By Vladislav Ziatzev

Stanislav Nikireev is one of the most remarkable masters of modern Russian fine arts. Experts consider his works as a unique phenomenon in current landscape art and etching technique to be compared only with the legacy of old masters, such as Albrecht Duerer, Rembrandt van Rijn and especially Pieter Brueghel the Elder. His graphic pictures represent wide and profound panoramic views of the terrestrial surface filled with life and dynamism. Impressive harmony of his compositions reflects in a way the harmony of the universe. In these landscape works nature is not only a model, an object of artistic vision, but also a metaphor of a state of mind. Man is seldom figured in Nikireev’s etchings, though manifestations of his vital activity are always perceptive.

Nikireyev is an inimitable draughtsman. With a stroke of his needle or pencil he is able to render the mellowness of soil, the fluffiness of hoarfrost, the gracefulness of a flower and the majesty of mountains. His etchings and drawings are a magic symphony of black and white, an infinite variety of tones. Indefatigable globe-trotter, the master is endowed with the gift of a deep perception of alien cultures. Genius loci is present in every sheet of his Italy and Himalaya graphic series. Nikireyev is unsusceptible to the influence of current artistic trends and fashions. He stands apart and always remains true to himself in his prodigious creative audacity and integrity.

Born November 7, 1932 in Michurinsk, Tambow region. Graduated from the Penza Art School and later from the Surikov Art Institute, Moscow.
Awards & Associations: Member of the Russian Academy of Arts, Merited Artist of Russia. Awarded with Gold medal of the State prize for Fine Arts (Narodnii xysoznik Rossii, deistvitelnii chlen Akademii Xydozestv, layryat gosydarstvenoi premii RSFSR imeni Repina).
Exhibits: Tretyakov Gallery, Pushkin Museum of Fine Art, Museum of the Russian Academy of Art -Moscow, Russian Museum – St. Petersburg, as well as other museums, galleries and trade shows around the world.
Collections: Museum of Russian Drawing, Berlin; Atlas Gallery, Chicago; Library of Congress, World Bank, International Monetary Fund, Artists' Museum, Washington DC; Doo Sun Art Center, South Korea; Kuingnam, Berezka Gallery, Tokyo, Japan among numerous other private and public collections.

Life has always been and will remain the best school.
A translated excerpt from an interview by Alexander Paichenko for the Artist School (Xydozestvennaya Shkola) magazine, 2 (3) 2004.


Q: What’s the status of art education in Russia today?

Nikireev: It’s hard to say. To fully answer such a question you have to be a teacher. How can you talk about art education in Russia when everyone constantly hears such names as Glazynov, Shilov, Safronov? They are all different, but which movement do they belong to? Why are they so highly regarded? It’s clear how these grand artists accomplish the end result, but why do they choose such a path, what makes a contemporary artist continue creating without getting caught up in the reality of time? Today, from what I can see, the world is giving birth to a new form of salon art, categorically different, full of limitless ideas and fantasies, but these names more often than not are an idiosyncrasy, appearing in contrast to the unfortunate state of contemporary art, after the ideals of the soz-realism school crashed and a new path to creation opened.

Q: What type of school is capable of best preparing an artist? Is it possible to foster a talented master within a traditional academic structure?

Nikireev: I studied in the famous Penza art academy. Kind, thoughtful teachers built their own educational system based on the marvelous traditions of Russian realism, examples of which could be seen in a lovely gallery right next to the classrooms. I saw and heard the lively, grand, impossibly proud, extremely talented, favorite student of Repin—Ivan Goryshkin-Sorokopydov. He would rarely appear at the academy because of his illness. But his artful paintings and portraits and fantastic drawings with chalk on cardboard were constantly before my eyes. These were not just exquisitely executed pieces; they contained in them the voice of a Russian nation, its life and culture.

Tradition is irreplaceable, but the best school has always been and will always remain ”life.” We are constantly presented with new edges and challenges that we never even tried to contemplate before. A similar question was asked of Kibrick (at the Ministry of Education) forty-three years ago. He could not answer and neither can I even after all these years.

I think that schooling contains an element of danger—teaching is advice, but should you give advice to an upcoming artist? By giving advice, you show an example of how you would have done it yourself. But to penetrate the world of your student’s thoughts, to try to understand his dreams and tribulations, the level of his talent and progress—this is the ultimate challenge of a pedagogue. It’s hard to teach keeping in mind the peculiarities of each student. You have to understand his goals, to try and give him that which specifically he needs. This is not an easy task, and by far not every teacher is capable of achieving it. Teaching is also a reflection of the educator’s personality. He has to be an unattainable example of hard work and perseverance. You have to learn not from his work but from his ability to work.

Q: Is there a future for academic realism? Lately, we hear a lot about the crisis of the artistic educational system in Russia. In these conditions, do you consider realism an unshakable value for you?

Nikireev: Realistic work only seems to be easy to execute. Realism can only claim such a title when it soaks in the spirit of time, the pain and joy of life. When the language of its development, without departing from its roots, brings out new intonations understood and heard not only by the select critics circle. When it solves multiple questions of plastic arts. I studied in the graphic workshop of Kibrik, the superb master of books and graphics. His charm, his ability to work and speak, be honest, brave in everything, particularly in work, had such a strong influence on me that it seemed that the learning of the true art was just the beginning. Mind you, he was teaching the hardest type of art: realism—the grand realism of Western Europe and Russia. He taught strictly and kindly, impatiently and with understanding. He imagined that all of his students would become great artists, creating their art with the stately principles of complex composition, confined from each corner to the limit yet with the newly discovered bright image.

Q: So, how is an artist formed?

Nikireev: I think a lot is based within a person on the genetic level. My mother worked with lace, and it seems that the love for such delicate precious work was passed on to me. In her hand was a knitting pin; in mine is now an etching needle. It’s hard to tell whether Surikov academy gave me what I now use in my art. In a sense, the academy made me a true master. But the forty-hour-long nude sessions were also there in the art school. There has to be a limit to everything, including academic education. Even while receiving top grades for my color compositions, I understood by the end of my studies that my calling was landscape. I think I am a born landscape artist. That’s why the theme of my diploma became landscapes with low horizons and massive heavy skies. During the final exams, the committee head, Kibrik, cut up my composition into tiny pieces, leaving only a minute section with the shepherd in the distance, making him now the central figure of the painting. It was fruitless to try to explain that my idea was something else entirely; he categorically refused to understand that my shepherd was meant to be just a spec within the majestic beauty of nature.

Having failed the dreams of my main teacher of being top student, I completed the academy sloppily, starting a new life with this bitter taste: art life in which you had to survive, find yourself, and grow. The paint was put aside. The passion for colorful pencil drawings with the free stroke, with extreme contrast of a random color, lifted my spirit for a limited time, and made me think that I am original. Then, over the years I created a number of lithographs and drypoints that were exhibited in numerous shows and brought me financial stability. It seemed that this would last a long time, perhaps even forever.

Then some force gave me sign and pushed me to turn again to classical engraving, the hardest kind—etching. This time appeared a small design created in nature – “Silver frost”. Later the same motif was reworked as “Winter landscape”. Now I look at these decisions calmly and don’t understand why their appearance created such enthusiasm. One thing for sure, this was beginning of the long straining on the eyes and body work, which resulted in a number of pieces that lead to a series of etchings. A new front was opened on the battlefield, where all of my attention and power, leaving the color pencil aside, were given to one particular type of etching – hand etching.

This battle has lasted two decades, and I don’t see any end to it. Why? In my case, it was a relatively difficult path of development where numerous movements were tried, resulting in this execution, simple on the surface, yet with limitless hidden quirks and tricks of various technical elements.

My talent did not create a new method; it is classical realism. On the surface, the technical aspects of my work are purely traditional, particularly in selecting and realizing a motif.

But with the development of surfaces, such as the details and the atmosphere—I have the right to call those my own.

All discoveries, and an artist must have them, are truly valuable when they appear not out of a fashionable trend but from the artist’s inner calling.

It is incredibly difficult to attain. It’s so tempting to imitate watching the parade of famous artists of the past and present, the infamous art sales for ridiculous prices, the glitz of advertising often unoriginal art, even the success of your colleagues.

Q: What makes an artwork a piece of fine art?

Nikireev: Ideally, the artist has to know the drawing, the composition, the color and tone. But also, the piece has to contain something unexplainable, strange, the “it” factor. Wherever you have the absurd moment, you have the art. Something has to make you wonder, either in the technique, or the composition, or the subject matter, or anything.

The laws of art cannot be listed on a piece of paper. You cannot guess the development of art from a theoretical formula since it constitutes the world as experienced by the artist throughout his life. The more curious the master is, the closer he is to life, nature, culture, traditions, and the more his work will be wonderfully unpredictable.