Guide to Sergey Kalmykov

Sergey Kalmykov

Sergey Ivanovich Kalmykov

1935-1965 (Unpublished draft)

Surrealist compositions

Diary entries

Guide to Sergey Kalmykov

Unpublished draft

1935-1965

The Park of Leonardo da Vinci

This needs to be written on good paper once again!

—as the final draft!

S.K.!

Leonardo da Vinci in his violet-blue cloak, embroidered with blue and gray jewels, white arrasene and gray silk ribbons and leaflets, and gold beads, was walking next to me.

The wind played with his white beard, falling like a waterfall into the folds of his cloak. My own red cloak (red English ochre in color), embroidered in gold threads and beads, and decorated with pink ribbons and bows; my white shoes, made of the hide of the three-year old Siamese elephant, decorated with pale blue-gray dotted lines; and my black locks perfectly complemented through fiery juxtaposition the reserved power of divine Leonardo's profile.

Abu-l Ala al-Ma'arri was sleeping in her room, and we passed by her door without knocking as we left for our morning walk.

It was only half past seven, and the rays of the Sun illuminated the soles of our sandals.

The rays of the Sun warmed our ankles and with gentle invigorating pinpricks nudged us to the west, in the direction of the porticos hiding among the gray stormy hillocks that were frantically spitting loose clouds of debris into the delicate whiteness of the sky.

Groups of boys and girls were strolling under pale pink-gray columns. They all had small curled tails which they playfully leaned on like walking sticks when they stopped, reclining back and chatting with one another.

They walked between tables covered with paper tablecloths, bending over them and exchanging opinions over shoulders covered with gray ribbons and lush pale-orange bows.

They all wore pale pink silk shoes embroidered in light-violet diamonds.

The profiles of glass bowls twenty meters across, filled with Chinese ink, drew supple parabolas high in the sky, the black sides of the bowls sparkling with pale-gray specks.

I stood in front of a four-meter wide white disk, from which the sound of my voice ricocheted like exploding projectiles throughout the hall in melodious reverberations.

In a proud mischievous motion I straightened the creases at my left elbow and delivered a solemn speech about the principles of inverse tectonics.

A FEW THOUGHTS ON ULTRA-UNSTABLE CONTEMPORARY TECTONICS

—The PYRAMIDS serve as an example of ancient tectonics—these are durable piles of rocks that cannot be dislodged—so they have stuck to the Earth with their wide and heavy base.

Their unique characteristic is the opposition between the top and the base.

The base is wide and heavy, and the top is small and light.

I propose now to build atectonic pyramids, with the top the new bottom and the bottom the new top.

It is the lightest type of the building, or to be more precise, a type of the lightest building.

I submit: build such a pyramid, and it will take to the air like a feather!

That's the whole idea of new tectonics.

—What, is that it?—the students said, surprised.

—Yes,—I answered proudly.—That's all.

That's all it is.

It's simple, but no one could think of it—except me—even our divine Leonardo!

—But why would the pyramid take to the air?—asked Leonardo.

—Well, if they don't understand me even after I've practically explained everything—then I will try to repeat what has been said bit by bit—then, maybe, they will understand me quicker!

I would like to draw the attention of listeners to the following considerations:

—Usually everyone is too busy with thoughts about the stability and tectonic stability of a building.

But gradually this desire for stability begins to fade.

And so, as this tectonic mania fades away—little by little—people start building lighter and lighter buildings.

Let's look at some examples.

First—Pyramid. Egyptian. Damn stable! It won't budge.

TABLE CONTEMPORARY TECTONICS

—The PYRAMIDS serve as an example of ancient tectonics—these are durable piles of rocks that cannot be dislodged—so they have stuck to the Earth with their wide and heavy base.

Their unique characteristic is the opposition between the top and the base.

The base is wide and heavy, and the top is small and light.

I propose now to build atectonic pyramids, with the top the new bottom and the bottom the new top.

It is the lightest type of the building, or to be more precise, a type of the lightest building.

—What does this Structure look like?—The external faces tilt inward.

As we straighten this incline and make the walls of the structure more and more vertical, the building becomes more and more unstable and light.

A cube is lighter than an upside-down pyramid. It's easier to flip it over.

If we start sloping its walls outward, the cube will start turning into something trapezoidal And it will get more and more unstable, this volume, as its walls tilt outward.—Cups, glasses and vases. They already start to give the impression of lift.

—This is the first consideration.

—Then comes the second one:

It's quite obvious that it is pointless to expend so much effort to lift the top of the pyramid.

It can be lifted with less effort.

—And so, people started making all sorts of gaps and hollows in the foundations of buildings and structures.

And, well, the more empty spaces they left, the higher the structures soared.

—Gothic cathedrals and Skyscrapers are built on this principle.

—But they also have something of the ancient pyramid principle, which weighs them down to the earth and does not let them take to the air.

—The walls of the Gothic cathedrals, skyscrapers, and the Eiffel Tower all taper off, albeit gently..

—Not abruptly, but they lean inward all the same.

It makes these buildings stable, tectonic and rather heavy.

—But the third and final principle of architecture demands the greatest effect with least effort.

—Take only one point of support as the base of the building—just one!

And let this one point support countless points in the top of the building.

—It is prudent, ingenious, attractive and efficient.

—Is this idea feasible?

—Undoubtedly. Yes.

In the light—as well as in the darkness—nothing is impossible.

—Everything is possible.

Everything is possible in our world.

—You just have to wish it!

And so—I suggest building pyramids upside down.

It's possible if you use your head.

Maybe you have to do away with stone, wood, iron and concrete.

After all, for light (and shadow) there are other methods!

Inadequate and poorly-suited materials can be replaced with suitable ones.

I believe that to build the type of pyramids I am talking about, larger gaps are required in the pyramid exteriors than what has been achieved hitherto.

—Indeed:

We all know too well, and this is no secret to anybody, that in the ancient Egyptian pyramids near Memphis, each stone was so tightly fitted to the next stone that it was impossible to force a knife blade between two neighboring stones—nevertheless, there is a lot of empty space in the pyramids between the individual atoms of granite.

A great amount of free space was and is in Gothic cathedrals and skyscrapers—as well as in the bones of any beasts.

For in every solid and heavy substance there are a huge number of empty spaces.

And that's the tricky part of the task ahead of us. We have to find this material.

But if we need it, we will find it.

And I think I've already found it.

The material—pure gold.

The sun scattered on the golden threads of the window coverings and splashed on the drafting desks in puddles.

Ribbons swayed, and glimmers—of blue, azure, green haze, gold, brown and black resin—glittered. (—In their eyes!)

Fluttering eyelashes followed my exit.

I left with Leonardo to the crackling of applause.

—Like flocks of birds in flight fluttering their wings!

—Sparks from invisible fires are crackling between admiring palms—I told Leonardo.

The assistant jotted in her notebook:

—They listened to our Sergei Ivanovich.

Yes—humanity, propelled by instinct, though unconsciously, sought and valued gold.

—Sergei Ivanovich was the first to reveal to us an objective for humanity—and then the value of gold as it relates to the realization of this objective.

And tectonicity,

lightness!

This is the principle of the future.

Yes, the hairs in the mane of Apollo Helios did not blaze for nothing.

Yes, the head of Manon with golden curls did not bob on the surface of the lake in vain!

Evening rustled the leaves on the branches.

—Here—I said to Leonardo—is a sample of the lightest architecture:

TREE BRANCHES

—pierced by wind and sun and air.

—But there is one drawback for these branches, leaves and trees!

They are fixed to the ground.

Tied to the soil.

We need flying treehouses.

—And we will make them.

I said.

—In less than one year—or perhaps even a month—we will make them—I said.

We strolled along the shimmering Lake.

Frogs crossed our path.

The wind stirred our cloaks and combed the white waves of Leonardo's beard.

My black locks writhed behind me like snakes.

You know—I said to Leonardo—I am ready to bet my life that I am not mistaken, and that I know where to find the endless supply of gold we need.

And I proposed my idea: that he mine gold using tools he is a master at inventing.

He'll have no problem inventing them.

—Right—I urged him—get on with it.

But where, where do you think you can find gold?—exclaimed Leonardo.

—Wherever you want—I said.

—In every one of us.

In every person, every animal, every bird and fish.

In all of them, inside their bony and fleshy spaces, are the thinnest latices of pure gold.

They cannot be seen with the naked eye, but they are there, and the first place I would look is in the interstices of the human skull.

—You are a genius, Sergei Ivanovich—Leonardo said to me.—You are an even greater genius than I—Leonardo said to me.

—Yes, yes— I answered.—I know that. But that's not the point.

—Let's get on with it and dig for gold!

—Alright, I'll think about it,—Leonardo said to me. And the wind rustled his violet cloak, the gold beads shimmering like sparks.

The thing is—I continued—is that, of course, there is very little pure gold, given the scant width of the interstices of the human skull—there is, of course, little pure gold in each structural fissure.

But take into account the fourth dimension of the world—the sum of the fractions of a second that a person (or any other living being) lives in the decades of their life, in each living being, in the gyri of the interstices of its skull—all gold—and finally, in the core of these brain filaments, within the nerve fibers and the reproductive filaments—surely all the same fine microscope gold, as each being is a living structure navigating the world—so, I assume: If we take into account the colossal billions of miles covered by living beings moving, in time, throughout the world, in which their beginning, inextricably linked to the depths of the distant past and no less distant thousand-year-old (maybe million-year-old) recesses of the future, then you must agree: that by winding these thin gold threads around specialized state-of-the-art spools with the help of a specialized machine to pull these gold filaments from the abysses of the space and time which surrounds us (like the receptacle of the Danaïdes, with its infinite perforations and infinite false bottoms), to twist (i.e. wind around spools, which you, even with all the complex mechanisms of every necessary device, could invent in no less than five days, if you put your mind to it) them from each living being, it wouldn't be surprising if we accumulate thousands of tons of pure gold, which we can then use for any purpose, including the creation of gold skeleton frameworks for colossal pyramids, with their tops on the bottom and their bases on the top.

Yes, yes—I said—It is undoubtedly so, said Mister Leonardo.

And the wind tousled my black locks, and, and wrapping myself in my flame-colored gown, I continued refining my idea of procuring and extracting gold threads.

—I agree with you—said Leonardo. This is undoubtedly a fruitful idea, and I will start designing all the necessary machines which can help us pull the gold filaments we need from the void of space and time.

However with respect to the creatures from which we will extract these gold threads, it will be tantamount to a death sentence.

By winding the gold threads out of them, we will destroy them completely, these ill-fated creatures, both in the past and in the ephemeral present, and in the infinite future.

But what is sacrifice, if science demands it. Science knows no pity, and I myself am no stranger to vivisection.

The azure surface of the Lake beckoned us and we decided to swim, and it became hotter and hotter as the day got brighter and brighter. We took off our clothes and jumped into the water.

We swam.

Sitting on the lake pebbles, I put on my stockings with pale-gold stars and lines.

A thought kept running through in my head—an echo of Onegin's Diary, as it were.

—"Are you afraid of Countess -ova?"—Eliza K asked us.

—Yes—retorted austere X.X.—we fear Countess -ova as much as you fear a spider.

Leonardo praised Pushkin's expression. "Eliza K—a spider"—he repeated after me.

And chanting similar puns, we got dressed.

For ten days, from morning till night, Leonardo was busy with calculations I couldn't understand.

I walked in the park, and having nothing to do, composed my own triolets.

Sometimes I stopped by Leonardo's.

He fiddled with lenses, crystals, shiny metal wheels, screws, powders and glass frames. He boiled indescribable potions in a crucible and used them to coat various disks, tubes and boxes.

He made the requisite spools for winding the long and thin gold threads.

He installed regulators and the most complicated fuses imaginable.

I understood nothing of these preparations and left Leonardo to work.

I strolled along the Oval Lake and indulged in thoughtless and quiet contemplation.

From time to time I reread my triolets and copied them out a little at a time, with additions and alterations, into different notebooks.

I was interested in the catkins scattered on the ground, fallen from the branches of the trees in bloom.

I sat alongside the most remote and desolate paths of the Park.

Sometimes, however, I walked into different studios, where many lovely young creatures indulged in all sorts of experiments and studies.

Some groups tried to study my bodily composition.

They found my system to be exceedingly complex, but extraordinarily efficient due to thousands of ingenious details.

Endless shops were crammed with pedestals for claywork, on which the apprentices sculpted all sorts of models and contraptions.

I especially liked the cozy Jewelry Workshops, with their lacquered round tables and soft divans.

I passed by trees and canvases on easels.

Charming boys and girls were painting animals in most improbable postures.

Long rows of thousand-ton granite pedestals topped with colossal thousand-kilometer Jeweled Starry Frames lined the lake's shoreline.

They stood out against the water surface, the clear sky, and the light-gray foliage of the Park.

I walked around the pedestals, scrutinizing the cups and the combination of their materials and forms and marveled at their variety.

You know—I said to Leonardo—I figured out how to pull out the gold filaments without killing them, without sacrificing living beings.

After all, every being has an extensive history.

We could extract gold fibers just from their past.

Let them (these beings) live in the future.

Let's give them the present and the future.

It seems to me that the past alone will be more than enough to extract these gold threads.

—Can't it be done?—Isn't it within your power?!

—If only it were—answered Leonardo.

It's a question of how to get hold of the ends of these fibers!

After all, you and I—we are also in the present. Only by being inside the present can we make contact with the past and the future.

To capture the past, one should find the end of this past in the present. And only having caught this end will we be able to wind it out of the past and future.

No amount of compromise will help.

I have already told you—I am no stranger to vivisection.

Sacrifices are sacrifices—Leonardo gave a wave of the hand.

—No, there's nothing you can do about it—he said hopelessly.

Leonardo drew my attention to a platinum cylindrical roller that appeared to be motionless.

But in fact, as a special indicator showed, it was spinning unusually fast.

Leonardo pointed to a gold rim on the left edge of the roller.

—Here—Leonardo said to me—I finally managed to catch one of the fibers in a cranial suture of this amputated frog's skull.

And he pointed to the insulated latex plate with a frog pinned to it.

—You see—Leonardo said to me—how an expanding gold band is beginning to cover the shaft of the spool. In an hour we should have a layer of gold about four vershok thick—in a day we will have about two hundred and fifty kilograms of pure gold, wrenched from the past, from just one fiber of this pitiable frog.

We only must arrange it so that the fiber winding doesn't break.

It's not that easy, and I worked hard at it.

But, finally, I seemed to have fixed the spool.

I glanced at the platinum roller.

It was now entirely pure gold.

I was intrigued and for about a quarter of a minute looked at the spool and watched as the layer of gold on it grew thicker and thicker.

The reel was getting thicker before our eyes.

I congratulated Leonardo.

—Indeed—said Leonardo—this is our joint discovery.

It's only the flowerbud now. The berries will be ahead.

As long as other people don't find out about it before we finish. They might spoil it for us.

I'm afraid they won't let us finish our experiment in peace.

Without a doubt, they'll find out, and we'll have issues.

I've already noticed that secret radio transmitters are watching me and sending what we are talking about on waves somewhere—a million billion kilometers away.

From these waves I can already tell that not everything is going alright for us. But we are in no immediate danger.

When there is, we will hear—and see—a specific oscillating alarm signal produced by those instruments over there.

And Leonardo pointed to the corner—to a huge pile of instruments of some kind.

—Aren't you afraid, Mister Leonardo, that these monitoring devices of yours will somehow lose contact with these suspicious electronic trackers?

Perhaps we are already being heard and seen somewhere and, consequentially, someone will take or is about to take action against your monitoring devices.

—Yes—and that might be so be—said Leonardo.

Danger is difficult to foresee.

And he fell silent.

That's what worries me—he said.

But it was precisely this anxiety, this uncertainty, working in a state of some risk and uncertainty, that he actually liked

It romanticized the dullest research.

—Perhaps—I said—if there was no danger associated with these spools and gold filaments, you might not have been interested in them.

—That's not a new reason—answered Leonardo—even Pushkin poetized these sentiments in his work.

—Remember, his "A Feast in Time of Plague":

—"All, all that threatens us with death, hides for the mortal an inexplicable enchantment in its depths…"

Four days later, I went to Leonardo's and did not recognize the place from my first time there.

Everything had changed beyond recognition.

The tops of the bushes were swaying.

On the shores of the Lake the wind was churning up small swarms of ragged watery fringes and cusps.

We leisurely walked past a gray stone parapet, making a semicircle along the shore.

The leaden sky gleamed through the branches.

The statues hanging in the sky were white as Somov's ghosts.

Dry straw crackled, and the sand laughed underfoot.

Birds' feathers combed through the air.

A nourishing mist saturated leaves and grass.

Our nostrils inhaled the infamous fumes of the Pestilential Quarries.

Slender girls stirred thousand-kilometer-wide vats of plaster of Paris with wooden crowbars.

They slapped wet plaster onto fresh clay models and removed the molds.

Leonardo da Vinci pointed to the smile of one of the girls.

—Look, what a smile—he said to me.

We walked past clearings covered with thousand-meter-wide shiny matte balloons.

The tubes pierced clouds like Japanese hairpins, and the huge Starry Bowls gleamed dimly behind the clouds.

My apprentices from the Academy had transformed my vague ideas into the realest reality.

—This invention of yours is really magnificent,—Leonardo said to me—these jeweled Starry Bowls.

—You have ushered in a new era of Art—he said to me.

We walked and talked.

We passed by vast wastelands overgrown with wormwood and thorns.

We tore burrs from our cloaks and carefully examined them.

—Each hook and each needle is something exquisite—Leonardo told me.

And dark rain clouds gathered overhead.

And the rain came down in torrents.

It was pouring, and, soaked through, we walked on, wet as drowned rats under our sticky wet cloaks.

Lightning raged above our heads, and water streamed off of us onto the sand strewn with burrs.