I still don’t understand who I am: the first human or the last dog in space. - Yuri Gagarin
It was on November 3, 1957 - fifty years ago today that Laika took flight. Her ship circled the Earth 2,570 times, burning upon re-entering the atmosphere on April 14, 1958. She didn’t see the stars or the moon, as Sputnik 2 was not equipped with windows but she felt, if only briefly, what humanity had longed for so desperately.
Today, I want you to take a moment and think of her out there; stray mutt picked off the streets of Moscow, in her little capsule. Paving the way for us all.
Halloween is very nearly upon us. While it’s most often misrepresented by items such as this, I refuse to let commercial culture rob me of this treasured holiday’s mystery. Ёжик в Tумaне (Hedgehog in the Fog), the eerie masterpiece of Russian animation featured in this post, could have easily been part of the “what made me weird” article - it affected me greatly as a kid, feeding my hungry chimera and igniting within my fevered brain the very spirit of adventure. I like to think this was the exact intended effect.
The story is simple: Hedgehog is on his way to pay his friend, the Bear Cub, a visit. They often meet for tea and count stars together. This time Hedgehog’s prepared a special raspberry jam for the occasion. Oh his walk he sees a strange white horse in the evening fog. The fog is so thick that Hedgehog wonders whether the horse would suffocate if it were to lie down in it. The beautiful animation drips with symbolism as the Hedgehog, driven by his curiosity, steps inside the fog and into another world. He’s lost and faced with fear, loneliness, hostility and eventual redemption.
Ever-present in my subconscious, Hedgehog In The Fog is a living dream, an embodiment of fascination with the great Unknown.
By the way of Mister Kris Ether, a collection of jaw-dropping Yakov Chernikov drawings. Doesn’t this one resemble a rocket, ready for takeoff? Yes, this is my future, tovarish Chernikov. Thank you.
From the funny writeup on Dark Roasted Blend: “Only too appropriate for the “Evil Empire”, the colossal palaces and Pantheons would dominate the city, squash the last vestiges of soul, and yet strangely excite in their surreal dark presence.“
For many of us there is an event, a circumstance or a series of both that altered us in a specific way, making us strange, odd, whatever you want to call it enough to seek lives less ordinary. It’s different for everyone - Nadya, for instance, was inspired in part by Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation video’s military look and overall stompiness. For there were several components and so I present you a partial list of What Made Me Weird.
My Parents
Let’s get this one out of the way. I’ll narrow this down to just a couple of things, though I have much to thank them for. They took time to expose me to theaters and museums since a very early age, despite the social state of 80’s Russia and our modest finances. I grew up surrounded by literature and read things like Spartacus and Dandelion Wine. With my parents’ busy schedules I was often left home alone to rummage through my mother’s numerous art books and my father’s hefty collection of science fiction. Soon I realized I preferred to spend time by myself, not making me the best candidate for schoolyard popularity.
Everyone I know who has read it has told me that it altered them forever, and I’m always surprised that it’s not known more in the West. Zoetica and I had to fight over who would blog about our favorite book, The Master and Margarita, so we’re collaborating on this entry.
“One hot spring, the devil arrives in Moscow, accompanied by a retinue that includes a beautiful naked witch and an immense talking black cat with a fondness for chess and vodka. The visitors quickly wreak havoc in a city that refuses to believe in either God or Satan. But they also bring peace to two unhappy Muscovites: one is the Master, a writer pilloried for daring to write a novel about Christ and Pontius Pilate; the other is Margarita, who loves the Master so deeply that she is willing literally to go to hell for him.” - Synopsis for the Katherine O’Connor translation
We didn’t really fight, tovarish Nadya exaggerates.
Bulgakov worked on The Master and Margarita, the crowning thorn of his life’s work, until 4 weeks before his death with his own Margarita at his side.
Of note is the book’s structure of two parallel stories - the story of Master and Margarita and the story of the final days of Jesus Christ, as written by the Master [more or less Bulgakov's alter ego]. The book was banned for many years, published only in small sections in literary magazines. The original controversy and ban were due to thick political subtext in Bulgakov’s descriptions of Pontius Pilate - a thinly veiled Stalin, and bitter satirical illustration of Stalin-era Moscow and its politics.
These images are from The Stone Flower, as directed in 1964 by legendary Alexander Ptushko, whose work deserves its own entry here. This is one of the many somewhat macabre folk-tales that kept me up at night long ago.
You can read it here along with tons of other such writing. An impressive English-language collection, somewhat awkward translation moments but convenient, nonetheless.
Just a season’s reminder of the unspeakable horror lurking outside your wooden hovel’s window, as you huddle atop a clay oven wrapped in ragged shawls and quilts for warmth. Beware, the vurdalak!
Горе! малый я не сильный;
Съест упырь меня совсем,
Если сам земли могильной
Я с молитвою не съем.
А.С.Пушкин
O sorrow! I am small and weak;
The fiend will eat me whole,
Unless I eat dirt from a grave
Along with prayer I’ll speak.
A.S. Pushkin
Sweet dreams, we hope your gravedirt is most delectable.
Famed Russian singer Fyodor Chaliapin as Mephistopheles. Chalyapin was known for his deep baritone and powerful on-stage presence, but in this image is something incredibly comical, he’s almost apologetic.
A delightful page dedicated to Unidentified European Instrumentsfound during a search for old gypsy photos. Click on, dear readers, for wonderful vintage pictures of musicians wielding strange guitars.
typical nu-gypsy dance extravaganza photos. I’ve actually been to a performance like this as a kid in Moscow.
Not a single actual vintage Russian gypsy photo was to be found, however. I’ll resume this later, in the meantime there is a launch celebration to attempt.
Stalin, or “Good Ol’ Uncle Joe” as he was called in America before the tides turned, liked to have fancy titles bestowed upon him in Russia. Below are some of the most epic:
Coryphaeus of Science
Father of Nations
Brilliant Genius of Humanity
Great Architect of Communism
Engineer of Human Souls
Gardener of Human Happiness
Experienced Helmsman of Our Revolutionary Vessel
Source: Wikipedia. These handy for generating a title for yourself on the Brass Goggles Forum. All aboard Airship Stalin!
