Monday, September 10, 2012

RC#53: Summer evenings on the Uzviz


published in Eastern Economist #439, July 2, 2002
For the last year, almost, an ongoing series of classical concerts has been playing at Andriïvska Tserkva, St. Andrew’s Church, at the top of Andriïvskiy uzviz. I decided to go to hear the Renaissance Chamber Orchestra one Sunday night. One English paper said they were going to perform a Tchaikovsky program. Another one said they were doing Handel.
            As it turned out, they were doing neither.
            But I’m getting ahead of myself. When I got to the church, it was only about half past six. I decided that, with the sun shining brightly on the cobbled street and low-rise baroque buildings, I would take the spare 25 minutes to mosey partway down the Uzviz and see what new goodies were available.
            Unlike winter time, when everyone rolls up their stalls and goes home at or before six o’clock, the historic hill was buzzing with buskers and buyers, artists and artlovers.
            Now, Andriïvskiy uzviz is mostly really an open air arts and crafts market, not a professional gallery. But for that, most of what you see is genuine. It’s locally made, more often than not hand made, of natural materials, and generally quite original – even if a little kitschy.
            I’ve been to Montmartre in Paris. Believe me, the paintings they sell there are every bit as kitschy. That seems to be the nature of popular tourist spots.
            What surprised me lately, though, is that prices on the Uzviz have come down over the last few years. And in some cases, the quality has gone up. Maybe there’s more real competition.
            A collection of hand-made traditional embroidered linen shirts were displayed on the wall below the church. I stopped to admire them. Just as I was fingering one of the shirts to buy for my sister – I’ve been promising her one for years –, a woman dressed in traditional costume asked me pleasantly if I was looking for something particular.
            “Just a shirt for my sister. How much are these?”
            “The shorter ones are around Hr 80-150, the longer ones go up to about Hr 250,” she said. Then she began to point out the regional characteristics.
            The high end was still under $50. It used to be the regular-length vyshyvanky started at $50 and went up from there. Long shirts were generally well over the $120 mark.
            I made up my mind. I picked a beautiful, somewhat untraditional blue and green embroidered blouse that matched my sister’s eyes.
            A few steps down from there, I saw some great little ceramic pendants. Cats of all shapes and sizes, including one that looked like it was walking around a green grassy square as you turned the cube-shaped piece. I have at least three friends with pre-teen daughters who would go mad for them, I knew.
            “How much?” I asked. “Not much,” said the stall keeper, a forty-ish Ukrainian with grey hair. “Hr 8.” That’s about a buck fifty. Definitely “not much.”
            I picked through his selection, noticing that each one was slightly different. I chose a black cat, a ginger, and one with spots.
            “You make these?”
            “Sure do,” said the proud artist. “My wife and I do ’em together. Do you want a string with that?”
            “Yes.” He pulled out some suede strings and swiftly looped one through each pendant and tied it off. He put the three into a small plastic bag and handed it to me as I gave him the money.
            Na zdorovia.” Your health.
            The sun bounced off the cobbles at the first intersection below the church. A pair of musicians were playing violin and dulcimer, known as tsymbaly in Ukrainian. The pleasing tinny sound of the mountain instrument was perfect for the snippets of jazz and bluesy tunes they played. People had stopped to listen on both sides of the street and clapped when they were done.
            Suddenly I heard someone yell, “Hey!” I turned to find an old friend from my early project days, with his wife and a small dark-eyed boy. He’s from Arizona. We shook hands, then embraced.
            “You’re looking good, dude,” I said, pointing at the slight paunch he was developing. “Whatcha up to?”
            “Just got a new gig with a new SME project. This is my wife, Tanya. And my son, Sam. We call him Sasha among Ukrainians. Why don’t we go have a beer someplace and catch up?”
            “I’d like to,” I said, “but I have a concert starting in about 7 minutes flat.” We exchanged numbers and I wandered back up the street.
            At the entry to the church steps, a uniformed guard checked my ticket. I climbed up the stairs, along with an older couple and an English family. We nodded at each other without saying anything.
            Inside, it was cool and dim. I found my seat and leaned back in it to look around. The orchestra was set up in front of a three-story red and gold iconostas. It was filled with more than 20 baroque paintings. Some were portraits of saints, some were scenes. A beam of sunlight was just touching the outer edge of the leftmost painting halfway up the iconostas.
            Two gilded teenage angels sat just above the door to the altar area, which was closed. At the very top were two statues of female saints, woodcarved and painted in the 18th-century style. Everywhere, there was gold and ornate framework resembling leaves and antlers.
            The genius behind this gem of a church was an Italian architect by the name of Rastrelli.
            When I looked out the windows to either side of the nave, I could see fat white clouds scuttling along in a bright blue sky.
            Just then, the conductor came out. Everybody applauded.
            The music started. It was Bach’s concerto for two violins.
            As I sat there, I thought to myself, this is why I’m still here in Kyiv. •
–from the notebooks of Pan O.

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