II
THE DAUGHTERI was trying to remember something, but my memory ran into a blank wall: gates, a dirty-white horse, and a dark wooden coffin. I don’t remember the dress either, but Grandma Glikeria had one like it, and so it seems to me that I remember it.
I was also afraid that I wouldn’t be able to become a true artist. That’s what Larisa Yevgenievna said: true artists should remember their earliest childhood.
Then I would draw everything differently, but as it is they always scolded me: for the distorted perspective, for the fact that I never achieve a real likeness, for the obscurity of my ideas. Larisa Yevgenievna taught us that the idea should be distinct and clear, so that nobody would have any questions about it, especially not the Admission Committee. I heeded her advice: I bel
