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Painting, Acrylic on Canvas
Size: 31.5 W x 39.4 H x 0.8 D in
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Before the war, when Boryspil airport was open, I used to love travelling to new places. And no matter where I ended up in the world, I would always seek out jazz clubs, blues clubs, reggae clubs, anywhere live music exists. That afternoon, many years ago when I first discovered Dixieland jazz with my father somewhere in Toronto, always stayed with me. And later in life, music grew into a full-blown obsession. Now, all musicians are like old friends to me for many reasons, and I treasure them, even though I’ll never see them again. This painting is my sign of respect to saxophone players everywhere, even though it may seem like a crude caricature at a first glance.
2015
Acrylic on Canvas
One-of-a-kind Artwork
31.5 W x 39.4 H x 0.8 D in
Not Framed
Yes
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Ukraine
I was born in Kyiv, Ukraine, on May 9, 1963. Like many other Jewish families at the time, we left the Soviet Union in 1974 because of rabid antisemitism. For example, only 1.5% of medical school students could be Jewish (3% for engineers). The hazing in the military was notorious, especially for Jews. To put it simply: if you were Jewish, you were a second-class citizen. We travelled through Vienna and Rome, and after five months on the road, we landed in St. Louis, Missouri, in 1975. We didn't know anything about St. Louis, except that Mark Twain came from there (not exactly true, because he came from Hannibal, Missouri). Still, this lovely Midwestern town became our new home. In a few years, my parents passed all the exams to qualify to practice medicine in the U.S. (they were both psychiatrists). It was an extraordinary accomplishment, especially considering that they had to learn regular English and medical English (more akin to Latin). Then came internship, residency, and all the challenges that entailed for a middle-aged couple from Kyiv. It was in St. Louis that I received a B.A. in English language and literature from University of Missouri and a J.D. from Washington University School of Law. In 1988 I moved to Washington, D.C., to work in one of the largest law firms (Hogan & Hartson, now Hogan Lovells). The experience was invaluable, but short-lived, because the Soviet Union broke up into separate countries in 1991. That's when I quit Hogan & Hartson and moved to Kyiv to set up my own law firm in October, 1991. Unlike most foreigners, I never left Kyiv, not even when the russian tanks came close our house. My wife and I live near Brovary, about half an hour drive from where the russians were firing in our direction. Why didn't I go? Her parents, who live in Kyiv, refused to leave, which meant that she also refused to go. What kind of a man would I be if I ran away, leaving them behind? What would you do? So we bought guns instead, lots of guns (an AR15 with 5 clips of 40 bullets and 2 clips of 20 bullets, a pump shot gun, two revolvers, two semi-automatics) and plenty of ammunition. I even bought a WWII helmet from a souvenir stall on Andreevsky Spusk, just in case. We were preparing to kill the marauders (gangs of robbers), not to confront the russian army. We also stocked our freezer with meats and vegetables, and waited for the barbarians to arrive.
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