I was born on April 21st, 1964 in Georgia and am now 50 years old. Soft fluffy light snow; deep, velvety warm nights lit by fireflies in a village in Western Georgia; damp lush soil of early spring; the first snowdrops and violets that my mother always took me to the fields to see; and blossoming plum and cherry trees – the most vivid and brightest experiences of my childhood.
At the age of 10, I met my first teacher. He was an artist and taught drawing at school. He revealed to me nature, the richness and limitless variety of colors and their shades, with which nature is so generous. I was delighted by the mere presence of my teacher and an older friend. I studied painting very diligently and later became an artist. My teacher often said that it is important to be alive, sensitive and strive for freedom in life, to be hardworking – and that these are the main qualities needed to become a good artist.
Much of my student years at the Tbilisi State Academy of Arts I spent on the streets, taking part in demonstrations against the Soviet empire and demanding Georgia’s independence. On April 9th, 1989, our peaceful protest was attacked by Soviet special forces. That night 21 peaceful demonstrators died on the central street of Tbilisi, beaten by spades and poisoned by toxic gas. A great many people suffered permanent injuries.
After the collapse of the USSR and the fall of the Iron Curtain, I left the Academy of Arts and Georgia in the hope of studying Western European classical and contemporary art and simply seeing the world. I lived in various places where young artists gathered, selling my paintings first on the streets and then in various galleries in Moscow (Russia) and Ukraine.
In Kyiv I met my future wife, and here I got acquainted with the Tibetan Kagyu Lineage of Buddhism, which she was fond of. Together we studied books by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, pirated by a Ukrainian publishing house. In the early 90's the world around us was changing very rapidly. What was absolutely impossible to dream of a couple of years ago, and could have landed one in jail, was now available for us, the inhabitants of the post-Soviet space, and was becoming a reality. So I started practicing in the Shambhala Buddhist tradition under the guidance of Sakyong Mipham Rinpoche, the lineage holder of Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche.
I remained very devoted to my work with paintings and did not allow any carelessness, aggression or dirt, so often found in the works of contemporary art of that time. I tried to hold on to the pure line of vision that the Buddhist teachings revealed to me, consciously and not formally applying it in my paintings, which gave my art freshness, softness, warmth, energy, and balance. By not spilling my neurosis on the canvas, but instead consciously working with afflicted emotions during the process, I was able to work with the painting in different forms and manifestations of meaning, on the external, internal, and hidden levels.
I have always worked a lot and often it was not easy for me, like for many artists, but in the last two years I felt especially tired from work and from life in general. Last year I did four exhibitions: in NYC, in France, and two in Kyiv, Ukraine. And although I liked all of them very much and felt inner satisfaction, inside I deeply felt how contamination and obstruction had taken over my whole being.
In November 2013, in Ukraine there was an acute political crisis that led to the revolution. The confrontation was very tough, the danger was very great and I spent these last few months on the street, like many of my friends, day and night, in the snow and frost. I did not want to be a part of these events and would have been happy to go somewhere else, but I could not leave the people who had risen up, defending their dignity and homeland from the internal and, as it has now become clear, external enemy. Many innocent civilians and fine soldiers were mercilessly shot by snipers, blown up with grenades and tortured by special forces.
During the last weeks of the confrontation I saw everything in a haze, some kind of illness was coming over me. Eventually, I went to the doctor and was treated in the hospital as an outpatient. At night, when it was most dangerous, I went into the city to the now famous Maidan, to try to help in any way I could, or simply be present under the thunder of stun grenades and fire. Events in Kyiv were developing in the most tragic way.
Treatment did not give any result and I was getting worse. Deeper examinations showed that I was sick with pancreatic cancer and only a very complicated surgery, if I was lucky, could save my life. The shocking news of a threatening and devious disease struck like a thunderbolt! There was a feeling of hopelessness and panic, a paralysis of the will, which revealed itself in the body as exhaustion and weakness, aggravated by the physical intoxication brought on by my illness. I felt incredible pain for my youngest daughter, knowing that I still had to help her, and for my wife, which added to my suffering.
This went on for a day or two, but the teachings, which I still practiced sparingly in spite of everything, helped me. I was able to look at the life I had lived and it was a sin to complain about fate. 25 years ago a drunk Soviet sergeant opened fire with an AK-47 assault rifle at the car I was in. Several bullets passed within a couple of centimeters of my ear, death was incredibly close. I could have died as a senseless, completely ignorant young man, never meeting my wife and my three children, never painting a huge number of good paintings, never seeing nearly all the famous art collections and museums that I loved so much, and without having been introduced to the precious Buddhist teachings, to my favorite teachers, and to a huge number of people in my community whom I also loved so much!
And all this happened in the last 25 years, when my guardian angel saved me from the bullets of a drunk sergeant in the collapsing Soviet army, a moment I survived only by a miracle. A feeling of gratitude for my fate filled my heart and it was the first breakthrough. I was able to straighten my back and practice meditation, being present in the here and now, while in the hospital. I again felt the joy and softness of my heart, the sadness and compassion for other sick people, and the boundless space and energy of the basic goodness of Buddha-nature. I found myself smiling, and it was the smile that my teacher was talking about that had happened to me before in moments of awakening. I continued practicing and praying, and although my health deteriorated, my spirit became much stronger. I had a straight back and a lively mind. I was no longer a victim but in control of my world, able to encourage other patients and be attentive to others. Of course, I felt regret that I had made many negligent mistakes in my life, but surprisingly I did not feel the usual sense of guilt at all.
Preparing for my surgery, I realized that before the illness I was not ready to live or to die, but now I was ready to live and die if I had to. The painful duality of endlessly swinging between fear and hope, as well as the falls and the gloom that come with these two extremes, had come to an end. I no longer had fears and hopes, I was just ready to accept what is and what will be, death and life.
My surgery fell on April 10th, strangely coinciding with the birthday of my mother and my youngest daughter. The surgery was impossible to postpone as the doctors feared it might become too late, and so was the birthday. Yet, it would certainly be very upsetting and inappropriate to die on this day and forever spoil this day for my closest people. The surgery lasted about 8 hours and thanks to the higher powers, the art of doctors, and the great support of so many people from all over the world, everything went well. I survived, and by continuing to practice and pray I got well very quickly, got on my feet, learned to work with pain, and returned home after a week. Now, I am trying to live life to the fullest, painting a little, practicing Tai-Chi, and preparing for a long course of chemotherapy, which the doctors said I must undergo.
In the end, I simply want to say that despite the threatening illness, I am grateful to fate for the opportunity to awaken, to not get lost and degraded by the world of the setting sun, by the energy of ignorance, fear and indifference, caught in the trap of ego-fixation, the narrow view of the “me plan” and the mentality of the beggar.
May 11, 2014. Kyiv, Ukraine.
04.21.1964 - 10.21.2014