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.
No comments:
Post a Comment