Irina Dzutsova

Irina Dzutsova: Exploring the Armenian Heritage of Georgia

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YEREVAN–PARIS – Irina Petrovna Dzutsova (born in 1941, Tbilisi) is an Ossetian historian and philologist by education, Doctor of Art History. From 1966 to 1970 she worked at the Russian newspaper Vecherny Tbilisi (Evening Tbilisi). For many years she was the Georgia correspondent of the journal Decorative Art of the USSR. From 1970 to 2009 she worked at the Art Museum of Georgia. She founded and headed the manuscript and memoirs department, significantly enriching it with materials from the personal archives of artists and scholars. She was a member of the Union of Artists of Georgia. Since 1966 she has published in the press of Georgia, Armenia, Russia, England, France, the US and Serbia. An author of number of books in Russian and Georgian on the history of Georgian fine arts, Dzutsova writes widely on the history of Georgia’s cultural and artistic ties with other countries. She has participated in international symposia, conferences, scholarly sessions, and collective volumes on art and cultural history. Since 2010 she has lived in Paris and continues to write books and articles.

Dear Irina Petrovna, I have been reading your articles on Armenian artists for many years and would like to thank you for your professional assessments and numerous discoveries related to masters of the past. You are an Ossetian from Georgia, married to an Armenian, you write in Russian, and now live in France. I believe multiculturalism enriches a person and largely shapes one’s character. How has it influenced you?

In Tbilisi, a historically multinational and multiconfessional city situated at the crossroads of European, Russian and Persian cultures, and one that has proven its ability to absorb and embrace the best and brightest elements of this unique cultural “fabric,” it is impossible to live and work outside this phenomenon of cultural and linguistic diversity. For example, my father-in-law, Varos Yengoyan, was fluent in Armenian, Georgian, Russian, Persian and Turkish.

By learning about others — our compatriots, their culture, customs, and ways of life — a person undoubtedly broadens his horizons, enriches his worldview, and expands his creative potential. My personal and professional development would have been very different had I lived in another cultural environment. In this sense, Georgia, and Tbilisi in particular, is a rather unique phenomenon: peoples here have always lived side by side — not in parallel, but truly together — not in a “melting pot” in the American sense, but while preserving their identity, forming mixed families, and looking at the “other” not with suspicion, but with goodwill.

There were, of course, difficult moments after the collapse of the USSR and the surge of ultra-nationalism. However, I believe that the spirit of “internationalism” characteristic of Georgia prevailed over politically short-sighted nationalist fervor, which, as history shows, can only lead into a deep abyss.

Everyone I have had the good fortune to know is a product of this cultural and ethnic diversity — for example, Sergei Parajanov: an ethnic Armenian, a native of Tiflis, Russian-speaking, who celebrated the Hutsuls, the great Georgian painter Niko Pirosmani, trilingual Sayat-Nova and Lermontov’s Ashik-Kerib, a hero of Caucasian and Central Asian epics.

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Many outstanding Armenian artists lived in Georgia — from Hakob Hovnatanyan and Alexander Bazhbeuk-Melikyan to such remarkable masters as Albert Dilbaryan and Gayane Khachatryan. Do you think they can be considered both Armenian and Georgian artists?

These eminent Armenians, natives of Tbilisi, absorbed currents, ideas, and, I would even say, entire worlds within the incredibly stimulating cultural atmosphere that took shape in Georgia in the 1970s–1980s. As the distinguished Pirosmani scholar Erast Kuznetsov wrote, “in this city, where the need to express oneself creatively has almost equaled the need to eat, sleep, quench one’s thirst, where every third person is an artist or a poet or a musician… artistic talent has come to be regarded as something natural, everyday, and art as an integral part of daily life” (Erast Kuznetsov, Pirosmani, Leningrad, 1984, p. 202). One could hardly put it better.

Because of one or two Armenian inscriptions on the paintings of Niko Pirosmani, the impression arose that he was Armenian; however, it is known that this is not the case. How do you explain the presence of Armenian inscriptions in Pirosmani’s works?

Kakhetian Niko Aslanovich Pirosmanishvili was a true embodiment of multinational Georgia, interacting with representatives of all the peoples living in the country. Indeed, Armenian inscriptions can be seen on his oilcloth paintings. This can be explained by the fact that in his childhood, having been orphaned, he remained in the village of Shulaveri at the estate of the Armenian noble Kalantarov family, the last employers of his father. In the Kalantarov household — first in the village and later in Tiflis — Pirosmani spent a total of 15 years working as a cook’s assistant and helping with household duties. It was in this family that he learned to read, write and draw. I believe it was also there that he mastered Georgian, Russian, and, presumably, the Armenian alphabet.

You were acquainted and friends with many prominent artists, poets, writers, scholars, and filmmakers from different countries, including Minas Avetisyan and Sergei Parajanov. Could you share any memories of them that you have not yet written about?

So much has already been said about Minas and Sergei — almost everything… I can only add that Minas is one of those creators who has remained in my soul forever. Honest, selfless, a philosopher — one could trust him completely. To this day, I perceive his passing as a profound personal loss.

As for Seryozha, Serzhik, as he was called in Tbilisi, he had already become a legend in his lifetime — one of the chosen. I was friends with him for more than 20 years. I don’t remember who introduced me — a 26-year-old correspondent of Vecherny Tbilisi — to his house on Kote Meskhi Street, but that is how we met. Later he invited me to the filming of “Sayat-Nova,” offering me a small role. Thus, I appeared in a brief episode and received no criticism from him — which made me very proud, as Sergei was demanding, even strict, with his actors, constantly “educating” them. I then wrote a newspaper article about the filming. Endowed with a free spirit, he generously shared it with others. At the same time, he was kind, attentive, sensitive to people — and extremely perceptive. The pomegranate was his favorite cinematic poetic symbol. Today, pomegranates lie in a vase in my home as symbolic reminders of Parajanov. He is a unique phenomenon of world culture.

You are also the author of the book Symbols and Images in Sergei Parajanov’s Film “The Color of Pomegranates” (2012). Some believe that symbols should not be interpreted at all, as this supposedly “kills” them. Do you agree?

In the preface to the French Dictionary of Symbols, its compiler Jean Chevalier wrote: “All sciences, natural and human, and art in all its forms — everything that constitutes human culture — encounters symbols along its path. All must unite their efforts to decipher the mystery of symbols and release the energy concentrated within them. It is not enough to say that we live in a world of symbols — the world of symbols lives within us.” For some, symbols are incomprehensible and inaccessible; for others, they are woven into the very fabric of life and perception. The “decoding” of a symbol — an entity that generalizes and concentrates knowledge, beliefs, and superstitions accumulated over centuries — does not deprive it of its symbolic power but helps us reach the essence of things in their most concise and authentic form.

You are also the author of the book Hakob Hovnatanyan. Portraits  —  Memories of the Artist (2022). I recall a story that in a Tbilisi gallery, upon seeing a portrait by Hovnatanyan labeled “Unknown Georgian artist,” Parajanov remarked: “This unknown Georgian artist is a well-known Armenian artist!” It is known that Hovnatanyan did not sign his paintings. You have discovered several works from his Persian period. Do you think many such works still exist, and are they still presented in Tbilisi as “unknown Georgian artists”?

Indeed, as a result of many years of research, I managed to discover several new works by Hakob Hovnatanyan created during his long stay in Persia. I am convinced that in Iran — in museums, storage collections, Armenian churches, and private collections — there are works by Hovnatanyan. I believe they are catalogued as “unknown artist” or “unknown Persian artist,” since among his currently known works only one bears his signature — the portrait of the Georgian poet, military and public figure Alexander Chavchavadze, father-in-law of Alexander Griboedov. In the storage collections of the Tbilisi National Museum there are works by an “unknown artist” which, in my 2022 book, I attribute to Hakob Hovnatanyan.

Do you have any new projects related to Armenian artists or poets?

The life and work of Hakob Hovnatanyan continue to inspire me — this is a vast field of research. Much remains to be done, and this is a task for the younger generation of historians and art historians. Since the publication of my book in 2022, I have discovered several more paintings and graphic works by the artist. So, a new, expanded edition of my book is forthcoming, and of course I would like to have it translated into Armenian and English.

Please also tell us about your husband. Was a shared love of art part of your relationship?

My husband, Konstantin Varosovich Yengoyan (1927–1999), was born in Gyumri, but a few weeks later his mother (Nazik Aleksandrovna Hayrapetyan) returned with her firstborn to Tbilisi, where their family lived. His father, Varos Barsegovich Yengoyan, moved to Tiflis in the 1910s from Akhaltsikhe, where his ancestors had resettled from Turkey in the 1840s. After graduating from school with a gold medal, in 1945 Konstantin (Kotik, as we called him at home) went to Moscow and entered the Moscow State Institute of International Relations, founded by Stalin’s decree in 1944. In winters, his parents sent him crates of fruit from Tbilisi — a rarity in Moscow at the time — and he shared them with his fellow students. After returning to Tbilisi with a degree as an international lawyer specializing in France, he worked as an international journalist for the newspapers Vecherny Tbilisi and Zarya Vostoka. He spoke French fluently and became an Honored Journalist of Georgia. He wrote on a wide range of topics — satirical feuilletons, historical reviews, interviews, including with French Communist leader Georges Marchais and film star Brigitte Bardot. Highly erudite and perceptive, he enjoyed great respect in society and in his profession. He was repeatedly invited to work for central Soviet newspapers in Moscow, but refused, not wanting to leave his mother alone or his native city. Over the course of his career, he wrote more than eleven thousand pieces. We met in the editorial office of Vecherny Tbilisi in 1966 and soon married. Our daughter Alda was born, who in many ways followed in her father’s footsteps — she became a Doctor of Economics and is also engaged in journalism and the history of France.

 

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