A: Hello, dear listeners! We continue our discussions on Tatar literature, culture, history, and language. Our guest today is the People's Artist of Tatarstan, Honored Artist of the Republic of Tatarstan, laureate of the State Prize named after Baki Urmanche, our close friend Rabiz Magalimovich Salakhov. Welcome, Mr. Rabiz! How are you?

R: Good day! Thank God, I am well.

A: First of all, I would like you to tell us a bit about your work. In which fields do you mostly work? After all, you are active in several fields: painting, graphics, ceramics, and design. Please briefly introduce our listeners to your work, as this conversation will be listened to by people from Europe who love the Tatar language. Please, introduce yourself.

R: I am very glad. My work began in the city of Ufa, where I studied. At first, I was engaged in ceramics. The place where I studied, Ufa, is very famous for its ceramic art... That is, there were masters who worked in ceramics not only in Bashkortostan but also in Russia, and I started working with them. Then I moved to Tatarstan and worked in Mendeleevsk in the same field of ceramics. Later, when I moved to Yelabuga, I had to put ceramics on the back burner. Not that I gave it up completely, but... During Soviet times, there was an art fund. Working in this field... Artists constantly decorated our kindergartens, schools, streets, public places. This was already included in the construction money; they had a share, that is, it was at the level of official work. So I had to take up design. That is, what is called monumental art – I had to go in this direction.

In general, I had to work very actively in different fields at that time. This was during the last years of the Soviet era. At that time, our Kama Tractor Plant was being built. Then we organized our site and started work in Yelabuga. We had 28 artists in Yelabuga at that time, and we had to gather them together. While working there, I also had to perform some administrative duties in organizing the workshop. I walked around and organized these workshops for more than a year. There were not enough buildings and workplaces. The Kama Tractor Plant was still under construction; there were no vacancies anywhere. So we somehow took a place in the basement and opened a workshop there. This is how my work in Yelabuga began.

Later, when the workshops were created, after the end of the Soviet era, I had to switch to graphics, painting, and fine arts. Since working with ceramics requires energy, electricity – there were no benefits left at that time. So I had to set them aside and take up this work.

Later I worked in all the museums of Yelabuga in the field of design – I did the design for them myself. Then I worked in Arsk, in the Arsk museum. I worked a lot in museums, you could say I even worked in Turkey. Thus... This work is cyclical: sometimes there is work, sometimes there isn't, as they say. Meanwhile, painting cannot be abandoned once you start working on it. And creativity continued without stopping. It is difficult to separate fine arts from graphics. After all, at the beginning, the basis of any picture is a drawing, its composition. It is first created in graphics – until you find everything, until you reveal the form, draw the sketch. Then you start adding colors, translating it into a format. Well, you could say they both go hand in hand. However, graphics is also considered a separate art form. You can do both, and I have a lot of such works now. Both go this way to this day. Now I create in Kazan.

A: I am someone who has seen and observed your work, especially during the Yelabuga period. Your first workshops were called "Province," weren't they? Many artists came there from Naberezhnye Chelny, from Yelabuga. You had your own exhibitions, very interesting. Even then, I noticed: you have a style that has its own uniqueness. There is a feature that makes your painting unmistakable. Show me someone's paintings – I will immediately find Rabiz Salakhov's paintings. Because you have a unique pattern, an ornament, I don't know. Maybe it's just a line, but this line is characteristic only of you. I am not a big expert in painting, but how do other critics evaluate this feature of your work? You can't be called a realist artist. If you are a romantic, it is very difficult to determine which part or direction of romanticism you belong to. Can you explain to the listeners your direction, your creative direction?

R: This is not a job that can be explained. If it were a mental job, I would become an engineer. It's not that simple. Therefore, it is a topic that is difficult even for art critics. They don't know which shelf to put me on. They try to look at it this way and that. I've been called many things: a new valet, and this and that... Well, for me, it's not very important. For an artist, in general for a creative person, finding their language, their plastic language... I think it's more important that you can determine your direction yourself and become recognizable in this direction through your work. Therefore, it will be difficult to systematically determine the direction of my works. Even for art critics. Therefore... They already say: Tatar romanticism and so on. Anything is possible. I can create a work based on a historical event.
I am also very close to old poetry, I like it. Then I like folk songs. After all, each of them has its own picture. The melody has its own picture, its melodiousness, the softness of the language or the hardness. Perhaps this is where the artistic direction arises from. I think my direction generally stems from folk art. I never really thought about it, to be honest.

Recognizability is having your own plastic direction, recognizable and noticeable. If viewers and art critics see this – good. That's how it should be. Every artist strives and should strive for this. After all, even if twenty artists draw the same tree from the same place, there will be twenty different pictures. Therefore, everyone has their own... Drawing is not just about making it look similar; it has its own philosophy... That's what I think. I can't explain it; it's a difficult question for me.

A: No, I completely agree with you, because, for example, it's the same in literature. If any writer starts writing with the approach "okay, I will write a work in this method, within these frameworks," he won't be able to write it, or the resulting work won't be beautiful. It's the same for you: you write when inspiration comes to you; your brush, your hand works in this direction. And maybe critics could call your works the direction of Rabiz Salakhov because you have your own worldview, your own philosophy. And I think you have remained true to this philosophy throughout your creative path. What is the main theme, the main ornament, the main character of your works? I would like you to tell us more about this.

R: Aha. These are the four parts of me that are clearly defined... Well, I think, five parts. The first is ceramics, the second is landscapes from the time when I was in Yelabuga and started my business, forgetting about everything else. Yelabuga landscapes can be distinguished as a separate part. Then I had cycles of works based on old poetry. Then there was an exhibition – a large three-cycle work. The first one was called "Indian Summer." It seems I finished it by my fiftieth birthday, working on it for a long time. Then I had a cycle called "Long Long Childhood." Then I released a cycle and sent it to the exhibition. It is called "Following the Tracks of National Melodies." Although they have different names, it seems they all have a common thread.

In Tatar, we call grandmother "kарт инәй," "әби," "дәү әни"...

A: I want to explain to our listeners that Mr. Rabiz is a native of Bashkortostan, Buzdyak district. And of course, these phrases like "карт инәй" are most often used by Bashkirs and Tatars living in Bashkortostan. Very beautiful – "карт инәй." Yes, continue.

R: Yes, aha. We grew up with these grandmothers; grandfathers remained at war, we did not see or know them. Those who explained the essence of the surrounding world to us, showed us its beautiful and tasty places, and prepared us for today's life – these are our elderly grandmothers. And then probably our aunts. So "Indian Summer" is about the role of women in the Tatar world. The Tatar world rests on their shoulders... There is no getting away from it. Men are all at work, they may not return, they didn't return from the war. They raised six or seven children and made them people – all the work of grandmothers. So I got this cycle called "Indian Summer." It's entirely about women... It emerged from an attempt to reflect the inner world of a woman, at least a little.

Then there are teenagers, children, us, who grew up with these grandmothers, so – "Long Long Childhood." We are now adult fools, still not having left this childhood, hence this cycle emerged.

After all, everything in the Tatar world is built... These flexible words like "карт инәй," everyone has them... After all, a song has its

own beauty, and a poem has its own beauty. They have their flexibility. Therefore, I got this cycle "Following the Tracks of National Melodies."
They all go one after another, complementing each other... If you put all three together now, it would make a whole exhibition, it seems. Probably, the fact that these themes follow each other helped me create my recognizable plastic language. I don't deviate from the theme much and can't deviate. Whatever I do, my bare feet must stand on the ground where the deep roots of our Tatar people go. Standing with legs wide apart. If I don't feel this, I can't work.

A: It should be noted that in your cycle "Following the Tracks of National Melodies," you mentioned very beautiful Tatar folk songs. You created beautiful works of art inspired by them. They haven't reached us yet, still at the exhibition. Your exhibition is just starting to close, right?

R: Yes-yes.

A: In honor of your anniversary, a whole exhibition is being held in Kazan. I think the biggest source of your creativity is the village, probably.

R: It's the village.

A: We are village children. Therefore, you tell about a boy standing barefoot on the ground, a man on a cart drawn by horses, and a woman returning from the spring with a yoke and a bucket, right? These are your main characters. Kurai, kubyz, such old...

R: Saz, dombra.

A: Yes, dombra, these are all our old musical instruments. Of course, an arrow, a shield, a hero on a horse, a defender of the country, right? A sword sticking out of a scabbard. That is, one of the main features of your work is Turkicness, Tatar-ness, right?

R: Yes, that's right.

A: National identity emanates from it. It is impossible not to see this because, as I said, this Tatar-ness, national feeling comes from your revolving flower. May this feeling not dry up until the end of your life, may this melodiousness always accompany you in your creations! I wish you a long creative life and many new works. Among the expositions you mentioned are these three cycles. I think you forgot the fourth.

R: Yes.

A: Because when I came to your workshop when you were in Yelabuga, you were working on another cycle. And it was "Tukai."

R: Well, where would we be without Tukai? You can't get away from Tukai. After all, this is poetry. My acquaintance with poetry began with Tukai. I captured his national identity, which is very subtly felt in his poetry. I wasn't very interested in his satires and works that raise social issues. In the poem "Әллүки" (Alluki), reflected Bulgar, the banks of the river Agidel – this is how I began to be interested in Tukai... There is also heroism, there are bows, swords, and everything else. You can note that the Bulgar era is mentioned there. So I got interested, and I got one cycle. I don't remember in which year this Tukai anniversary was...

Then I proceeded to Shurale, Su Anasy... I didn't make her a scary widow, but in the image of such a beautiful and graceful girl. After all, in a pond where beautiful willows grow, there can't be strange creatures, different animals can be. My interpretation was like this.

Then there's Shurale. Shurale is a creature that came out of the forest. With big blue eyes and like an elk that doesn't know what to do with its horn. I made them like this.

No matter how hard Tukai's life was, he didn't become embittered. He sometimes wrote angry poems about things that probably got on his nerves. However, if a person who had such a bitter fate created such beautiful fairy tales, it is not an accident in poetry. He is already one of the children of the people, whom the people pushed out. I imagine Tukai as one of those children whom the people pushed out of themselves. We have a lot of poems if we go there... That's why I don't understand why young people aren't interested in this poetry.

A: So we came to another of your cycles. I remember the "Tukai" cycle because I saw that period when you were working on this cycle. I was very impressed to see both the Su Anasy girl and Shurale in your workshop. It was indeed being prepared for one of Tukai's anniversaries. Where is this exhibition, these works today?

R: They are spread across museums and personal exhibitions. I have a few of them with me. I didn't give away Su Anasy, nor did I send the two Shurales anywhere. They are still with me. They will still be needed. You can't go far from the classics; you return to them from time to time. I have three... I always walk between them all my life: Tukai, Dardmend, then Saif-i Sarai, his love poetry. I keep returning there, as if I am looking into a garden. As soon as you get there, your head starts spinning, seeing all this. So I don't go out there yet.

A: Wonderful! "Gulistan" by Saif-i Sarai is a flower garden, a garden. Tukai is boundless. The passion of Derdmend is priceless. I think your garden is very rich, your source, your spring is rich. Of course, Tatar literature is very broad; inspiration can also be drawn from other poets. This is also possible. Do you have a favorite painting among those with patterns, national ornaments? Do you have a work that you say, "I won't give this to anyone; I will keep it for myself"?

R: Should I be honest or fib a little... To be honest, there are such works. Somehow... There's a bit of responsibility for them too. If they start living their own lives, I won't be able to resist it. Such works go their own way, begin to live in their world. There are such works. However, there are some that I can say, "I won't give this one, I will keep it this way," they still remain with me. They serve as samples, they remain as memories. These are small works. Well, not epic in size. But they do exist.

This national identity, flowers, and so on... We return again to village life. In the past, in the village, grandmothers used to visit each other in the evenings. Women and girls would follow them. I liked spending the night at my grandmother's house. She lived on the lower street. Grandmothers gathered there. They talked so interestingly about various things... Someone saw a house spirit, someone else saw something somewhere, they talked about everything. Then they began to sing softly while spinning their spindles. Then the girls would embroider beautifully. I collected these embroidery patterns... I still have many of them, I kept them, hung them up. There are also towels woven in the warp style, I have all that. They all reflect the soul of the people and preserve the warmth of the heart. I think these are true works of art. So everything is based on that. These flowers didn't appear from nowhere. There are samples of all this somewhere. You can see them somewhere. Well, maybe there is some imagination. Everyone has their own handwriting. I don't have a delicate hand like women, but a hand that held a big shovel. So, there are such things. That's where it all came from.

A: No, you described it very beautifully. The scenes of the grandmothers and women gathering, spinning yarn on a spindle, Mr. Rabiz, actually came to life before my eyes. How do you choose colors when creating these paintings? There are colors unique to you. Do you envision them initially, or do these colors and shades come with such a fine feeling during the creation process? How does it happen? It is probably difficult to explain the creative process, of course. What would you say?

R: Of course, without a doubt. This is how I explain it: first, as I said, the composition begins, and then you start talking with them. Gradually, a sketch appears, at least on a matchbox, the form comes. Then you can determine the size of this form, what it is... It can be one and a half meters by one and a half meters, or one meter by one meter, for example. Then, after drawing the drawing on a white canvas, the unique color of this theme begins to emerge. Its own color, inherent only to it. If compared to a song, it's like some kind of radiance is born in the heart. After all, Tatars have their own unique poetry; it is recognizable. Whether it's Turkic or Tatar – the art of songs, melodies stand out. They are impossible to confuse with anyone.

These thoughts come to mind: is it possible that in Tatar visual art there are real distinct Tatar works? I think it reflects the fact that we are trying to do just that. When choosing the colors of the work, at first this... When you enter the theme, there is always some kind of oscillation in the soul. And this oscillation can be reflected in the colors. As well as in some lines. Everything comes together, and then the color begins to manifest.

At first, I see about three colors, I lay down three colors... This is called "opening the picture" for us. I open the picture, and it begins to appear. I look: "Aha, this needs to be slightly submerged, this needs to be brought forward, add here, do this, do that." It's like doing embroidery, you keep digging, adding something, and it starts to turn out. Well, the color reveals itself first. If you can't "open the color," the picture may not work out. And it doesn't work out. You keep fiddling with it... In art, there is a concept: if your work smells of sweat... If they notice that your work smells of sweat, you shouldn't mess with it, you shouldn't. A person should be inspired by your work, not smell sweat. Therefore, it should go somehow by itself. A work that has become labor is already labor. You can work with a hoe and cultivate beets. Creative work should not turn into such labor.

A: Yes, the result should be very beautiful. No one is interested in how much sweat you shed, how much blood you shed, how much you labored. The result should inspire, delight, and attract people, right?

R: Right, right. That is the whole point, the meaning of all art and creativity. That is why Shaimiev said: "It should be done beautifully, guys!" That's how it should be; it should inspire people a little, set them on a positive path. That is why we are given this inspiration.

A: Let's continue what you expressed. Your works are both bright and sad, but not tragic. You have very few dark colors because, as I understand it, you write in a more optimistic spirit as an artist who still loves the world and life. Do you have paintings with dark colors?

R: I have one. It is still with me. Although I can't say that it is needed, let it stand for now. There was an orphanage in Yelabuga, you probably know that too.

A: Yes.

R: An orphanage. On a windy, wet, and cold autumn day, I had to go there for some work. These children looked at me with such eyes: "Has this person come to take me away..." I left there with a heartache, with the feeling that they looked at me and thought: "Will this person talk to me, who did he come to take away..." The next day, I came to that place to draw a landscape. As bitter as the autumn wind. It turned out very dramatic. I drew it quickly. This work of mine has dark colors. Such dark ones. Even though there are dark colors there, it still seems that light is visible from behind. So, there were such works, yes.

Well, I didn't particularly dwell on it. Nihilism in art is not my state. I can't accept nihilism in art. Apparently, my nature is such. That's why I didn't immerse myself in the song, in the Tatar song. After all, no matter what, they still wait for the meeting, hoping for something, they sing: "This white shirt of mine is probably a shroud." After all, they still sing it. They hope for something, hope for return, even if the green grass is on German soil.

A: So, you want to say that your latest cycle is more based on longing for the homeland, hope for reunion with the homeland?

R: Yes... Apparently, when you turn into a bearded baby, it's harder to hold back tears. This is also there. Everything somehow comes together from all sides. This is both this poetry and childhood memories... There is not a single random word in the song. Even if geese fly to Donbass, they are not flying to work in a mine. This is a sign of parting.

That's why there is no direct conversation on the theme in my paintings. These are not illustrations; they can have two or three meanings. A person who understands Tatar culture can simultaneously see and understand all three meanings. Even Tatars who have heard the melody and understand it may not fully understand the plot, but they will perceive its colors in their own way. A person who knows nothing about Tatars can perceive the painting simply as a colorful work from the point of view of composition. Therefore, two or three layers, tuned to everyone in their own way...

There is probably longing for the homeland too. Well, what can I do, you can't do without longing. A person must yearn. The desire to say something to someone is beautifully expressed. So it's impossible to get away from it.

A: If someone says "depict a Tatar folk song, show the image of a Tatar song," now you can confidently show your works, I think. You have done a great job creating this cycle. Your exhibition is inspired by Tatar folk songs, and do they play at your exhibition?

R: Of course! At the opening, there were a cappella songs; then our "Miras" ensemble came, the guys came. They played the kurai, sang a cappella; one girl beautifully performed "Guljamal." Then they played our, well, there were no melodies from Arsk, from those places. It was also impossible without Sarman's shores, and they played those too. Then the girls turned on the songs during the exhibition: music flowed. I don't know where they put it – you enter, and the Tatar melody plays softly at the exhibition. It turned out very successfully, in my opinion. The girls themselves tried, collected everything in their own way, made a collection. Well, it seemed to me that it

was well-received... I was also pleased there.

A: The most important thing is that you are satisfied. It's good that you liked it.

R: Oh, it's not that simple. If it were so simple... I would be satisfied, and that's it. If you start feeling like an orphan in your own Tatar land, that's not good. Therefore, you need to stand firm and open an exhibition on this theme. It is necessary for people to understand and accept it. As you said, I still have plans to work.

A: God willing.

R: Yes, God willing.

A: You mentioned the orphanage in Yelabuga, and I remembered one of your paintings. It's a portrait. You don't particularly work in the field of portraiture, but you had portraits of your two sons, Albert and Robert, when they were little. Very beautiful! And of course, I know very well that you also captured the beautiful black eyes of your wife, Alfiya Flyurovna, in your work. Do you have other portrait works?

R: There were, there were. I tried to work on them. There were, but they have already spread out. Then I started approaching the portrait issue more cautiously when I began to study religious teachings. I began to think: "What if the person I drew comes to me for the soul, what will I do then?" So I became more cautious with portraits... In all my portrait works, as you see, in Tatar folk songs there are girls, boys, grandmothers, grandfathers – they all have portraits. But they are all collective images. It is important that it is immediately clear that this is our Tatar girl, as you said.

The boys' portraits – it's a kind of romance; I attributed to them the romance of childhood, my thoughts... I drew them with a three-liter jar of fish in their hands, with a goldfish inside, I drew this work like that. Alfiya – with an armful of oregano, with a bucket of berries.
Again, we return to romance, whether it's a portrait or something else. Well, I draw my portrait very badly, of course. I know who I am. I know more than you. So I don't like myself very much. I enjoy laughing at myself, joking. I even have a portrait of myself with one eye. Like in Tukai's poem...

A: I saw it, I saw it!

A: "There is no one else, only me and the thought." With one eye, sitting there. I also have such a portrait.

A: This portrait may be just a caricature? It looks a bit like that, doesn't it? Like a caricature.

R: Yes, indeed.

A: Subhanallah. Treating yourself with humor is a skill in itself. Now let's talk about your work in ceramics. How do you manifest yourself in this? With what feelings do you work in ceramics? Tell us about it briefly.

R: This is, on the one hand, a technical, technological type of art, on the other hand, the possibilities of plasticity in it are unlimited. Clay bends the way you bend it. You can paint it any color you want. In my first works, I didn't stray far from folk art. I don't know where it's from, but I had it since childhood. When I walked along the riverbank... Where the water flows, colored clays appear: white, red, even purple. I collected them, made small pots, tried to fire them in a bath stove... They all cracked. That's how it went; I got into ceramics.
All my works are in the style of ancient Bulgar ceramics. Their true value lies in the fact that I experimented a lot with painting. I mixed real silver on clay – it looks like it's covered in silver, it's real silver. You can cover it with real copper. Ceramics have many possibilities.
Here, you put it outside, put it in the oven. You can't get into the oven and say: "It should come out like this." You can't do anything. You close it and take it out only after eight hours. Did it turn out or not, only then.

And another direction of this work is that large monumental works were created earlier. In Yelabuga, I had a large panel in the maternity hospital. In kindergartens, fountains were decorated – works made in the folk art style with parrots. Then the minaret of the mosque was lined with hundreds of tiles... Using Tatar ornaments. But this already belongs to monumental art.

Today, ceramic works stored in the museum are made on the theme of Bulgar art. Made from samples preserved from those times. As I said, there is no direct copying. It's not done this way; it's impossible. Art assumes that everyone should have their own view, their own plastic direction. Therefore, you can say that these works were made based on this.

A: Have you ever had a separate ceramics exhibition, or are your ceramic works exhibited along with paintings?

R: The ceramic works have already spread out. If you remember, there was a big bookstore in Yelabuga. My works were there, big, long ones. Ceramic forms more than two meters high. After the store closed, they went somewhere; I didn't find them, I haven't seen them anywhere since. They are in different museums, in collections. There used to be the NCC – the National Cultural Center in Kazan. It's closed now, and now there's the National Library. I don't know where their funds went; there were a lot of my works. Then there are works stored in our Museum of Fine Arts, in the State Museum of Tatarstan. At my last exhibition, they displayed my works from the Museum of Fine Arts, where they were kept. They fit very organically there. Both in terms of plasticity and color, I haven't gone far.

When it's possible to gather them together, you can exhibit them to supplement the exhibition. I think this is necessary. Now there are fewer opportunities; the exchange between museums is complicated. Moving from one museum to another is very difficult. So they try not to do this, neither the museum staff nor we. But when it's possible, it can be done.

A: Have you traveled abroad with exhibitions or other invitations, especially to Turkey and Cyprus, the Turkish part of Cyprus? You worked with other artists there. You left your works there too. When you are abroad, do other artists' works influence you, or do you not perceive them and follow only your path? I would like to know if there is any influence.

R: Even if it is not direct influence, something seen and perceived in the soul probably influences, although I think I do not succumb to this influence. We worked with many artists there. They were from different places. Mostly all from Turkic countries, but still, they are from different places. At least geographically. For example, Turkmen – their works seem to emanate warmth. From Kazakh works, it seems to smell of the steppe. Such meetings and exchanges are held so that artists positively influence each other, see each other, get inspired. Saying exactly that I or someone influenced me is appropriate when you are a student; you need to do this: learn to use colors, work boldly. This is natural. And now, at our age, even if there is some influence, it's not so obvious.

A: Because the Turkic culture, Turkic ornaments are very rich. As you said, Turkmen have warmth, Kazakhs have the smell of the steppe, Tatars... Or Turkish culture stands out with its richness. I think, even if it is not direct influence, there is still inspiration, emotions.

Let's talk about the Tatar ornament now. It seems to me that this direction is being actively developed in Kazan today. In particular, the integration of the Tatar ornament into shamail, adding religious calligraphy there, the revival of the Tatar shamail genre – it seems that some work is being done in this direction. Especially noticeable are the works of Najip Nakkash and Mr. Rustem. You work in this field, and how do you evaluate the works of others?

A: The question seems simple, but it is very complex. Tatar ornamental art has a centuries-old history. Ornaments are present in embroidery, towels woven in the warp style, in window frames. Even on horse bridles, there are ornaments. They can manifest differently. Therefore, saying that I don't use it is incorrect for people working in Tatar art. Without it, it is impossible. It can penetrate the composition of the painting already at the stage of its construction. Whether it is a color line or a composition, the ornament is always there, without it is impossible.

As for our artists, the revival of the shamail art today is encouraging. It always existed, never completely disappeared. In Soviet times, it was done secretly, and there was no talk of exhibitions. But today there is no such pressure. There are masters who work a lot. We have young artists working in the field of calligraphy, who make beautiful works. For example, Gulnaz, who studied in Turkey, and girls from Chelny – they make very beautiful and perfect works.

Ornaments, they... We just do not always understand their sacred meanings. Guzel Foatovna explains to us: "This is a dove, this is a swallow, this is a hawk." "Where is the hawk here?" – you think. But everything has its sacred meaning. This is an apple, this... Even cobblers explained to me: the rear pattern confuses the devil... There are all sorts of them. So, the ornament has its sacred meaning. We now perceive it as a simple pattern, but it is not so, it is a philosophical way of perceiving and explaining the world in Tatar culture. It comes not only from Tatar art but from everyday life.

All this came to us through applied art. Only now have we turned it into easel art.

All these patterns on jugs, on towels, on window frames – they come from there.

A: Hello, dear listeners! We continue our conversations about Tatar literature, culture, history, and language. Our guest today is the People's Artist of Tatarstan, Honored Artist of the Republic of Tatarstan, laureate of the State Prize named after Baki Urmanche, our close friend Rabiz Magalimovich Salakhov. Welcome, Mr. Rabiz! How are you?

R: Good afternoon! Thank God, I am well.

A: First of all, I would like you to tell us a little about your work. In which fields do you mostly work? After all, you are active in several areas: in painting, graphics, ceramics, and design. First, please introduce your work to our listeners, as people from Europe who love the Tatar language will listen to this conversation. Please, introduce yourself.

R: I am very glad. My work began in the city of Ufa, where I studied. At first, I was engaged in ceramics. The place where I studied, Ufa, is very famous for its ceramic art... That is, there were masters who worked in ceramics not only in Bashkortostan but also in Russia, and I started working with them. Then I moved to Tatarstan and worked in Mendeleevo in the same field of ceramics. Later, when I moved to Yelabuga, I had to put ceramics on the back burner. Not that I completely abandoned it, but... During the Soviet era, there was an art fund. Having worked in this area... Artists constantly decorated our kindergartens, schools, streets, public places. It was already included in the construction budget, and they had a share, meaning it was officially recognized work. Therefore, I had to engage in design. That is, what is called monumental art – I had to go in this direction.

In general, I had to work very actively in different fields at that time. These were the last years of the Soviet era. At that time, our Kama Tractor Plant was being built. We organized our section and started work in Yelabuga. There were 28 artists in Yelabuga at that time, and we had to gather them. Working there, I also had to perform some administrative duties while organizing the workshop. I organized these workshops myself for over a year. There were not enough buildings and workplaces. KamTZ, the tractor plant, was still under construction, and there were no vacancies anywhere. So, we somehow found a place in the basement and opened a workshop there. That's how my work in Yelabuga began.

Then, when the workshops were established, after the end of the Soviet era, I had to switch to graphics, painting, and fine arts. Because engaging in ceramics requires energy and electricity – there were no benefits at that time. Therefore, I had to put them aside and engage in this work.

Then I worked in all the museums of Yelabuga in the field of design – I did the design for them myself. Then I worked beyond Arsk, in the Arsk museum. I worked in many museums, one can say that I also worked in Turkey. Thus... This is a cyclic job: it comes and goes, as they say. Meanwhile, you can't abandon painting if you start doing it. And creativity continued without stopping. It's hard to separate fine arts from graphics. After all, at the beginning, at the core of any painting is a drawing, its composition. It is first created in graphics – until you find everything, until you identify the form, draw a sketch. Then you start adding colors, translating it into format. Well, one can say that they both go in parallel with each other. However, graphics is also considered a separate type of art. One can do it that way, and I have many such works now. Both go this way today. Now I create in Kazan.

A: I am someone who has seen and observed your work, especially during the Yelabuga period. Your first workshops were called "Province," right? Many artists from Naberezhnye Chelny and Yelabuga came there. You had your exhibitions too, very interesting. I also noticed back then: you have a handwriting that has its peculiarity. There is a peculiarity by which your painting cannot be confused with anyone else's. Show me someone's paintings – I will immediately find Rabiz Salakhov's paintings. Because you have a unique pattern, an ornament, maybe. Maybe it's just a line, but this line is characteristic only of you. I am not a big expert in painting, but how do other critics assess this peculiarity of your work? One cannot say that you are a realist artist. If you are a romantic, it is very difficult to determine to which part or direction of romanticism you belong. Can you explain to the listeners your direction, your creative direction?

R: This is not a job that can be explained. If it were an intellectual job, I would be an engineer. It's not that simple. Therefore, it is such a topic that is difficult even for art critics to grasp. They do not know in which category to place me. They try to look at it from this angle and from that angle. They called me a new valet and this and that... Well, for me, it's not very important. After all, for an artist, in general for a creative person, to find their language, their plastic language... I think it is more important for you to determine your direction and become recognizable in this direction through your work. Therefore, it will be difficult to systematically determine the direction of my works. Even for art critics. Therefore... They say: Tatar romanticism, and so on. Anything is possible. I can create a work based on a historical event.

Also, ancient poetry is very close to me; I like it. Then I like folk songs. After all, each of them has its picture. Melody has its picture, its melody, the softness of the language, or the hardness. Perhaps this is where the artistic direction arises from. I think that my direction generally flows from folk art. Somehow, I never even thought about it, to be honest.

Recognizability is the presence of one's own plastic direction, recognizable and noticeable. If the audience and art critics see this – well, that's how it should be. Every artist strives and should strive for this. After all, even if twenty artists paint the same tree from the same place, twenty different paintings will come out. Therefore, everyone has their own... Painting is not just about making it look similar; it has its philosophy... This is what I think. I cannot explain it; for me, it's a difficult question.

A: No, I completely agree with you, because, for example, in literature, it's the same. If any writer starts writing with the approach, "Okay, I will write a work in this method, within these frameworks," he will not be able to write it, or the resulting work will not be beautiful. The same goes for you: you write when inspiration comes to you; your brush, your hand works in this direction. And perhaps critics could call your works the direction of Rabiz Salakhov because you have your worldview, your philosophy. And I think you have remained true to this philosophy throughout your creative path. What is the main theme, the main ornament, the main character of your works? I would like you to tell us more about this.

R: Aha. These are the four parts of me that are clearly defined… Well, I consider five parts. The first is ceramics, the second is the landscapes from the time when I was in Yelabuga and started my work, forgetting about everything else. Yelabuga landscapes can be distinguished as a separate part. Then I had cycles of works based on ancient poetry. Then there was an exhibition – a large triptych work. The first one was called "Indian Summer." I think I finished it for my fiftieth birthday, working on it for a long time. Then I had a cycle called "Long Long Childhood." Then I released a cycle and sent it to the exhibition. It's called "In the Footsteps of National Melodies." Although they have different names, it seems that they all have a common thread.

In Tatar, we call grandmother "kart iney," "abi, dӓү әni"...

A: I want to explain to our listeners that Mr. Rabiz is a native of Bashkortostan, Buzdyak district. And of course, phrases like "kart iney" are most often used by Bashkirs and Tatars living in Bashkortostan. Very beautiful – "kart iney." Yes, please continue.

R: Yes, aha. So we grew up with these grandmothers; grandfathers stayed in the war, we didn't see and didn't know them. Those who explained the essence of the surrounding world to us, showed us its beautiful and tasty places, and prepared us for today's life – these are our elderly grandmothers. And then probably our aunts. Therefore, "Indian Summer" is about the role of women in the Tatar world. After all, the Tatar world rests on them... There's no escaping that. Men are all at work; they may not return; they didn't return from the war either. They raised six or seven children on their shoulders and made them all people – it's all the work of grandmothers. So I got this cycle called "Indian Summer." It's entirely about women... It arose from an attempt to reflect at least a little the inner world of a woman.

Then there are teenagers, children, ourselves, who grew up with these grandmothers; therefore – "Long Long Childhood." We are now grown-up fools who still haven't left this childhood, so this cycle appeared.

After all, the whole Tatar world is built... These flexible words like "kart iney," everyone... After all, songs also have their beauty, and poems. They have their flexibility. Therefore, I got this cycle "In the Footsteps of National Melodies."

They all go one after the other, complementing each other... If you put them all together now, it would be a whole exhibition, it seems. Perhaps the fact that these themes follow each other helped me create my recognizable plastic language. I don't deviate much from the theme and can't deviate. Whatever I do, my bare feet must stand on the ground where the deep roots of our Tatar people go. Standing with legs wide apart. If I don't feel this, I can't work.

A: It should be noted that in your cycle "In the Footsteps of National Melodies," you mentioned very beautiful Tatar folk songs. You have created beautiful works of art inspired by them. They haven't reached us yet, still at the exhibition. Your exhibition is just beginning to close, right?

R: Yes-yes.

A: In honor of your anniversary, a whole exhibition is being held in Kazan. In my opinion, the biggest source of your creativity is the village, probably.

R: The village, indeed.

A: We are children of the village. So you tell about a boy standing barefoot on the ground, about a man on a horse-drawn cart, and about a woman returning from the spring with a yoke and a bucket, right? These are your main characters. Kurai, kubyz, such old...

R: Saz, dombra.

A: Yes, dombra, these are all our ancient musical instruments. Of course, an arrow, a shield, a hero on a horse, a defender of the country, right? A sword sticking out of its scabbard. That is, one of the main features of your work is Turkism, Tatarness, right?

R: Yes, that's right.

A: From it emanates national identity. It's impossible not to see this because, as I already said, this kolovrat flower of yours exudes Tatarness, a national feeling. May this feeling never run dry until the end of your life; may this melodiousness always accompany you in your creations! I wish you a long creative life and many new works. Among the exhibitions you mentioned, there are these three cycles. I think you forgot the fourth one.

R: Yes.

A: Because when I visited your workshop when you were in Yelabuga, you were working on another cycle. And that was "Tukai."

R: Well, where can you go without Tukai? You can't escape from Tukai. After all, this is poetry. My acquaintance with poetry began with Tukai. I caught his national identity, which is very subtly felt in his poetry. I wasn't very interested in his satires and works raising social problems. In the poem "Әllүki" there is reflected Bulgar, the banks of the Agidel River – this is how I began to be interested in Tukai… There is also heroism, there are bows, swords, and everything like that. You can note that the Bulgar era is mentioned there. So I got interested, and I got one cycle. I don't remember in what year this was the anniversary of Tukai...

Then I proceeded to Shurale, Su anasy... I did not make her a scary widow, but through the image of such a beautiful and graceful girl. After all, in a pond where beautiful willows grow, there can't be any strange creatures; there can be various animals. My interpretation was like that.

Then there is Shurale. Shurale is also a creature that came out of the forest. With big blue eyes, like a moose, who doesn't know where to put his horn. I made them like this.

No matter how hard Tukai's life was, he didn't become embittered. He wrote angry poems sometimes about things that got on his nerves, probably. However, if a person with such a bitter fate created such beautiful tales, this is no coincidence in poetry. He is already one of the children of the people who pushed him out. I imagine Tukai as one of those children pushed out by the people. We have many poems; if we go there... That's why the youth are not fond of this poetry, I don't understand.

A: So we came to another of your cycles. I remember the "Tukai" cycle because I saw that period when you were working on this cycle. I was very impressed when I saw this Su anasy girl and Shurale in your workshop. He was indeed being prepared for one of Tukai's anniversaries. And where is this exhibition, these works today?

R: They are spread across museums and personal exhibitions. Some of them I have at home. I didn't give away Su anasy, didn't send Shurale anywhere either. They are still with me. They will be needed again. You can't get away from the classics, you return to them from time to time. I have three... I always wander between them all my life: Tukai, Dӓrdmӓnd, then Saif-i Sarai, his love poetry. I keep returning there as if looking into a garden. As soon as you get there, your head starts spinning, seeing all this. So far, I don't go there.

A: Wonderful! Here is "Gulistan" by Saif-i Sarai – this is a flower garden, a garden. Tukai is boundless. The passion of Dӓrdmӓnd is worth a lot. I think your garden is very rich; your source, your spring is rich. Indeed, Tatar literature is very wide; you can draw inspiration from other poets as well. This is also possible. Do you have a favorite painting among those with patterns, national ornaments? Do you have a work about which you say, "I won't give it to anyone, I will keep it for myself"?

R: Should I be honest or lie a little... Honestly speaking, there are such works. They somehow... There is also a bit of responsibility for them. If they start living their own lives, I won't be able to resist this. Such works go their own way, start living in their world. There are such works. However, there are those about which I can say, "I won't give this one away, I will deal with it like this," and they still remain with me. They serve as a model, remain in memory. These are small works. Well, not of epic dimensions. But they exist.

This national identity, flowers, and so on... We again return to village life. There used to be grandmothers in the village who would visit each other in the evening. Women and girls followed them. I liked spending the night at my grandmother's. She lived on the lower street. Grandmothers gathered there. They talked so interestingly about something... Who saw a house spirit, who saw what, they talked about everything. Then they started singing, quietly humming while spinning the spindle. Then the girls beautifully embroidered. I collected these embroidery patterns... I still have them; I hung many of them, left them for myself. And there are also towels woven in a brocade way, all this is there. After all, they all reflect the soul of the people and retain the warmth of the heart. I think this is the true art. So, everything is based on this. These flowers did not appear out of nowhere. There are samples of all this somewhere. You can see them somewhere. Well, maybe a little invented. After all, everyone has their handwriting. My hand is not as delicate as a woman's but a hand that held a big shovel. There are such things. So, it all came from there.

A: No, you described it very beautifully. Scenes of gatherings of grandmothers and women came to life before my eyes, how they spin threads on a spindle, Mr. Rabiz, indeed. How do you choose colors when creating these paintings? There are colors that are unique to you. Do you imagine them initially, or are these colors and shades given with such a subtle feeling during the creation process? How does this happen? It's probably difficult to explain the creative process, of course. What do you say?

R: Of course, without a doubt. As I already said, at first, the composition begins, and then you start talking to them. Gradually, a sketch appears, even on a matchbox, the form comes. Then you can already determine the size of this form, how big it should be... It can be one and a half meters by one and a half meters or one meter by one meter, for example. After drawing the drawing on a white canvas, the color of this theme starts to appear. Its own color, inherent to it alone. If you compare it with a song, it's like some kind of glow is born in the heart. After all, the Tatars have their distinctive poetry, it is recognizable. Whether it's Turkic or Tatar – the art of songs, melodies stands out. It's impossible to confuse them with anyone else.

Such thoughts come to my mind: is it possible that in Tatar visual art there are real outstanding Tatar works? I think this is a reflection of what we are trying to do exactly that. When choosing the colors for the work, at first this... When you enter the theme, there is always some kind of fluctuation in the soul. And this fluctuation can be reflected in the colors. As well as in some lines. Everything comes together, and then the color starts to appear.

At first, I see about three colors; I lay down three colors... This is what we call "opening the picture." I open the picture, and it starts to appear. I look: "Aha, this needs to be slightly deepened, this brought forward, add here, do this, do

that." It's like embroidering, you dig and dig, always adding something, and it starts to come together. Well, the color opens first. If you can't "open the color," the picture may not work out. And it doesn't work out. You mess around with it... In art, there is such a concept: if your work smells of sweat... If they notice that your work smells of sweat, it's not worth messing around with it; don't bother. A person should be inspired by your work, not smell sweat. So it should somehow go by itself. Work that has become labor is already labor. You can labor with a hoe and process beets. So, the creative work should not turn into such labor.

A: Yes, the result should be very beautiful. No one is interested in how much sweat you shed, how much blood you spilled, how much you worked. The result should inspire, delight, and attract people, right?

R: Right-right. This is the whole point, the essence of all art and creativity. Therefore, Shaimiev also said: "It should be done beautifully, guys!" So it should be, it should inspire people a little, set them in a positive mood. That's why we are given this inspiration.

A: Let's continue with what you said. Your works are both light and sad, but not tragic. You have very few dark colors because, as I understand it, you write in a more optimistic spirit as an artist who still loves the world and life. Do you have paintings with dark colors?

R: There is one. It's still with me. Although I can't say it's needed, let it stand for now. In Yelabuga, there was an orphanage, you probably know about it.

A: Yes.

R: A home for orphaned children. On a windy, damp, and cold autumn day, I had to go there for some work. These children looked at me with such eyes: "Has this person come to take me away..." I left there with soul pain, with the feeling that they were looking at me and thinking: "Will this person talk to me, who did he come to take away..." The next day, I came to this place to draw a landscape. As bitter as the autumn wind. It turned out very dramatic. I drew it quickly. This work is with dark colors. Such dark ones. Although there are dark colors there, it still seems that light is visible behind. Well, there were such works, yes.

Well, I didn't particularly bother with this. Nihilism in art is not a state for me. I cannot accept nihilism in art somehow. Apparently, my nature is like that. Therefore, probably, I got carried away with the song, the Tatar song. After all, there, however it may be, they still hope for a meeting, singing: "This white shirt of mine is probably the shroud." After all, they still sing it. They hope for something, hope for a return, even if the green grass is on German soil.

A: So, you want to say that your latest cycle is more based on longing for the homeland, hope for reunion with the homeland?

R: Yes... Apparently, when you turn into a bearded baby, it's harder to hold back tears. This is also there. Everything somehow comes together from all sides. This and this poetry, and memories of childhood... There is not a single random word in a song. Even if geese fly to Donbass, they don't fly to work in the mine. This is already a sign of separation.

So in my paintings, too, there is no direct conversation on the topic. These are not illustrations; they can have two or three meanings. A person who understands Tatar culture can simultaneously see and understand all three meanings. Even Tatars who have heard the melody and understand it may not fully understand the plot, but they will perceive its colors in their way. A person who knows nothing about Tatars can perceive the painting simply as a colorful work from the point of view of composition. Therefore, two or three layers, each tuned in its way...

Longing for the homeland is probably also there. Well, what can I do, you can't do without longing. A person must yearn. The desire to tell someone something is beautifully expressed. Therefore, it's impossible to get away from this.

A: If someone says, "Depict a Tatar folk song, show the image of a Tatar song," now you can confidently show your works, I think. You did a great job creating this cycle. Your exhibition is inspired by Tatar folk songs, and do they play at your exposition?

R: Of course! At the opening, there were a cappella songs, then our "Miras" ensemble came, the guys came. They played the kurai and sang a cappella; one girl beautifully performed "Guljamal." Then they played ours, well, it didn't go without the Arsky melodies, without these places. It couldn't do without the Sarman rivers, and they played them too. Then the girls, during the exhibition, turned on the songs: music was flowing. I don't know where they put it – you go in, and a Tatar melody quietly plays at the exhibition. It turned out very well, in my opinion. The girls tried themselves, collected everything in their way, made a collection. Well, it was accepted well, as it seemed to me... It was also pleasant for me there.

A: The most important thing is that you are satisfied. It's good that you liked it.

R: But it's not so simple. If it were so simple... I would be satisfied, and that's it. If you start feeling like an orphan on your native Tatar land, that's not good. So you need to stand firmly on your feet and open an exhibition on this topic. It is necessary for this to be understood, accepted. As you said, I have plans to work more.

A: God willing.

R: Yes, God willing.

A: You mentioned the orphanage in Yelabuga, and I remembered one of your paintings. This is a portrait. You don't work much in the field of portraiture, but you had portraits of your two sons, Albert and Robert, when they were little. Very beautiful! And, of course, I know very well that in your work you also captured the beautiful black eyes of your wife, Alfiya Flyurovna. Do you have other portrait works?

R: There were, there were. I tried to work on them. There were, but they all spread out. Then I started to approach the portrait question more cautiously when I began studying religious teachings. I began to think: "Aha, what if the person I drew comes to me for the soul, what will I do then?" Therefore, I became more cautious in working with portraits... In all my portrait works, as you see, there are girls, boys, grandmothers, grandfathers in Tatar folk songs – everyone has portraits. But they are all collective images. It's important that it is immediately clear that this is our Tatar girl, as you said.

The portraits of the boys are a kind of romance; I attributed the romance of childhood, my thoughts... I painted them with a three-liter jar of fish in their hands, with a goldfish inside, that's how I painted this work. Alfiya – with a bunch of oregano, with a bucket of berries.
Again, we return to romance, whether it's a portrait or something else. Well, I paint my portrait very poorly. I know who I am. I know more than you. So, I don't like myself very much. I happily laugh at myself, joke. I even have my portrait with one eye. As in Tukai's poem…

A: I saw it, I saw it!

A: "There is no one else, only me and thought." With one eye, sitting there. I have such a portrait too.

A: This portrait, maybe, is just a caricature? A bit like that, isn't it? A type of caricature.

R: Yes, indeed.

A: Subhanallah. To have a sense of humor about yourself is an art in itself. Now let's talk about your activity in ceramics. How do you express yourself in this? With what feelings do you work in ceramics? Tell us briefly about this.

R: This, on the one hand, is a technical, technological form of art; on the other hand, the possibilities of plasticity in it are unlimited. Clay, however you bend it, it bends. Whatever color you paint it, it will be. In my early works, I did not stray far from folk art. I don't know where this came from, but I had it since childhood. When I walked along the riverbank... Where the water flows, colorful clays appear: white, red, even purple. I collected them, made small pots, tried to fire them in the bathhouse stove... They all cracked, burst. So it went, and I got involved in ceramics.

All my works are made in the style of ancient Bulgar ceramics. Their true value lies in the fact that I experimented a lot with painting. I dissolved real silver on clay – it looks like it's coated with silver; this is real silver. You can cover it with real copper. Ceramics have many possibilities.
Here you put it outside..., put it in the oven. You can't climb into the oven and say, "It should come out like this." Nothing can be done. You close it and only take it out after eight hours. Did it work out or not, only then.

Another direction of this work – earlier, large monumental works were created. In Yelabuga, I had a large panel in the maternity hospital. In kindergartens, fountains were decorated – works made in the style of folk art with parrots. Then the minaret of the mosque was tiled with hundreds of tiles... Using Tatar ornaments. But this already relates to monumental art.

And today, ceramic works stored in the museum are made on the theme of Bulgar art. Made according to samples preserved from those times. As I said, there is no direct copying. This is not done; it is impossible. Art implies that everyone should have their view, their plastic direction. Therefore, you can say that these works are made, relying on this.

A: Have you ever had a separate ceramics exhibition, or are your ceramic works exhibited together with paintings?

R: Ceramic works have now all spread out. If you remember, there was a large bookstore in Yelabuga. There were my works, such large, long ones. Ceramic forms more than two meters high. After the store closed, they spread somewhere; I didn't find them, never saw them anywhere. They are in different museums, in collections. Earlier, in Kazan, there was the NCC – the National Cultural Center. It's now closed, there is now the National Library. I don't know where their funds went; there were many of my works. Then there are works stored in our Museum of Fine Arts, in the State Museum of Tatarstan. At my last exhibition, they displayed my works from the Museum of Fine Arts, where they were stored. They fit very organically there. Both in terms of plasticity and color, I haven't strayed far.

When it's possible to gather them together, you can exhibit them to complement the exhibition. I think this is necessary. Now there are fewer opportunities, the exchange between museums is difficult. Moving from one museum to another is a very difficult thing. Therefore, museum workers and we ourselves try not to do this. But when it's possible, you can do it this way.

A: You traveled abroad with exhibitions or other invitations, especially to Turkey and Cyprus, to the Turkish part of Cyprus. You worked with other artists there. You left your works there too. When you are abroad, are you influenced by the works of other artists, or do you not perceive them and follow your path? I would like to know if there is any influence.

R: Even if it's not a direct influence, something seen and perceived in the soul still influences, probably, even though I think I'm not influenced. We worked with many artists there. They were from different places. Mostly all from Turkic countries, but still, they are from different places. At least geographically. For example, Turkmens – warmth seems to emanate from their works. From Kazakh works, it seems to smell of the steppe. Such meetings and exchanges are held to positively influence each other, see each other, and be inspired. To say for sure that I or someone influenced me is appropriate when you are a student; this needs to be done: you learn to use colors, work boldly. This is natural. But now, at our age, even if it is there, it's not so obvious.

A: Because Turkic culture, Turkic ornaments are very rich. As you said, warmth comes from Turkmens, the smell of the steppe from Kazakhs, from Tatars... Or Turkish culture stands out for its richness. It seems to me that even if this is not a direct influence, there is still inspiration, emotions.

Let's now talk about the Tatar ornament. It seemed to me that today, quite active work is being done in this direction in Kazan. In particular, the integration of the Tatar ornament into shamails, adding religious calligraphy there, the revival of the genre of Tatar shamail – it seems that work is being done in this direction. Especially the works of Najip Nakash and Mr. Rustem catch my eye. Do you work in this area, and how do you evaluate the works of others?

A: The question seems simple, but it is very complicated. The ornamental art of the Tatars has a centuries-old history. The ornament is present in embroideries, towels woven in the brocade way, window frames. Even on horse bridles, there are ornaments. It can manifest itself in different ways. Therefore, to say that I don't use it is wrong for people working in Tatar art. Without it, it's impossible. It can penetrate the composition of the painting already at the stage of its construction. Whether it's a color line or composition, the ornament is always there, without it, it's impossible.

Regarding our artists, the revival of the shamail art today is encouraging. It has always existed, never completely disappeared. During Soviet times, this was done secretly, and there was no talk of exhibitions. But today, there is no such pressure. There are masters who work a lot. We have young artists working in the field of calligraphy, who create beautiful works. For example, Gulnaz, who studied in Turkey, and girls from Chelny – they create very beautiful and perfect works.

The ornament is... We just now do not always realize its sacred meanings. Guzel Faatevna explains to us: "This is a dove, this is a swallow, this is a hawk." "Where is the hawk here?" you think. But everything has a sacred meaning. This is an apple, this... Shoemakers also explained to me: the rear pattern confuses the devil... There are many of them. So, the ornament has its sacred meaning. Now we perceive it as a simple pattern, but this is not so, this is a philosophical way of perceiving the world and explaining it in Tatar culture. This comes not only from Tatar art but from everyday life. All this came to us through applied art. Only now we have turned it into easel art.

All these patterns on jugs, on towels, on window frames – they came from there.