok as one could wish for. I always used to look through his early works, and he jokingly called me ‘Critic Stasov’. His works were often selected for the college’s teaching collection during student portfolio reviews. For his excellent academic performance, Victor was constantly awarded certificates of honour, cash prizes and valuable gifts. He was a capable student, though his command of English was rather poor in his first year. At school, he’d started learning German, but the teacher resigned; an English teacher took over but also left shortly afterwards. As a result, the pupils knew neither language. He just about managed to get through his first year, despite his struggles with the foreign language. In his second year, I began tutoring him. I was lucky: at school, we had a highly respected English teacher; we read and translated texts and paid close attention to pronunciation. Much to the teacher’s surprise, Victor’s English improved considerably.

Before he graduated from the college, they wanted to send him to the Academy of Arts in Leningrad so that he could continue his studies. Studying at the academy would have meant another six years. His supervisor, Valentin Stepanovich Chebotarev, insisted on this, but I was afraid that, with two children and no place to live, we wouldn’t be able to cope for that long. Viktor turned down this offer and was awarded an open diploma. And in 1968, we moved to the town of Luchegorsk in the Primorsky Krai, where the All-Union Komsomol and Youth Construction Project for the Primorskaya GRES power station had just begun. Viktor found work as a graphic designer, I became the manager of a café, and the children went to nursery. We were allocated a three-room flat. Our financial situation began to improve. Victor continued his creative work; in his spare time, he painted sketches and portraits of the builders, capturing the daily life of the Luchegorsk Thermal Power Station construction site.

Yet he had, after all, begun his artistic journey as a landscape painter. In 1968 and 1969, he exhibited his work twice at the builders’ club in Luchegorsk – a small town then under construction. But his heart yearned for something greater; he was constantly drawn back to Blagoveshchensk, which had grown dear to him. In 1970, whilst here on another holiday, we visited an exhibition of Amur artists, which was on display at the Officers’ Club. Viktor could no longer bear to remain in Luchegorsk, cut off from his fellow artists. After speaking with Nikolai Matveev, the director of the art workshops, he transferred to work at the Amur Art Workshops in Blagoveshchensk, where we moved to live. Soon afterwards, in 1971, our third child was born – our daughter Natasha, who later followed in her father’s footsteps to become an artist and designer; it was no wonder he called her ‘my painting’.
Viktor worked tirelessly, studying his native region; he frequently undertook creative trips to collective and state farms, and to the northern districts of the Amur Region, painting portraits of leading workers, grain farmers, hunters, reindeer herders and loggers. The geographical scope of his work is vast. In the early 1970s, he became fascinated by industrial themes. He undertook trips to major construction sites in our Amur Region and produced a series of works on the BAM construction industry. These include canvases such as ‘The Shimanovsky Industrial Complex’, ‘The Concrete Mixing Plant’, ‘Logging’, and portraits of BAM builders. In his works, he captured the harsh natural landscape of our region and the transformations taking place in the Amur region, whilst depicting our contemporaries – the heroes of everyday working life. He created a series of paintings dedicated to participants in the All-Union Komsomol and Youth Shock Construction Projects. These include works such as ‘On a Break’, ‘A Brigade of Builders’, ‘A Female Welder’, ‘A Site Foreman’ and ‘Mathematics Teacher Yevgeny Kirillov’.

In his works, he depicted the start of construction of the Zeya Hydroelectric Power Station, the Raichikhinskaya Thermal Power Station, the Luchegorskaya Thermal Power Station and the Bureyskaya Hydroelectric Power Station. He visited these places on numerous occasions. The last painting he was finishing before his death was ‘The Zeya Hydroelectric Power Station Dam – Completion of Construction’; it is now housed in the Amur Regional Museum of Local History in Blagoveshchensk.

A reproduction of the painting depicting the Raichikhinskaya Thermal Power Station is printed on page 33 of the 1979 edition of the book Priamurye moye. Viktor was present at the laying of the foundation stones for the Bureyskaya Hydroelectric Power Station. In his works, he captured the whirlwind of activity at the start of the hydroelectric power station’s construction, where ‘KamAZ’ and ‘BelAZ’ lorries were transporting earth from the stone quarry to build up the dam. He produced many works in watercolour and oil, and made pencil sketches. His works tell the story of the builders of Talakan and their lives. The 1980 painting ‘The Start of Construction of the Bureya Hydroelectric Power Station’ was acquired by the Chita Art Museum.

Surikov frequently visited the most remote northern regions of our region and dedicated many works to the small ethnic groups of the north: ‘Ekymchansky Airport’, ‘BAM Weather Station’, ‘Tokurskaya Dredger’, ‘Miners’ Settlement’, ‘February School’ and many other works. The northern landscapes are a delight to the eye: ‘March Snow’, ‘Ust-Nyukzha Settlement’, ‘The Camp’. A number of works were created on the Olekm River; one of them – ‘On the Olekm’ – was purchased by the Moscow Fund for Art Exhibitions of the RSFSR and transferred to the collection of the Novikov-Daursky Amur Regional Museum of Local History by the chief curator of the ‘Rosizopropaganda’ centre. A portrait of Marfa Petrovna, chairwoman of the collective farm in Ust-Nyukzha, set against the backdrop of a kamalan (a rug made from fur skins with beautiful ornamentation), who raised many of her own and foster children during the war and post-war years, is now housed in the Tretyakov Gallery. The Novikov-Daursky Amur Regional Museum of Local History houses works dedicated to the north of the Amur Region: ‘In Faraway Olekm’, ‘The Return of the Hunters’, ‘The Little Village’ and ‘To New Mari’. Several watercolours were commissioned by the Khabarovsk Union of Artists in 1979 on the theme of the construction of the BAM and purchased from Viktor Surikov.

Spring was Viktor’s favourite season, and he depicted it in his paintings, openly marvelling at and admiring the reawakening of nature. This is clearly evident in works such as ‘A March Morning’, ‘Spring on the Olekm’, ‘A Northern Village’ and ‘Early Spring’. The presence of people is felt not only in his landscapes but in all his paintings. Take, for example, paintings such as ‘School in the Village of Ekimchan’, ‘Early Spring’ and ‘On the New Maris’, where he succeeded in depicting the unity of man with nature. Through a multitude of visible and invisible threads, his landscape genre is intertwined with people’s lives, their daily existence, moods and feelings. He expressed all this beautifully in his works. These are unique genre narratives about life in remote taiga villages. One could go on at length listing his works; they all exude life and a love for his native Far Eastern region.

Viktor worked prolifically across various genres of painting. He was the first artist in the Amur Region to begin painting in watercolour and to exhibit his watercolour works to the public. As the newspaper *Amurskaya Pravda* later wrote: ‘Until the early 1990s, there were no watercolourists in the Amur Region, apart from Viktor Surikov, who painted several industrial landscapes,’ wrote Nina Vasilievna Vereshchagina, an art historian and head of the art department at the regional museum of local history. But he loved working in watercolour even during his student years. I often observed his watercolour technique when he took me with him on sketching trips or when he painted still lifes and compositions at home. Whenever I asked questions that interested me, he would explain in detail how to work properly with watercolours and how to apply ‘wash’. He explained that ‘aqua’ means water, which is why one must work with water. I would watch for a long time as the water and paint were first applied to the palette, then the right tones were selected—warm combinations with cool ones—the appropriate colour was chosen and transferred with a brush onto a damp sheet of Watman paper. He explained to me that not all paper is suitable for watercolour, and which paints are best to use.

He told me that his brother Yuri was also keen on painting; as a child, he used to paint with honey watercolours. Once, when his brother was out, little Vitya tasted the paint on his tongue; as a child unaccustomed to sweets, he liked its sweet taste and licked it all up, for which he received a few slaps from his brother. Later, he would joke that perhaps that was when he first fell in love with painting in watercolours.

Having lived with Viktor for over twenty years, I was constantly amazed by his diligence, energy and, at the same time, his tenacious perseverance. He could sit up all night long, working on a rush sketch for a commission, and then rush off to work in the morning and labour all day. Wherever we were – on holiday, at a spa, in a holiday home, or simply out in the countryside with the children or friends – he would always take his sketchbook, paints, brushes and canvas with him, and would work whilst still finding time to relax.

In 1981, he was admitted to the Union of Artists of the USSR. He became the first member of the Union of Artists of the USSR from the Amur region who was born and had spent his entire creative life working in his native Amur region. In the same year, a local branch of the Union of Artists was established in Blagoveshchensk; previously, they had been part of the Khabarovsk branch and had to transport all their works to Khabarovsk by aeroplane or train for review and selection for regional, territorial or republican exhibitions. Victor had large-scale works, and transporting them was always fraught with great difficulties. Now our artists had more opportunities to work at creative retreats alongside distinguished figures of culture and to learn their craft from them. For many artists, these trips became a school of mastery. Victor, for his part, had the opportunity to work at the ‘Academic Dacha’ Creative Centre of the Union of Artists of the USSR in Vyshny Volochek in 1984. It was his first and last trip there. I happened to be in the Moscow region at the time, so I popped round to visit my husband and wish him a happy birthday on 8 March. I stayed there for three days, and during that time we went sketching together in Vyshny Volochek, travelled to Gus-Khrustalny, and visited the town of Torzhok and the Valdai region. With particular delight and love, he captured the beauty of those places on canvas, whilst I sat beside him on a folding chair, marvelling at his work and the movements of his hands and brushes; right before my eyes, works of art—new paintings and sketches—came to life. How wonderful it was! During the month he had been there before my arrival, he had produced so many works that I had to spend a long time looking through them in the studio, marvelling at and admiring his talent and his ability to create beauty. It was no wonder that the artists who had been with him at the ‘Academic Dacha’ during that retreat told me that Victor was a real ‘driving force’ for me. They were also amazed by his work ethic. Later, whilst viewing the artists’ works, the head of the retreat at the dacha himself – the artist and world-renowned art historian and critic Vladimir Fyodorovich Tokarev – knelt before Surikov’s works and said: ‘Viktor! I bow down before your talent!’ These words were later passed on to our artists working at the ‘Academic Dacha’ during subsequent residencies.

Viktor was at the dacha in the spring, during the anniversary year, when the ‘Academic Dacha’ Creative Centre of the Union of Artists of the USSR was celebrating its centenary. To mark the occasion, a community clean-up day was held to tidy the grounds, and an oak tree was planted. We have photographs showing the artists tidying up the grounds whilst Victor plants this oak tree. He never shied away from any kind of work, wherever he was. If necessary, he would cook dinner, help with the washing, whitewash the house, and he loved working in the vegetable garden.
By nature, he was a sociable man with a generous spirit; from a young age, he was not afraid to make important decisions or take on responsibility. Charming, emotional and always on the go, he got on easily with people and found common ground with everyone. He was constantly surrounded by all sorts of people, regardless of age, nationality, profession or education. Children, young people, the elderly and the very old, Yakuts, Evenks, Caucasians, Mari and Latvians were all drawn to him. Doctors and artists, builders and writers, composers, military personnel, party leaders and students would pop into his workshop. Viktor made time for everyone to have a chat or offer some help. We always had people from all walks of life at home too. Whenever they came to Blagoveshchensk on business or for other reasons, they would often pop round to our place, stay the night, have a chat and share their life experiences. Our neighbours always joked that ‘a peasant’s house is never empty’. Students from the art and graphic design college would go to his studio to sketch a scene with him; they’d ask him to do so, learn from him, and absorb his experience and knowledge, and he never turned them down. They’d also come round to our house, staying for hours, leafing through art books – and we had plenty of them.

On 25 April 1985, Viktor passed away. He died young, at the age of 45, in the prime of his life and at the height of his creative powers. He died in hospital, shortly after an operation, due to the medical staff’s negligent attitude towards their duties. His life was cut short, like a song that had just begun and remained unsung… Just think how much more he could have created in the years to come! After all, the time had finally come for him to devote himself entirely to his art: his children had grown up, he had a flat, and his financial situation had stabilised. Before his death, he had planned to devote the remaining five years until his fiftieth birthday entirely to preparing for a solo exhibition, but, alas…
Many people knew Viktor Surikov, not only in Blagoveshchensk and the Amur Region, but also beyond its borders. A huge crowd gathered for the funeral service. People put their own affairs aside and came to say goodbye to him and see him off on his final journey. Telegrams expressing grief and condolences began to arrive at the Amur Union of Artists from all over: ‘The artists of Chita express their deepest sorrow at the untimely passing of Viktor Borisovich Surikov. We extend our condolences to his family and loved ones.” Artists from Komsomolsk-on-Amur: “Please accept our sincere condolences on the untimely passing of the remarkable Far Eastern artist and wonderful man, Viktor Borisovich Surikov.” Telegrams of this kind were sent from the artists’ unions of Moscow, Khabarovsk, Vladivostok, Ulan-Ude, Krasnoyarsk and many other cities.

In the autumn of 1985, the Amur branch of the Artists’ Union organised a posthumous exhibition of his works, which ran for a whole month and was visited by over three thousand people. There were a great many comments, both in the visitors’ book in the exhibition hall and in local newspapers. The newspaper Amurskaya Pravda, in its issue of 22 November 1985, published a piece by L. Dimov entitled ‘… exudes life and love’:
‘What do the paintings created by the artist tell us? Of course, they tell us about what he depicts: nature and people, cities and villages… But the canvases of a true painter are also capable of revealing a great deal about the artist himself – his preferences and temperament, his outlook on life. The exhibition of works by Viktor Borisovich Surikov, a member of the Union of Artists of the USSR, currently on display in the exhibition hall of the regional centre, is just such a vivid, memorable narrative. It introduces us to a master of the brush who had a subtle sense of the world’s harmony and revealed its unique beauty to us.

It is with great regret that we must speak of him in the past tense: illness cut short the artist’s life at the very height of his creative powers, at the age of forty-six, but his works remain. Many of them can be seen at the exhibition. They bring the joy of connecting with the vast and luminous world recreated by the painter, evoking a vivid response in our hearts. Dozens of visitor comments bear witness to this. A group of students from the teacher-training college had this to say about his works: ‘They exude life and love for our native Far Eastern region.’ Indeed, Viktor Surikov generously devoted his artistic gift to celebrating life and his filial love for his homeland.”

In the 6 December 1985 issue of the newspaper “Amursky Komsomolets”, there was a piece by M. Solovyova, a veteran of war and labour, entitled “Paintings Must Live!”:
‘This man’s life was cut short, but, like a fine song, it was sung in a single breath. A master of his craft, sensitive and deeply committed, he left behind canvases of the same calibre – canvases of mood, in which every landscape stirs the soul, excites it, or fills it with a warm sadness. Such is the destiny of an artist who has managed to bring out the beautiful, an artist such as Viktor Surikov – our fellow townsman and a member of the Union of Artists of the USSR. Over the course of a month, more than three thousand people visited the exhibition.

Students and lecturers from universities and technical colleges, pupils from the city’s schools, students from vocational colleges, and young workers—in groups and on their own—came to encounter beauty, soaking up the generously applied colours of their native land. ‘Stop! Look how beautiful and marvellous our Far East is!” – this is how students from the Blagoveshchensk Technological Institute described the exhibition. I do not intend to describe every single painting – go and see for yourselves! Nor would I wish to impose my own opinion on the exhibition; many who have visited the exhibition hall over the past few days have already shared their thoughts in the guest book. And each of these comments is a tribute to a man who, in the words of one visitor, a Moscow playwright, ‘worked hard, honestly and with great talent’ …

The focus here is on something else: how can we preserve this priceless treasure for our children and grandchildren? And not because there is a risk of them being lost – such paintings are guaranteed a long life. How can we put them on display not just for the duration of an exhibition, but for a much longer period? This is a concern not only for me, but also for many who visited Viktor Borisovich Surikov’s exhibition. The options they have put forward vary, but are they acceptable? Some believe it is necessary to transfer part of the collection to the regional museum, whilst others – such as history teacher V. Chepelev, Blagoveshchensk resident Y. Kuzmina and others, who hold Viktor Borisovich Surikov’s work in high regard – believe it is essential to preserve the entire collection and are calling for the establishment of a museum or art gallery in Blagoveshchensk. I support these proposals. I think the newspaper’s readers will agree with me – these paintings must live on!”

M. Solovyova.

Indeed, there were many such comments. I approached both the city administration and the Department of Culture on this very matter, but they were unable to offer me anything suitable; consequently, I had to keep some of the works in the family collection and transfer the remaining paintings to the Novikov-Daursky Amur Regional Museum of Local History for safekeeping, on the condition that they be exhibited at city and regional exhibitions.

In 1986, a posthumous exhibition was organised at the museum, featuring the majority of his works. In March 1990, the museum organised a solo posthumous anniversary exhibition to mark the 50th anniversary of his birth.

In 2000, at my request, the museum held an exhibition to mark the 60th anniversary of Viktor’s birth. I so wanted the museum to exhibit all his works that had been entrusted to its care. And so, on 31 March 2005, at my request and insistence, and with the participation of the Amur branch of the Union of Artists of the USSR, an exhibition of Viktor Surikov’s paintings was held in the exhibition hall in Blagoveshchensk, dedicated to the 65th anniversary of his birth and the 20th anniversary of his passing. Seventy-seven works of various genres were exhibited. There were many comments from grateful visitors, both in the visitors’ book and in the press: in the newspapers Amurskaya Pravda, Samovar, Amurka and so on.

On 31 March 2005, the Amurskaya Pravda newspaper, in an article entitled ‘Viktor Surikov: The Palette of the Soul’, wrote:
‘An exhibition of Viktor Surikov’s work will be on display at the Exhibition Hall in Blagoveshchensk until 17 April. Residents of the Amur region can view his works, most of which are monumental canvases characteristic of the Soviet era.
Someone once formulated the secret to happiness: to create tirelessly, devoting every effort to the creation of beauty. It follows, then, that the artist Viktor Surikov was a very happy man, for nature generously endowed him with both inspiration and diligence.

Talent and diligence are always rewarded. The work of this master, who was one of the first members of the Blagoveshchensk Artists’ Union, left neither critics nor visitors indifferent. From Moscow to Vladivostok, viewers were introduced to the artist’s landscapes and industrial scenes, whose vast and vibrant world was clearly reflected in his works. The sun’s glare, light and half-shade in his paintings form the multicoloured palette of his soul.

Talented, emotional and candid, he saw beauty even in the insignificant and recognised wonder in the smallest of things. And we are incredibly fortunate: all this beauty is not hidden away, but has been generously poured onto the canvases and left for all of us. As a memento.”

When your bright mind went out,
And your heart stopped beating,
It became the most dreadful day for us,
And we cannot come to terms with it…

2011

Edited and supplemented by the artist’s daughter, Elena Viktorovna Sevostyanova (Surikova), in February 2026.

Memories of Viktor Borisovich Surikov, an artist from the Amur region and a member of the Union of Artists of the USSR, by Vladimir Alekseyevich Vodyanin, Honoured Artist of Russia, residing in the city of Blagoveshchensk.

In Viktor’s studio, as befits a man with an open heart, the door was always left open. His guests included both budding artists keen to learn the ‘tricks’ of the visual arts and well-known figures who formed the backbone of the Amur branch of the Union of Artists of the USSR. Canvases featuring new compositions were constantly being replaced on his easel. His boldness and energy in his work were striking. And his subjects were life itself. Wherever he went, he strove to transform his surroundings into artistic images. Drawings, compositional sketches and studies were an integral part of his life.

To hone their creative skills, artists sought to visit places where they could work alongside renowned masters of the visual arts, receive professional advice from a master, and observe the work of other artists.

Viktor had long dreamt of gaining admission to the ‘Academic Dacha’ Creative Centre of the Union of Artists of the USSR. Gaining admission to work there presented a certain challenge. A special committee, after examining the submitted documents, proof of participation in exhibitions, photographs of creative works and character references, would decide whether or not to admit an applicant. Accommodation, meals and the provision of a studio were paid for by the Union of Artists. The artist found himself immersed in an atmosphere of creativity. Everything around them had a beneficial effect on the outcome of their work. The mere mention that such renowned artists as Ilya Efimovich Repin, Isaac Ilyich Levitan, Georgy Grigoryevich Nissky, Brodsky, the Tkachev brothers and others had created their works in this very place inspired every artist working there to make every effort to reach the highest creative standards. It was always a great honour to work in such a place.

Victor found himself caught up in the ‘spring rush’. This is his favourite time of year. As it happened, 1984 was an anniversary year: the ‘Academy’ was celebrating its 100th anniversary. Among the numerous events organised to mark the occasion was the planting of a young oak tree. Of the many artists present, no one except Victor had any experience of planting trees. He took charge of the whole planting process. The hole and the proper watering – everything suited the young oak tree perfectly. I visited those places many times afterwards. And I was the only one who knew that it had been planted by my friend, Victor Surikov.

As it happened, I went to work at ‘Akademichka’ the following year – 1985. Before leaving, I popped into his studio. We had a chat. Victor gave me some primed canvas to work on and told me about the upcoming medical operation he was due to undergo. There was no sign of anything amiss. The sad news of his death reached me whilst I was at ‘Akademichka’ …

And there, I was struck by an astonishing story. I was painting a sketch on the grounds of ‘Akademichka’. An artist approached me and, very politely, apologising for distracting me from my work, asked: ‘Are you from Blagoveshchensk?’ ‘Yes,’ I confirmed. ‘So is that where the famous artist Surikov lives?’ At this point I hesitated: ‘You must be confusing it with Krasnoyarsk – the birthplace of the great Surikov.’ ‘No, no,’ he said, ‘it’s Blagoveshchensk, specifically.’ I asked him to tell me more.

He explained: ‘Traditionally, at the end of a two-month period of work at the “Akademichka”, a final review of the completed works was held. The artists exhibited the creative works they had produced during that period in their studios.

A committee comprising renowned artists would then assess the work. During the review, the artists received both criticism and words of encouragement. The main thing was that this event was conducted in a solemn and serious manner.”

And my new acquaintance recounted the moment when the committee reviewed the works of Viktor Borisovich Surikov: “Among the members of the committee was Vladimir Fyodorovich Tokarev, an academician, winner of the Ilya Efimovich Repin Prize, and People’s Artist of the USSR. Having viewed Viktor’s works, he dropped to his knees and exclaimed: ‘At last, a genius artist has visited the “Academy”!!!’”

Sadly, the spring of 1985 marked the end of the creative career of the talented artist Viktor Borisovich Surikov.

P.S. In numerous conversations, Victor himself never mentioned this incident (modesty was a characteristic trait of Victor Surikov).

Honoured Artist of Russia Vladimir Alekseyevich Vodyanin 29 August 2025