Hoanggea

Published by the National Book Trust,

A-5. Green Park, New Delhi-110016 India (Rupees Twenty only)

Translated from the Russian in English by Olga Shartse

“If there is one single book on education which will make you weep, this is it.”

Duishen

Chingiz Aitmatov

I open my windows wide. A stream of fresh air comes pouring into the room. In the bluish paling halflight I pore over the sketches for my new picture. The sketches are many, for I have had to begin at the

very beginning again and again. But it is too early to see the picture as a whole. I haven't found the

main thing yet, that overpowering something that comes to you as suddenly and irresistibly as these

early summer dawns growing clearer and clearer, and sounding a mysterious and elusive note in our

soul. I pace the floor in the silence of the waning light, thinking, thinking, thinking... It happens every

time. And every time I realize that my picture remains no more than a vague idea.

I do not believe in talking about my paintings before they are finished even to my closest friends. It

isn’t because I guard my work over jealously, but it’s difficult to tell what a child, still in its cradle, will

be like when it grows up. And it's just as difficult to judge an unfinished painting. However, I'm going

to break my rule just this once because I want to announce for all to hear, or rather I want to share with

people my thoughts on the yet unpainted picture.

This is no mere whim. I cannot act differently, because I feel that it is too big for me to handle along.

The story that has gripped me, the story that prompted me to take up my brush seems so overwhelming

that I simply cannot embrace it alone. I seem to be holding a brimming cup, and I am afraid of spilling

it. That's why I want people to help me with their advice, to tell me what to do, to come and stand with

me at my easel, if only in thought, and share my emotions.

Come closer, do not grudge me the warmth of your hearts, it is my...