Dreams of big top and angelsadmin
“A huge tent blossomed on the wasteland, like a Japanese flower on a cold pond. The illumination flashed. With my hands pressed against my chest, I felt my heart pounding right under my palm like a toy hopper … I took my eyes off the riding-hall. And behind my seat, I noticed a small hole in the tarp. And through this hole I saw an old hollow that was blown by the winds, and single stars in the sky. The cold wind gently tingled the tent,” only Ray Bradbury could so combine a child’s gullible look with the vastness of other people’s space, so let’s take these lines for an epigraph.
In Kislovodsk, where Vachagan Narazyan grew up, in the park on a hill there was a bright tent of a circus-shapito. Children gathered and watched performances in enchantment. Those old performances continue on Narazyan’s canvases. Striped tents, tight drums, gymnasts in the air, on stilts, live pyramids …
The landscapes of Narazian, the voids through which little people go somewhere. They are lost in space and time. Where are they? When? The red-hot stones of Judea, the foothills of Tibet, the Andes with sharp winds … There is almost no vegetation, just cracked earth, rocks, bare hills, distant mountains. And there is a huge sky that envelops everyone and justifies everything. There are angels flying in the sky. Or maybe it’s a UFO. In the magical world of Narazian, everything can be.
He creates a fiction text that is open to interpretation. His works will open up to everyone what he wants to see. They will whisper what everyone wants to hear. His landscape unfolds like a long scroll, like the Zaragoza manuscript. It is like a road without a goal, an adventure without end.
Text: Marina Polyakova