World Abaza Congress

He (Alexander Shervashidze-Chachba) was burdened with official conditions, his military career did not attract him, he did not like studying in the Military School, and he was lazy

"... I am a student in the school of painting and sculpture of V.D. Polenov in Moscow, on the advice of which in 1893 I went to Paris to study painting and, most importantly, drawing, which was very lame in school, which was not the fault of V.D. Polenov ...

At Cormon's school, the main postulate was to keep in the artist the love of art and freedom of creativity, not to link it with classical canons, but to give full disclosure of individual talent. It was there, at Cormon, Alexander Shervashidze-Chachba finally formed as an artist, as a creator.

There is not one truth, there are many truths. There is no true picture of life, but the impression of this life that passed through the artist's temperament.

Alexander Konstantinovich though, was very thoroughbred in appearance, however, possessing very scarce means, led a life more than modest. He was married to a person of excellent spiritual qualities, intelligent and educated ... both he and she were really poor.

... I was the Chief decorator of the Imperial Theaters in St. Petersburg -" ... I was the Chief decorator of the Imperial Theaters in St. Petersburg - my name was on the posters of the Mariinsky, Alexandrinsky and Mikhailovsky theaters every day - I was just an apprentice and "friend" of Golovin, a large decorator - the artist; modest theatrical artist - me, but I was known by the whole of Petersburg, I did not seek it.

N. N. Yevreinov was a very demanding director, rehearsals were held daily from 11 to 7 pm continuously. Alexander Konstantinovich came to the theater early in the morning and worked until the evening, the scenery was written in the attic by students of the studio and himself. Tall, lean, always extremely tidy, he kept very simply, with everyone finding a common language. Very reserved, never raised his voice. If it was necessary to make a remark, he did it calmly, without offending the guilty. This theater interested many people.

... The external beauty of the city is just as necessary as clean air, sunlight, it's the soul of the city, without external beauty the city is dead, doomed to the pitiful and vulgar existence of a barnyard in a poor economy. ... We live among the people with beautiful, ancient customs, with a large beautiful inner spiritual culture, and we must make our city beautiful. Nothing incidental, all deliberate and all in the calculation of the overall harmony ... I see all the princes and nobles in Sukhumi, dealing with commercial matters in the city; First of all, it is necessary to think about the Motherland. The wealth of the Motherland is your wealth ... I am extremely sad when I think that everything that you value so dearly in Abkhazians, in general in our people, can disappear. I imagine them as slender, deft very polite, with great dignity, silent, moderate in everything, persistent and hard. This is what our culture is about... I will say firmly: it is better to live in the patzha ... better savagery (seeming) of an "uneducated" illiterate Abkhaz than the half-formation of those whom I see in Sukhum. Those who come from remote mountain villages are dearer to me than Sukhum residents. They still contain a lot of what is described by Tolstoy in the Hadji Murat, which is so dear, so beautiful, and what gives the right, and makes it happy to say loudly: I'm a mountaineer, I'm an Abkhaz.

September 14, 1917 in Sukhumi at Georgy

It seems to me that the Sukhumi period of his father's activities was, although short-lived, but the most precious to his heart, despite the fact that he executed performances in St. Petersburg and in major European cities with leading artists of the time.

My father wrote to us and when possible, financially supported in the hungry twenties. Over time, our correspondence was interrupted. So our destinies dispersed. My mother, having gone through many difficulties, brought up us and managed to preserve in our hearts love and respect for her father ... she died in 1955, without knowing anything about the fate of her father. She always worried that his work will remain abroad and will not get home. My brother Konstantin, who sailed as an assistant to the captain of the Black Sea Shipping Company, died in 1938. We are left with my father alone - he is in France, and I'm in my homeland. We did not know anything about each other, until accident helped me find it.

Since 1920 I worked very much for the ballets of S.D. Diaghilev, according to the sketches of French artists - Picasso, Derain, Braque, artists of a new direction in painting ... it gave me the opportunity to perform my favorite occupation - painting large canvases with my hand with, i.e. sceneries. Diaghilev greatly valued the fact that I wrote myself with my own hand on large canvases...

For 5 days and 8 hours a day, at the age of 84 years - in fact it was beyond my power - but still I overpowered the old age of impotence, and admittedly Scheherazade (under Bakst) was my - the most successful, impressive, grandiose and colorful.

It is more and more difficult for me to survive ... I got an invitation from Tiflis from the directors of the Museum to come and that they want me to make a big official reception. I do not need this, I'm a modest and very old man, but if the Tiflis authorities take part in my visit, I think I can hope that they will let me come to Sukhum. If it is possible, then ... ask in Tiflis and in Sukhumi, if they want to let me live there with you, my daughter. To arrange my wish of arrival, I have to go to Paris ... but I could not do it because of the big expense ... The telegram to you cost me 1000 francs ... how to arrive, I know, so it will not be difficult for me, and travelling by avion will be very easy - my health is quite good ...

Even on the photo of his wife, who died at Cannes in 1948, he wrote: "... Can I ask for the transfer of the body to Abkhazia on occasion?"

To the young Abkhazians, the children of the Land of the Soul! Apsny - your ancient call sounds like a distant sound, like an echo, a rustle of leaves, like a distant and sweet memory - oh my mother Abkhazia! - What a deep sleep your tired sons are sleeping! The intoxicating honey of your forests, the slope of the hills, the bluish distance, the distant snow, the noisy running of your streams, the smooth waters of the lake, the fragrant coolness of the forests, the green shrouds of stony shores, - oh my mother Abkhazia - go there, to the snows, there you see and hear, and live, so that every stone, every leaf, fallen and dry, so that every turn of the path is traversed, so that every new image of a native swarthy face, like a change in the morning sky, yours and greedy, and inquisitive.