Deutsch 
My first painting work was coloring my dad’s motorcycle with garden varnish when I was about three years old, while the adults went to have lunch, tired from painting the garden trees. I think it turned out pretty well, and I was hardly scolded. By the way, I come from a family of office workers; my dad had some connection to art—he played the trumpet in the local orchestra of the Baranow Art Gallery House of Culture in Novopskov. Sometimes they played at weddings or funerals. I never studied painting anywhere officially; I mean formally. Coloring the motorcycle convinced me that it was possible to do it that way. (humor)
Between 8th and 9th grade, my father and I traveled on a trip to Western Ukraine—Lviv, Yaremcha, Drohobych, and apparently Ivano-Frankivsk. In Lviv, there was a guided tour of the local art gallery, and it was actually after this tour that I got “hooked.”
By that time, I had already finished seven years of piano classes and played in the local VIA “Antares” at dances and weddings, earning quite decent money for a 14-year-old kid (USSR!). Schoolwork came easily to me, and usually, I drew all sorts of nonsense with ballpoint pens during lessons, mostly of a fantastic nature, since I was a fan of sci-fi literature. So... In Lviv, there was the guided tour of the local art gallery (by the way, it is well represented in the film "Old Men: Robbers"). They led us through the halls; there were many paintings, all somehow “even,” none really grabbing attention. Suddenly, we entered a small hall where three paintings by Semiradsky were hanging: “Jesus and the Samaritan Woman,” “In the Manner of the Gods,” and “At the Spring.” Opposite them was a painting by Khalamov called “Gypsy Woman.” It was in this corner of the museum that everything began.
I spent more than an hour trying to understand... HOW??? How could it be like this??… How is it possible to convey colors and texture like that, how do they manage to immerse the viewer in the emotions? I had many questions but not a single answer.
I returned to Moscow a different person. Everything started spinning from the early 1980s when fate brought me together with two guys who painted small pictures and sold them at the “Artist” salon on Yakimanka (formerly Dimitrova). They taught me a lot; then we created something together and even developed a kind of “Zelenograd style.” Then Bitza, Arbat, perestroika... the first “serious” exhibitions.
I have no memberships, titles, or medals; honestly, I don’t see any meaning or uniqueness in that. They bring no benefit to the author himself, and everyone just joins. As for style, once a lady called it soft impressionism—well, let it be so. The significance and, to some extent, the value of the author and his artistic works (I try to avoid the word “artist”) lie in recognizability and craftsmanship. I strive for this.
I have been living in Zelenograd since 1993 and love it very much.
Mostly, I paint landscapes, which is about half of everything I do; the rest is evenly divided among still lifes, fantasy, animalistics, figurative, and nudes.