Russia hurtled into the abyss,
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«Pain»
Plaster, enamel, 66x65
As history shows, spiritual and physical pain can not only fail to be an obstacle to art, but can even become a source of inspiration. Kamyshnaya's poem "Pain" is a profound, multi-layered, and multifaceted expression of pain in all its manifestations, beginning with the pain of original sin. In Golubev-Brodsky's sculpture, we see Adam and Eve, who succumbed to temptation and are now doomed to suffering and pain. Masks fall from them, as if their very faces are peeling away, and the tree of life, coiled by the tempting serpent, now bears not apples as its fruit, but human vices and sins...
Alexey Yuryevich Golubev-Brodsky
«Pain»
Plaster, enamel, 66x65
As history shows, spiritual and physical pain can not only fail to be an obstacle to art, but can even become a source of inspiration. Kamyshnaya's poem "Pain" is a profound, multi-layered, and multifaceted expression of pain in all its manifestations, beginning with the pain of original sin. In Golubev-Brodsky's sculpture, we see Adam and Eve, who succumbed to temptation and are now doomed to suffering and pain. Masks fall from them, as if their very faces are peeling away, and the tree of life, coiled by the tempting serpent, now bears not apples as its fruit, but human vices and sins...
Alexey Yuryevich Golubev-Brodsky
«Pain»
two poems
Burning pain!
Gnawing pain!
Lightning-pain!
Which one? Take your choice!
Pain of anguish,
Pain of premonition...
Of wild freedom—
A slave to all this pain.
Pain of deeds,
Pain of love,
Pain of all the groans
Of captive blood!
And the betrayal
That lies ahead—
The pain of all pains,
And ashes in the breast!
Pain closes
The vicious circle:
If there is no pain—
Then there are no partings!
And sorrow turns
Into silence—
Where there is no pain,
There I shall rest.
Yet only through pain
Does peace come forth,
If walking along
An empty road.
Empty and blind—
Not a glimmer ahead...
"Have mercy, O God,
Where am I to go?"
And He answers:
"Follow Me, as you will,
It is My will to lift
The soul's pain."
The highest pain—
The pain of closed eyes.
Do you remember what was said:
"Behold the Man!"
«Yes, love is paradise, but a lost paradise…»
Saint Theophan the Recluse
Saint Theophan the Recluse
Yes, love is paradise, but a paradise lost,
In the field of the heart, this tree of life does not grow.
There the trees of passions rustle—
And pride and vanity make their nest,
Writhe like a tangled cluster of snakes,
And darkness, where the swinish guffaw of unclean spirits
Screams unrestrained in the agony of lawlessness,
While the stone of indifference is massive and heavy,
And all this is pierced by a sharp, black stake
Of selfish desires—for one's own gain.
And the heart is torn by the intoxication of passions—
Demons rejoice, the subjects of the beast.
An irreparable and bitter loss.
Thus pass not hours, nor days, but whole years.
Here is life's ruin, here is its sorrow!
Without pain, the soul has hardened, grown insensible.
A Surgeon is needed. Under the blade of the knife,
Let the heart be suddenly pierced by pain...
Yet you endure this shame. But, Lord, how long?..
"Make straight the paths!" Thus cried the Forerunner.
His voice was met by the silent desert,
And then—meanness and the darkness of humiliations,
Betrayals, whips, and the cries: "Crucify!"
In the field of the heart, this tree of life does not grow.
There the trees of passions rustle—
And pride and vanity make their nest,
Writhe like a tangled cluster of snakes,
And darkness, where the swinish guffaw of unclean spirits
Screams unrestrained in the agony of lawlessness,
While the stone of indifference is massive and heavy,
And all this is pierced by a sharp, black stake
Of selfish desires—for one's own gain.
And the heart is torn by the intoxication of passions—
Demons rejoice, the subjects of the beast.
An irreparable and bitter loss.
Thus pass not hours, nor days, but whole years.
Here is life's ruin, here is its sorrow!
Without pain, the soul has hardened, grown insensible.
A Surgeon is needed. Under the blade of the knife,
Let the heart be suddenly pierced by pain...
Yet you endure this shame. But, Lord, how long?..
"Make straight the paths!" Thus cried the Forerunner.
His voice was met by the silent desert,
And then—meanness and the darkness of humiliations,
Betrayals, whips, and the cries: "Crucify!"
The gift of God's Spirit — love — cannot be summoned by words,
The heaviest labor of prayer patches the breach,
So that ruin may not enter through the hole of doubts,
And this is the narrow path with many deprivations,
Truly — a sorrowful path.
The heaviest labor of prayer patches the breach,
So that ruin may not enter through the hole of doubts,
And this is the narrow path with many deprivations,
Truly — a sorrowful path.
View bas-relief/collapse
«pain»
two poems
***
Burning pain!
Gnawing pain!
Lightning-pain!
Which one? Take your choice!
Pain of anguish,
Pain of premonition...
Of wild freedom—
A slave to all this pain.
Pain of deeds,
Pain of love,
Pain of all the groans
Of captive blood!
And the betrayal
That lies ahead—
The pain of all pains,
And ashes in the breast!
Pain closes
The vicious circle:
If there is no pain—
Then there are no partings!
And sorrow turns
Into silence—
Where there is no pain,
There I shall rest.
Yet only through pain
Does peace come forth,
If walking along
An empty road.
Empty and blind—
Not a glimmer ahead...
"Have mercy, O God,
Where am I to go?"
And He answers:
"Follow Me, as you will,
It is My will to lift
The soul's pain."
The highest pain—
The pain of closed eyes.
Do you remember what was said:
"Behold the Man!"
Gnawing pain!
Lightning-pain!
Which one? Take your choice!
Pain of anguish,
Pain of premonition...
Of wild freedom—
A slave to all this pain.
Pain of deeds,
Pain of love,
Pain of all the groans
Of captive blood!
And the betrayal
That lies ahead—
The pain of all pains,
And ashes in the breast!
Pain closes
The vicious circle:
If there is no pain—
Then there are no partings!
And sorrow turns
Into silence—
Where there is no pain,
There I shall rest.
Yet only through pain
Does peace come forth,
If walking along
An empty road.
Empty and blind—
Not a glimmer ahead...
"Have mercy, O God,
Where am I to go?"
And He answers:
"Follow Me, as you will,
It is My will to lift
The soul's pain."
The highest pain—
The pain of closed eyes.
Do you remember what was said:
"Behold the Man!"
***
«Yes, love is paradise, but a lost paradise…»
Saint Theophan the Recluse
Yes, love is paradise, but a paradise lost,
In the field of the heart, this tree of life does not grow.
There the trees of passions rustle—
And pride and vanity make their nest,
Writhe like a tangled cluster of snakes,
And darkness, where the swinish guffaw of unclean spirits
Screams unrestrained in the agony of lawlessness,
While the stone of indifference is massive and heavy,
And all this is pierced by a sharp, black stake
Of selfish desires—for one's own gain.
And the heart is torn by the intoxication of passions—
Demons rejoice, the subjects of the beast.
An irreparable and bitter loss.
Thus pass not hours, nor days, but whole years.
Here is life's ruin, here is its sorrow!
Without pain, the soul has hardened, grown insensible.
A Surgeon is needed. Under the blade of the knife,
Let the heart be suddenly pierced by pain...
Yet you endure this shame. But, Lord, how long?..
"Make straight the paths!" Thus cried the Forerunner.
His voice was met by the silent desert,
And then—meanness and the darkness of humiliations,
Betrayals, whips, and the cries: "Crucify!"
In the field of the heart, this tree of life does not grow.
There the trees of passions rustle—
And pride and vanity make their nest,
Writhe like a tangled cluster of snakes,
And darkness, where the swinish guffaw of unclean spirits
Screams unrestrained in the agony of lawlessness,
While the stone of indifference is massive and heavy,
And all this is pierced by a sharp, black stake
Of selfish desires—for one's own gain.
And the heart is torn by the intoxication of passions—
Demons rejoice, the subjects of the beast.
An irreparable and bitter loss.
Thus pass not hours, nor days, but whole years.
Here is life's ruin, here is its sorrow!
Without pain, the soul has hardened, grown insensible.
A Surgeon is needed. Under the blade of the knife,
Let the heart be suddenly pierced by pain...
Yet you endure this shame. But, Lord, how long?..
"Make straight the paths!" Thus cried the Forerunner.
His voice was met by the silent desert,
And then—meanness and the darkness of humiliations,
Betrayals, whips, and the cries: "Crucify!"
The gift of God's Spirit — love — cannot be summoned by words,
The heaviest labor of prayer patches the breach,
So that ruin may not enter through the hole of doubts,
And this is the narrow path with many deprivations,
Truly — a sorrowful path.
The heaviest labor of prayer patches the breach,
So that ruin may not enter through the hole of doubts,
And this is the narrow path with many deprivations,
Truly — a sorrowful path.
View bas-relief/collapse
Alexey Yuryevich Golubev-Brodsky
Artist, graphic artist, sculptor.
Alexey Yuryevich Golubev-Brodsky was born on April 12, 1968, into a creative family spanning five generations of professional artists. The range of artistic interests among the representatives of this famous family is very broad—from classical painting and graphics to theatrical and film set designs, wire sculpture, and animation. From early childhood, Alexey Yuryevich grew up in a creative atmosphere. His first teachers were his grandfather, Fyodor Pavlovich Reshetnikov (one of the most prominent representatives of Socialist Realism in the USSR, known for the painting "Another Two"), and his grandmother, Lidia Isaakovna Brodskaya (daughter of the talented artist Isaak Brodsky, whose museum is located in his native city of Berdyansk). He graduated from the Moscow Secondary Art School (MSKhSh) at the Surikov Moscow State Academic Art Institute, in the department of sculpture and graphics. His professional fields include sculpture, graphics, and film and theatrical projects.
Alexey Yuryevich Golubev-Brodsky
Artist, graphic artist, sculptor.
Alexey Yuryevich Golubev-Brodsky was born on April 12, 1968, into a creative family spanning five generations of professional artists. The range of artistic interests among the representatives of this famous family is very broad—from classical painting and graphics to theatrical and film set designs, wire sculpture, and animation. From early childhood, Alexey Yuryevich grew up in a creative atmosphere. His first teachers were his grandfather, Fyodor Pavlovich Reshetnikov (one of the most prominent representatives of Socialist Realism in the USSR, known for the painting "Another Two"), and his grandmother, Lidia Isaakovna Brodskaya (daughter of the talented artist Isaak Brodsky, whose museum is located in his native city of Berdyansk). He graduated from the Moscow Secondary Art School (MSKhSh) at the Surikov Moscow State Academic Art Institute, in the department of sculpture and graphics. His professional fields include sculpture, graphics, and film and theatrical projects.