This interesting story happened with a friend of mine in Soviet times.
There was (and still exists) a university of art.
Or somehow. Everyone is trained at this university who suddenly wants to become an artist, artist, director, photographer or operator, or even a musician. Specifically, they accept everyone, and thereafter - as it goes. It is said that some, having obtained the first skill of owning a brush or dome, later even hit all kinds of people with their creativity and extraordinary.
This acquaintance worked in the mine, his earnings were solid, he did not intend to throw his assassination business, and "the artist" wanted to learn for the soul, for pleasure. He had the ability.
The university is part-time, the "students" sent their works to teachers by mail, they also communicated with consultants in writing. And I have to say that this person is the most well-known very thorough. When it was time to carry out the calculation of the section "Naturmort" in a pencil and aquarelle, he found an old toy in the barbecue barbecue - a horseback, took the doll to his daughter with hereditary hair and a loosened nose, put all this good near the dog house and depicted it with pastel pencils, periodically pushing away the dog of Ballika, so as not to violate the requirements of the genre - "Natur" should be "dead".
To the aquarel drawing approached also seriously: in the market of a familiar girl of Marina was bought a piece of salt "with a slice" - pink, with grains of gray salt, in the garden pulled out a couple of bulbs with a green pen, redis glittered with raspberries washed sides, a bowl of black bread arranged next to the salmon. After some reflection, a bottle of wheat taken from the refrigerator was placed in the center of the composition.
The drawing succeeded: color contrasts of black and white, green and red, the game of droplets of water on the bottle - it was cool. The author packed his works in a flat pack of banderoles, took them to the mail and began to wait for a well-deserved reward with praise.
A month later the answer came – the teacher noted the slimness of the composition, the skillfully depicted game of light and shadow, the creative approach... And ordered again to pass the topic from the theoretical course – about the perspective.
“You don’t take into account the perspective at all, the ratio of the size of objects on your picture is wrong,” he wrote. “It is impossible, for the fat to be equal to a bowl of bread, there is no such salt.”
“Of course,” said my friend, “it doesn’t happen in Moscow shops. A is
In the Donbass on the bazar - there is. Then he clings, because without
No tears can look at such joy.
How I would like to write that he had to go to the market again, to strain a familiar girl, Marina, to provide a piece of salad more ambassador - to send to Moscow, for visibility. No, the truth is more expensive.
The acquaintance broke everything: well, they do not accept ordered banderoles there - only flat envelopes. So it was not necessary for the professor of natural dead to see a real saliva, which is "with a slit", pink, with grains of gray salt...