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| Full information about the artist |
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| First Name | Rubint |
| Last Name | Avraham Peter |
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| Country | Hungary |
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| Biography | |
AVRAHAM PETER RUBINT www.rubintgalleria.com
I was born on the 7th of August 1958, in Budapest.
The photograph shows a small boy with velvet eyes. His unruly looks do not abide carefully parted hair. White gloves cover his politely clasped hands.
After finishing primary school and high school studies, I received a matriculation certificate in the humanities. In August 1977, I enlisted in the army. Eleven months later, I applied to the Hotel and Restaurant Management College of Budapest, graduating after four years.
1982. After an internship, I worked in a number of good hotels and restaurants.
During these years the fine arts caught my wondering gaze. I tried my hand at water-color painting, made some graphic drawings and composed figurative and realistic pictures. I also scribbled short stories and poems.
I no longer remember that holiday we celebrated. But do you remember, Peti, there was also goose liver, tender but not to raw, and a lot of chestnut sweets
my favorite. On your workroom wall your first painting
you hesitated showing it
It was a sad picture, unrelieved even by the shape of an orange-colored sun
you gave it to one of our girlfriends with whom, I believe, you were in love.
My first real attempt at braking out.
May 1984. I vacationed in Amsterdam, touched by the endless calm of the sea. I painted my first 80 cm x 60 cm oil painting in Alkmaar, on the shore of the North Sea. I showed it to my dear friend, Dezsõ Magyar, who took it without my knowledge to a painter in Amsterdam, who immediately offered his help so that I could participate in a fine arts course about to begin
We were filming in Amsterdam. The crew stayed in the Golden Tulip Hotel. A breath-taking bouquet awaited me in my hotel room. Next to an exotic parrots bill, a 18 months later, I return to Hungary. I look for my place under the palette of the heavens, sometimes patiently, sometimes losing hope.
In the autumn of 1986, my father called me into his room and said: You always want to paint what is intelligible, visible, to everyone. Now go and try the opposite. Compose, draw, paint that which is invisible to others, which only you can see.
In January 1987, I left for Munich. In for months I completed a 95 cm x 110 cm oil painting, wich was exhibited in the Art Gallery of Munich and sold within a month.
May 1987. I am in Hungary again. I must work. During the day I work in the Berlin Restaurant, at home at night I keep thinking and drawing, and express my feelings and confusions in writing
February 1989. My father falls critically ill, dies within 10 days. I couldnt even say good-bye. He sent a message with my mother: Never forget Son, only that which hurts can be created beautifully
Oh, father, I miss you so, it hurts so much
How you loved your prodigal son.
June 5 1991, 9:40 p.m. My mother is with my father now
June 21 1991. The day of the funeral. I keep thinking, this is not her funeral, but rather that of a small boy, making room for a grown-up man, his worth already shown
There are two dead behind him, but a whole world ahead.
I travel a lot. I meet people. I lie, I love.
July 1991, Paris. I gather the colors of my past, something is about to be born.
In a few months I am in Hungary again. I close myself in my flat, no longer visit the cemetery, only pain and paint, and
do not paint.
January 1992, Toronto. Ever larger canvases follow each other. In the meantime, I prepare small graphic works and oleographs, and listen to many stories about Judaism and Israel. Eight months later, leaving my fifty large paintings and the organization of my exhibit to the care of someone else, I buy an airline ticket oh, no, not from the sale of my paintings, but by pawning my family jewelry and in.
October 1992, I step on the soil of Israel for the first time.
Ben Gurion airport.
What was merely history or politics in my life before, the headline story, is now reality. I am not afraid or surprised. I act the way all others do. An abandoned suitcase burns with a tremendous flame, everyone continues past it .. So do I. Seashore. Hotel Shalom.
November 1992. I apply for immigration papers. Two weeks later I receive the permit. In response to the first tide of experiences I run to buy canvases, to paint everything, to draw, to live.
In the morning, I drink cup of coffee, smoke a few cigarettes, bathe, pray sometimes, and begin to work in earnest. Days and weeks pass by without a trace.
My friend, Kazimir Kapolnai, helps me, watches over my joys and torments without judgement, lovingly. He rinses the brushes, I paint, he brings me my drink, I paint, he takes care of me, I paint with a newly perceived sense of mission. From someone painting haphazardly, I become an obsessed and driven creator, alive. I leave my words unspoken and unrecorded while I keep painting and begin to believe that it was worthwhile to have been born. Then difficulties
The landlord wanted paintings instead of the rent. The man selling paint and canvases asked for paintings, not money. The travel agent, with whom I negotiated a ticket needed for an exhibit in Venice, did not want money but to choose one of my paintings.
People ready to help eased the difficulties. The picture framer handled my paintings in a way that surprised even me. We selected the frames suited the pictures with love, care and devotion, and he ordered them within days from the most expensive Italian, Belgian and German firms at his own expense.
The paintings multiplied fast. My fourth-floor rented flat was plastered with paintings.
In march 1993, I began to pace Gordon Street in Tel-Aviv, famous for its galleries, trying to organize an exhibit for my paintings. I was met with suspicion, demands for huge sums and impossible conditions, everywhere. I wanted a roof over my paintings.
Again and again I raced through the Gordon Street.
I made a decision. Ill have my own gallery. I wagered 2.400 dollars won as a price for an open-air exhibit at the roulette table of art.
I rented the only available shop on Gordon Street and during the next ten days moved walls, build plaster partitions, had running water installed, bought carpeting, installed electricity, wallpapered, cleaned, carried the new furniture happily. Finally, I stood as the worlds happiest man in my own gallery delighting in the paintings hanging on the walls. All of this would have been impossible without my friends.
Of course, the original money was not enough. I did everything on credit and postdated checks, leading to serious problems later.
Peters Credo
The main goal of my artistic activities is to keep the fire of love and belief burning in the exhausted hearts and souls of people. I believe that human being respond to the warmth to the fire of life that is represented in the primal colors of red, yellow, brown, blue and black. Imagination gives us the strength to battled against evil and to celebrate life and to walk, dance or run. And just like the fire which gives us warmth, Id like to create light and to be of comfort, Id also like to inspire that primal response of uncharted passion.
I want to run to break through a thousand barriers to be free, because I want to breathe free. I only want the smell of field covered with flowers, the smell of the fresh air
I want to pain colors which free others and I want to break out of my cage. I want to paint with lots of red, burgundy, yellow, orange and blue so that our spirits become more colorful and fire will become our ally; not our enemy.
I know that I have many friends, some of them have never met me but they understand me.
They wont abandon me. I havent many earthly possessions, but I have an instrument that has been placed in my heart and my only desire is to play that instrument and reach the hearts of my brethren. Im offering you that bright fire that sometimes is no more than a flicker, but it is still burning.
I am a man devoted to searching for mankind. I am not afraid of the wicked or evil because I am not writing or painting for them; I have nothing to say to them. My only wish is to uplift those who are hurt for the modest to gain courage. |
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AVRAHAM PETER RUBINT www.rubintgalleria.com
I was born on the 7th of August 1958, in Budapest.
The photograph shows a small boy with ve... |
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