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My Swiss friend Werner

Painting, 2011, 65×100 cm

Description of the artwork «My Swiss friend Werner»

Once to Bruevich Bonch looked,
Brought half a bottle and a sandwich.
Bruevich, seeing all this, was sad,
But ... they drank Bonch and Bruevich.

With all due respect for patriotism, I ask the local patriots not to read this text. For the risk of incurring righteous anger with (not?) Followed by (not?) Objective conclusions.

To praise Switzerland is simple. Scold even easier. I will be exactly the first - to praise.
For a long time, trying to materialize on the border with the blessed Switzerland, looked in her direction and passionately dreamed of getting into her hospitable embrace (hereinafter referred to as GO). Comparing the size of HE with the size of the mighty beautiful and immense Swiss Alps, I hoped for a small space in them and for my unexpected persona. Looming before my eyes: a leaky cheese, gourmet chocolate, snow-capped mountains, transparent to the bottom of the lake, full of various fish, magnificent roads, chic houses and bottomless bank safes ... . But it was necessary to live on. It was necessary to “be content” with sludge in close proximity, sometimes eating TOT cheese, THAT chocolate, and watching the sparkling of THOSE snow caps from afar. The countries of Europe, in those already distant times, have not yet dared to embrace each other and remove the border controls that interfere with this. I needed a visa. And where to get it, if there is no one to invite? And sho do?
It was necessary to urgently make friends with a representative of the Swiss Confederation. But is it possible to do it in the “urgent” order ?! Impossible.

But, as often happens, the Providence intervenes in the matter. It can in every way. Even urgent.

I was invited to visit good people in a nice house on the very border with Switzerland. From the balcony one could see red flags with a white cross through binoculars and wanted to shout: "Invite me to heal!" Flags flashed on the horizon "ladybugs", not going to fly with greetings and best wishes. Days stretched, interspersed with work, swimming pool, picnics and trips to the nearby beauty.
One day, while walking with the owner along the trails of the local hills, we came across a sign built into a mossy boulder.
- Dear Pierre, what is written here in this exquisite gothic font?
- The state border of the Swiss Confederation. When crossing, it is allowed to carry no more ... this and that.
- Pierre ... And ... where is the border itself ?!
- So, you stand next to her
- And what ... we can enter?
- No we can not. I have a camera and a dog not properly decorated.
He said this quite seriously, without the slightest hint of irony. I looked with sadness at the playful setter: "And you, friend, need a visa ..." A friend wagged a shaggy tail and pulled the host away from the temptation. What kind of law-abiding people should be, if dogs are ...
I trudged behind the law-abiding creatures of this world and thought: "Why is it enough to declare here, but do we need barbed wire, ideally plowed furrow and people with guns? Why do laws work here through ordinary words, and do we, at best, use mate?"
Pierre offered a halt. It is necessary to think out and figure out. Leaned on. Thought it out and figured it out. Pierre completely forgot about the tablet and continued to enjoy the beauty of the surroundings. And all the time I was thinking only about one thing: “But they don’t guard the same! And who will check what I carry, if nobody is there? And I have a visa for the fig, when ...”

But what about the Providence with its interfering factor? That's how

Some time has passed. "Days stretched, interspersed with work, swimming pool, picnics and trips to nearby beauty." Once upon a time ... I quit samozitirovaniya immediately into the essence of providence.
Once I went for mushrooms. I should note that only local people with disabilities of sophisticated taste, emigrants and visiting disabled people of supposedly sophisticated taste go for mushrooms (to the forest!).
The terrain is hilly, the clouds are dense and after an hour I realized that I was lost. Running from one knoll to another, I didn’t worry much - not the tundra, I will find it somehow. By evening, there was some doubt - do I not go in circles? I decided to go straight and, after an hour with a little, I saw from above, through a thinned forest, a small, well-kept village. Everything is as it should be: a church, neat houses, highways and strictly lined fields.
I went down. Went to the nearest house. Went to the gate. Called. A rosy old woman came out in an apron and cap (as in the Grimm brothers' fairy tale!) And looked smiling. I asked in pure French (it seemed to me) how to get to ... She stood up, looked at her again smilingly and, having said something guttural, left where she left. The nose smelled deliciously baked, and I realized that it was time to eat something.
I went to the highway and decided to go to the right. Why to the right? Because there it was setting over the horizon, looking out from behind the clouds, the sun. Going to the sun is better than the other way around!

Periodically stopped near the gate, called. The same ruddy old woman came out, looked smiling, gutturally uttered and removed. The smells began to be very embarrassing to ask "yako, mleko", but suspicion was suspected somewhere: don't do it.
The flying cars did not react to my raised hand, and I already began to get a little tired - it was much more tiresome to walk along the highway than through the forest.

And here (just so!) I heard the sound of friction between the brake pads and the brake disc from behind. Turned around. Out of the car with the inscription "Polizei", an officer would be pulled up to me, tanned (by the rays of the setting sun?) (Let there be an officer). Trumping and introducing himself began to ask questions that ended in the clear word "Pass." What is the pass when you go for mushrooms? "Chersh champignon" - I say. - Kompri? Gently opens the rear door and invites to promise together. Turn around and go in the opposite direction. At first it didn’t like it much - why not to the sun ?! But ... The route was not offered to me.
We come to the site (or how is it called?). Immediately a cup of coffee, somewhere immediately call and after 15 minutes a very pleasant bohemian-looking person comes in.
- Hello! I am Frantisek! We will be familiar! Come on, tell me how you got here!
- Frantisek, dear, and how did you get here ?! How glad I am to see you! My name is David! Talk about something else! Talk, otherwise I went crazy here without the sounds of native speech!
Further less interesting. All, of course, it turned out. Called my friends in France. They offered to come and pick up. Moreover, to grab some food, since I went to the forest to look for food from hunger ... This assumption especially offended Pierre's wife - she coped well with the kitchen and I did not complain about huge portions.
Frantisek turned out to be one of the numerous Czechs who escaped to Switzerland from under the Soviet tanks to the Prague Spring 1968. Having learned German, so much so that he taught almost 30 years theology (in our opinion, the Law of God) in schools retired and helped a little to deal with the Russian-speaking contingent, which, like a cat, crept into thick, delicate in taste and natural-looking Switzerland. So I honored ...
Then we made friends with Frantisek. Then it worked naturally "your friend is my friend!" and František introduced me to Werner.

Oh ... Werner!

Werner is a separate, completely separate Swiss text! But! I was going to write about him.
His wife Irene! His house! His plot with stones and grapes! With self-built solar panels! With a workshop in the basement! What kind of wooden things did this ordinary Swiss "engineer" make (or how is it with them?). Tried to repeat at home ... No, something is missing in my upbringing. Maybe this Swiss obstinacy, this ability to focus on ordinary details. If you could see an ordinary Swiss latch ... I saw this only in an antique store from the time left in Tsarist times.

When you come to visit them, you forget beautiful Switzerland: there are no snow-covered mountains, alpine meadows, beautiful roads and crystal clear lakes are not visible ... cows grazing and tinkling with bells are not heard.

The door opens and ... After the usual "Guten Tag!" The real holiday ritual of the Admission of a Dear Guest begins! You feel quite clearly, you are a real Dear Guest in this house and the hosts are happy to receive you! And it is genuine and pleasant to goosebumps in the brain. Irene serves something from the Swiss national cuisine, which has remained peasant - nourishing and very appetizing. Werner asks about Ukraine, about Kiev. Frantisek takes back and forth. And all this with jokes, with "poking" each other, but also with interest. After describing the beauties of our ancient capital, Werner promised to visit Kiev and visited - with Irene and Frantisek, having learned quite tolerably the Russian language.

And how he posed ... With a full understanding of the importance of the moment! With such kind you can work all your life. But ... It is impossible to be a guest for a long time. And it is time to say goodbye. Time promises the future and expressions of pleasure from a pleasant acquaintance. Something immediately became sad. Irene rolled a mean female tear. Werner smiles apologetically, and I smoke one by one - on the street you can. František hurries - he still has to carry me looking for the night.

Goodbye Werner, Irene, Frantisek. Goodbye Swiss GO. I leave with a joyful heart, a little sadness and ... portraits.

If you want something badly ...
That's how I got into the Swiss GO.
And glad to this day!
$5 000
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About the artwork

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Branch of art: Painting

Subject and objects: Portrait

Style of art: Realism

Technique: Oil

Materials: Canvas

Дата создания: 2011

Size: 65×100 cm

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