IVAN AIVAZOVSKY: An Armenian Galician with a Ukrainian Soul
Ivan Aivazovsky. Self-portrait, 1874 / wikipedia.org
Ivan Aivazovsky (1817–1900) — The Lord of the Sea and Steppe.Born into a family of Armenian shopkeepers who relocated to Crimea from Galicia in 1812. The author of six thousand paintings and the greatest benefactor of the city of Feodosia. He gained worldwide fame at the age of twenty-seven, became a professor at thirty, and painted one of his most famous works, «Among the Waves», at eighty-one. During his lifetime, he held 113 exhibitions (an absolute record) and laid the foundation for a new approach to marine art. When asked, «Which painting do you consider the best?» he consistently replied, «The one on the easel».
MEETING WITH MARIE TAGLIONI
In St. Petersburg, it was raining as usual. The sun was wilting, gradually fading away. Heavy, swampy drops licked the bridges, sidewalks, and dams. Ivan, a student at the Academy of Arts, briskly crossed the street, contemplating a new landscape. Suddenly — a jolt, the shout of a coachman, the neighing of horses. The young man hardly noticed how he ended up on the pavement, and out of the carriage stepped *her* — Marie Taglioni.
A ballerina who was weightless, who danced in light dresses, not in wigs and long brocade skirts like her predecessors. She was a woman who knew how to stand on her toes (rising solely by the strength of her foot muscles) and was one of the first to wear pointe shoes (simple silk slippers without a hint of a stiff, starched toe).
The ballerina was adored, paid a hundred pounds for a performance, and new flower varieties were bred in her honor, such as a white rose with a pink heart. Legends were made about her, like the one where customs officers at the border stopped the prima and asked if she was carrying any jewels. Marie, unfazed, boldly lifted her skirt and showed her legs, saying, «These are my jewels».
In short, she was worshipped, compared to a feather, and praised in odes. Even Gogol — a lover of dumplings and galushki (Editor’s Note: A Ukrainian national dish consisting of small pieces of dough boiled in water) — sang her praises: «Taglioni is air. I’ve never seen anything more ethereal». And then, such a meeting. Ivan was only twenty. He had a slightly triangular head, a high forehead, lush sideburns, and ambitious plans for life.
The ballerina was 33. She was pale, slender, almost transparent, and a single mother, but she was known worldwide. The woman apologized, helped the young man into the carriage, took him home, and, as a farewell, gifted him a ticket to the famous ballet La Sylphide. Thus began a passionate romance. The lovers met in St. Petersburg in Venice and even shared a single hotel room.
Every morning, Ivan stood at his easel, painting waves pierced by sunlight and moonlight, languid bays, harbors, and coves, while Marie warmed up in the dance hall. Then, they would have breakfast together, sail in a gondola, and make love. After some time, Aivazovsky proposed to her and asked her to marry him, but he refused, as the ballerina believed two creative souls couldn’t be in the same boat. For their farewell, she oddly chose Palm Sunday, a time when it is customary to break willow branches while reciting, «The red egg is not far off».
Taglioni gifted her former lover a single pink pointe shoe and a lily of the valley (a symbol of ballet and tears) and advised him not to delay in finding his woman. He pleaded for hope, but Marie remained resolute. From then on, on every Palm Sunday, a bouquet of lilies of the valley was brought to the artist as a belated apology or a reminder of an unfulfilled love. The woman even entrusted her daughter with maintaining this tradition after her death.
SEEKING INSPIRATION IN CRIMEA
Ivan placed the pointe shoe in a safe, set up his easel, and began painting a storm. This time, the waves rose too high, dragging everything into the abyss. He fought back with his brushes, hiding in cobalt and ultramarine, stirring up either paint or water, adding Berlin azure beyond the horizon. Soon, he returned to Crimea because no matter where he traveled, no matter which lands inspired him; he was always drawn back to the Feodosian sky, the curling, rolling waves, and the healing water from the spring at the foot of Mount Pasha-Tepe.
From that time on, he painted as if possessed, creating two canvases a week. Once finished, he would place a definitive dot — never to return or make corrections. On commission, he painted the sea, by the call of his soul, the Ukrainian steppe. Tirelessly, he depicted the diverse grasses, the supple, hairy reeds, and the oxen drivers worn out by the August heat. Oxen, windmills, whitewashed huts. He gladly befriended the peasants, who warmly invited the artist to weddings, family gatherings, and christenings.
He clinked glasses and shouted, «Hirko» (Editor’s Note: The word «Hirko» (bitter in Ukrainian) is traditionally shouted at weddings to ward off bad luck and ensure a sweet life for the newlyweds), and the next day, the canvas was ablaze with the colors of wide trousers, ribbons, and skirts. The artist amazed everyone with his incredible work ethic, and he expressed his approach to work this way: «The subject forms in my mind, like a poem in a poet’s. I start working and do not leave the canvas until I have fully expressed myself on it with my brush». The most fascinating thing was that he always painted the sea from memory. He would come to the shore, absorb the essence of the elements, the fiery orb of the sun, the resting Bear Mountain, the straight cypress, and then carry what he saw back to his studio.
The artist often visited Kherson. There, he created works at the request of Sofia Falz-Fein, a wealthy landowner and founder of the Askania-Nova nature reserve. He would see the Preobrazhenka estate (in the village of Chervonyi Chaban, Kherson region), settle into his room, and skillfully mix yellow ochre with sienna on his palette.
He brought the steppe to life: summer, autumn, sleepy, lively, dry, moist — in short, varied. Above it, the sky would be watery, dense, or rainbow-hued. Reeds on the Dnipro near the town of Oleshky depicted an evening horizon, baked and warm. The water was disordered and fragrant. Thick, dense reeds, like a forest-covered part of the river. A boat crept directly into the thicket, its patched-up sail sighing as it moved. The heat had finally subsided. Distant homesteads and weary windmills were drifting off to sleep.
THE STORY OF MARRIAGE TO JULIA GRIEVES
Between one painting and another, thirty-one-year-old Ivan got married. His bride was Julia Grieves, the daughter of an English army doctor and a governess working for a friend of the artist. The marine painter had been teaching the girls of this household how to paint and found himself trapped by the dark-eyed governess.
The instructor took his duties surprisingly seriously. He visited more frequently, stayed longer, and painted with inspired strokes. The lady of the house nodded approvingly, pondering which of her daughters the famous artist would choose for a life together, but he went ahead and chose their governess. Later, he wrote: «I married like a true artist. I fell in love as I never had before. Within two weeks, it was all settled. We were married. Now, eight months later, I still feel as happy».
The newlyweds settled in Feodosia in a house built according to the master’s design. They are often guests. Julia Yakivna gave birth to four daughters: Olena, Maria, Oleksandra, and Jeanne. She devoted herself to raising the children (the girls were close in age) and managing the household while her husband spent long hours in his studio, working on his next seascape.
Ivan Konstantinovich used to remove the labels from champagne bottles and replace them with his water landscapes. Although they had a personal chef, he delighted in inventing desserts.
However, the harmony didn’t last long, and the couple began to argue. Some said that Julia adored the balls, promenades, and social life of St. Petersburg, while her husband forced her to endure the dullness of provincial Feodosia. Others noted that Julia Yakivna had fragile nerves and a difficult temperament.
She was constantly irritated, endlessly complaining about life, and showed contempt for her husband. This behavior extended not only in daily life but also in writing, as she tirelessly penned numerous complaints, requests, and petitions in which she belittled her husband and downplayed his virtues. Eventually, the couple separated: Julia and the daughters headed to the capital of the Russian Empire (where there were more promising suitors for the girls), while Ivan stayed behind.
Of course, the former wife, along with the children, would come to visit in the summer, relax, and admire the scenery (Aivazovsky bequeathed each of his daughters an estate in Crimea). Still, they officially divorced in 1877 when the marine painter turned sixty. The artist never betrayed his roots and tirelessly emphasized: «My address is always in Feodosia».
THE BIRTH OF «THE NINTH WAVE»
The Ninth Wave immediately became famous. Repin gazed at the emotional canvas for a long time, squinting, holding his chin, and then exclaimed, «This is a masterpiece!» And indeed… The dawn had just begun to glow. Everywhere, there were traces of the storm that had passed. A few surviving sailors clung to the mast, and ahead loomed that very killer wave — the ninth. The sun pierced the agitated purple waves, drawing out the turquoise within them. It was impossible to tell where the sky ended, and the water began. Everything blended into one overwhelming force.
It was said that Ivan Aivazovsky began work on The Ninth Wave after he survived a powerful storm and miraculously lived to tell the tale. The water that day was so furious that Parisian obituaries hastened to announce his death. Still, Ivan recovered, warmed up, locked himself in his studio, and did not leave for almost eleven days until he had filled the water with titanic strength and power.
Whatever the case, all his paintings seemed to breathe, and the waves rolled over each other right before your eyes. And, of course, they were always full of sunlight and moonlight. Some suspected candles were hidden behind the paintings, and others thought he used fluorescent paint, which did not yet exist at that time.
In such cases, the artist would hold public painting sessions. Onlookers would settle comfortably, and before they could even gasp, azure and cornflower blue water would splash from his brush. After a while, new rumors would surface that the «painter» was deaf because only someone with such disabilities could perceive the world so acutely.
The main characters in his works remained the steppe and the sea, though he did not shy away from landscapes of Italy, Turkey, and even Antarctica. He painted portraits of Crimean Tatars and Armenian figures. From time to time, he returned to scenes of reapers, oxen, and Chumak caravans, sharp-topped poplars, flocks of naive sheep, rural daily life, and celebrations.
One rural wedding he depicted particularly well. On the canvas — a scorched field, probably in autumn. A thatched house, guests in festive attire, elders with a red banner (a sure sign that the bride was a virgin). Oxen proudly adorned with the dowry and a menacing storm creeping out from behind the roof.
THE GENEROUS SOUL OF THE ARTIST
Ivan Aivazovsky was a wealthy man, but he knew not only how to earn but also how to give. With his funds, he built an art gallery, a library, and a school and laid a railway line from Dzhankoy to Feodosia. He took care of the drinking water supply. From his fountain, anyone who was thirsty could drink, but only from a special silver cup inscribed with, «Drink to the health of Ivan Konstantinovich and his family».
Additionally, the artist became the godfather of many children and provided dowries for more than one poor Armenian girl. He was personally acquainted with many artists. Once in St. Petersburg, the marine painter was introduced to Shevchenko, but no special friendship developed. Both were ambitious and somewhat self-confident and later, Taras Hryhorovych noted in his autobiographical story that the marine painter did not make an excellent first impression. There was something unlikable, politely cold, even repulsive about him.
No friendship developed with Anton Chekhov either. The writer couldn’t understand how someone could live without reading and yet not be ashamed of their ignorance. The painter responded by asking, «And are you not ashamed of never having painted a single picture in your life?» That was the end of that. Dostoevsky, too, did not shower Aivazovsky with compliments; on the contrary, he criticized him for repetitiveness. However, he immediately found common ground with Nikolai Gogol. They strolled through carnivals together (Gogol in wide trousers, Aivazovsky dressed as a Spaniard), conversing in Ukrainian, and Nikolai was happy to read his friend excerpts from «Dead Souls».
A New Love Ignites at the Most Inopportune Moment. One day, a funeral procession passed by, and following the coffin walked a young and attractive woman in dark lace. Ivan Konstantinovich stood on the roadside, unable to take his eyes off the twenty-five-year-old Anna Burnazyan. Something about her both attracted and puzzled him. It is said that he observed the obligatory mourning period, and a year later, he proposed to the widow.
The woman accepted, and she became the perfect companion despite being younger than his daughters. However, she was patient, respectful, and devoted. Aivazovsky never tired of saying that happiness had once again smiled upon him. He was fiercely jealous of his wife and often painted her. Although she did not attend exhibitions, she gladly looked after Ivan’s nine grandchildren.
Chekhov, as always, stuck his nose in and ironically noted that «Grandpa Othello» keeps his wife under strict control. Though he himself is simple-minded, balancing between being a kind Armenian and a greedy archbishop, he offers his hand like a general and lives in the luxurious estate of Shah-Mamai. Estates like that are rarely seen outside of Persia.
Despite Chekhov’s barbs, the couple continued to live in harmony and peace until one night, the artist suffered a brain hemorrhage. An unfinished canvas remained on his easel. It depicted an almost black expanse of water and a vessel marred by smoke and fire — in a word, The Explosion of a Turkish Ship.
He was buried with full honors. The funeral procession stretched from the late artist’s home to the Armenian church of Surb Sargis, where he had been baptized and married. Flags were lowered, shops were closed, lanterns were draped in black tulle, and the road was strewn with poppies, daisies, and rare mountain peonies. The local garrison was involved in the ceremony, which was unprecedented for the burial of a civilian.
The city plunged into deep mourning for three whole days. His widow, Anna Nikitina, in her inconsolable grief, did not leave the house for twenty-five years and had a sarcophagus erected on his tombstone with the inscription: «Born a mortal, he left behind an immortal memory». And so it is.
More than one hundred and twenty-four years have passed since the artist’s death, yet his paintings still sell at auctions for millions of dollars. They capture the wild, stunned, irritable, lazy, restrained, and phlegmatic sea, as well as the ever-burning and expansive Ukrainian steppe.
