“You go into the house and first of all you will hear the smell of apples,
and then others:
old mahogany furniture,
dried linden color, which from June is lying on the windows …
In all rooms (…) – cool and gloomy:
this is because the house is surrounded by a garden,
and the top windows of the windows are colored: blue and purple.
Everywhere there is silence and cleanliness,
although, it seems, armchairs, mirrors in narrow twisted gold frames
never moved from the spot:
[and now] the aunt comes out.
It is small, but also, like everything around, strong.
On her shoulders she wore a large Persian shawl.
It will be released (…)
and now for endless conversations about the past, about the inheritance,
begin to appear refreshments:
first “blew”
apples, – Antonovsky, “bel-lady”, a furrow, “fruit”, –
and then an amazing dinner:
all through the pink boiled ham with peas,
stuffed chicken, marinades
and red kvass, –
strong and sweet-sweet …
The windows to the garden are raised, and from there the fresh autumn coolness blows. “
(Applause)
Your applause is confirmed by:
Ivan Bunin wrote this story almost 100 years ago,
but smells can still be heard right now.
In this there is something that responds to everyone.
Because you remembered your house,
his aunt and, maybe, a sweet-dusty smell of the attic.
I have a bedside mat in my house,
to which I have long looked in childhood, when I could not fall asleep.
I remember every line on which I drove my finger,
imagining something outlandish beasts, or luxurious flowers.
And if you look at the opposite side,
then there are multi-colored loops that are woven by hand from a simple thread:
those that are lighter, – the babusenka has woven,
others are Mom,
and, if any breaks, I’ll do it myself, I can.
It’s about heritage.
People, as a rule, love what is dear to them,
and they treat it with care.
I want to lead you to one thought and try to figure it out together,
what is a heritage
and what is its real value.
The legacy, if in a word, is an inheritance,
monumental and volatile,
tangible and intangible,
material and non-material.
Sometimes it is very difficult to separate one from another,
and, perhaps, you do not need to do this.
The real heritage is alive.
Listen to the words that are close in meaning:
protection, protection, preservation.
But protection creates barriers, high fences.
No wonder the root word – a shield.
It seems to tear out of life, out of context,
deprives the joy of everyday life.
It, this protected heritage, how it dies, freezes in isolation.
We defended him so much that we were left without him.
And only occasionally we visit him in the museum.
Kolomna learned to live with her heritage.
The historical center – all that is outside the walls of the Kremlin – is Kolomna Posad.
Surviving several streets of the province of the XIX century.
Alas, this is already a unique situation for Russia.
And it was necessary to come up with something like this,
to stay with this live.
Yes, you can stand under the bucket of an excavator.
You can come to the office and fan out the documents,
and say that you can not,
It is impossible to destroy it.
You can talk about someone else’s experience, but it does not work, because he’s a stranger.
And it was necessary to think of something to survive.
And we decided to remember and return to this land, to this territory
that activity, which was there from time immemorial.
And for themselves, the flag was raised as an intangible heritage resource.
And at some point we realized,
that we must make living museums
with the atmosphere, with the legend, with the stories.
And necessarily, necessarily with historical productions,
with creations, from the word “create”,
with hands made, returned to their native walls.
And so the working model was born:
history of the place, museum and historical production.
And everything slowly began to change.
How to show through time.
Remember … It’s very similar to the children’s transferable water pictures.
Wet the paper, attached to the washing machine,
or else where mother will solve,
and you begin to rub your little finger softly.
A piece of paper rolls into the shavings, and an image appears.
So on our streets these live pictures from the past began to appear:
merchant surnames, small architectural forms,
local specialties.
“We conceived it in the fall,
and it happened at Christmas, in the evening.
Initially did not give.
Felt in the ceiling with large cakes,
capricious, demanded attention:
touch, try without an account,
admire, praise,
to all relatives to show.
Did not want to take any form.
Long chose paper, boxes, bows, frames, letters, monogram.
And what happened?
Soft, warm, pink,
sweet, useful,
such a home,
all in love,
and, it seems, happy.
I managed, in general, pastila. “
I wrote this epigraph in 2013 for the English edition.
After reading it recently, I noticed that I wrote about him,
on the revival of pastel craft,
as a living being.
This, probably, is the key to success.
Love and passion, a great desire to do and share.
And it started to work as our cultural dissimilarity.
Three years ago,
after reading about Kolomna kalachnikov, –
archives, documents, studies –
and when in the national library they found the drawings of a stove oven,
decided – it is necessary to do.
Six months of work, no one can ask.
The last rolls in Kolomna were baked before the war.
Left out of hand – then died.
There was a cultural gap.
Long rubbed against each other.
It was not easy at all.
Flour grit, which is nowhere to get,
birch firewood without bark,
otherwise the roll will be gray after baking.
Special ice chair with drawer, where ice is poured.
Forming in the form of a lock is a separate song,
then krivenky, then kolenky.
Then, at the opening of the museum “Kalachniy”
he was completely insipid.
People smiled politely,
They looked away.
Experts said: “Well, what do you want?
Historical recipe, “- and spread their hands.
We could not believe that the kalach was tasteless, did not want to believe it.
King Peter bestowed on the [patriarch] the Patriarch,
and the soldiers were awarded as a medal.
Narrow specialists were able to help themselves.
Obsessed people with burning eyes.
And another six months of work.
And as a reward for the labors,
not a medal,
and a photo in the network with the signature:
“In the fist in Kolomna, they organized a line for bread.”
It worked. Hence, delicious.
Now the museum “Kalachny” bakes 12 thousand [items] per month,
and the weekend is not enough.
But what, it would seem, such, knead the dough for kalacha?
Never mind.
But for it to happen, it lives some special life of its own.
And the baker – a modern guy – mixes not water with flour.
He mixes up the tradition by touching the culture of the previous generation.
“The yeast must be fed with rye flour,
then it must freeze,
then ripen, then freeze again,
then get up, catch your breath. “
Well, it’s alive, is not it?
If you approach technically,
not to simplify, not to flatten, not to ease your own life,
then the result will be live.
In-demand, tasty, surprising,
expanding consciousness.
This is already something more than bread, right?
This is a tasteful story.
But the most important thing is that we started living with it, live every day.
It’s about the legacy, the living.
Buyers come to us both very small and very grown-ups.
100 kilometers from the capital.
At five o’clock in the evening every day two customers:
Anfisa, 3 years old, and her grandmother.
“Baby, why two kalachika?
One to himself, the other to his grandmother? “
“No, I do not have a lot of teeth,
not all have grown.
I eat only soft bellies.
And my grandmother has more teeth,
I give her firm hands. “
This is now, this is the present day.
And Anfisa, I know for sure, will take this kalach into her adult life.
Because she has known since the age of three,
what is an animal, and what is a pen.
I learned about this only 3 years ago.
And, no matter how pathetic it sounded,
it has become part of its daily culture,
in her daily life.
Yes, of course, it would be great if the recipe for kalacha was her family one.
But there is no big trouble in this, if she, when she grows up, finds out,
that there lived such a steward Nesterov in the next street,
and will not believe, when to it will tell, that about it have forgotten,
and about kalach too, almost for 100 years.
So little by little we began to collect,
more precisely, to return to our lives a collection of Russian national bread.
The museum’s task is to keep baker’s stories, to store knowledge.
For me, a special pleasure in the evening, going home, go to the sloppy
and buy either a paporn, or mustard bagel.
It happened in our hands, and we are already inseparable with this.
And it is somehow very warm and healthy for me to think about how,
that the bread I take home, baked 100, 200, and papushnik – 300 years ago.
This living story surrounds us like ultraviolet.
And this legacy, this story inspires
and gives strength to do something else.
I know that the time will come,
when our children will buy for breakfast satniki and saechki,
and to try croissants in Europe, as a curiosity.
We must do this.
Otherwise, we will only have a mention in the literature.
My dear friend means “dear”.
Legacy forms a person’s love of the place.
The house and the garden are made by the hands of a man.
Even if you do not remember the face of the grandfather who carved these platbands,
this is your place forever.
And vice versa, when we live in a rented accommodation, with temporary furniture,
nothing holds us.
We are not afraid to lose it.
We employ about 100 people in the company.
These are four small museums and small production.
When they are asked: “Where are you?”, They reply: “At the station.”
Notice, not on the street so-and-so, not in the company of such and such.
On the landing.
With this answer, they seem to embrace the territory on which they live,
perceive it as their home.
And this place will never be temporary for them.
Historical production, manufactories are able to provide income for these people.
And what is very important,
they create jobs that are in tune with them, their values.
It’s time and we ourselves
proclaimed Kolomna Posad their cultural space,
as our cultural heritage.
Not for writing charters, office letters, notes –
for themselves.
And the posad began to answer us with love:
open their treasures, secrets,
suggest some ideas.
Convention on the Intangible Heritage,
which was signed in Paris in 2003,
tells us that this is possible.
Community, a group of people or even just one person
can determine for themselves their cultural space.
It’s me that every one of us can do this.
And then what?
And then the smallest, the simplest,
the provincial town will not look like the neighboring town.
This cultural diversity will beautify, inspire life
and let a new creative economy.
Well, accordingly, create the stability of this place,
economic sustainability.
I often hear from people: “Oh, I want to live here.”
When I ask: “Why?”, There is no immediate answer to that.
Flying is something in the air,
not Versailles, mind you, not Paris.
Some other way,
happy lifestyle,
some kind of his own picture of the world.
For the rain – slotted crowns on the roofs,
a note on the ground: “Take, people are kind, apples, they are washed. Take it without money. “
Favorite pastilla Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky.
Instead of the pressure head – the pool.
And this list can be continued.
Simple things, lovers, living,
When they are at every step and everywhere create a special atmosphere.
This is not a momentary value,
it is more expensive than comfort.
This gives a feeling of touching something important,
to their roots.
Kolomna is such a Russian,
unhurried, in lilac, in bell-ringing,
all in the gardens and gardens.
The first mention of gardening in Kolomna is in 1372.
And this is one of our stories –
the history of our land.
And this is our simple earthly dream, which, I know, will come true.
The story of Ivan Bunin, which I read in the beginning,
is called “Antonovskie apples”.
And this is for me not just fiction.
This is for me –
a literary monument, a document that I follow in my work.
Blowing, prolific, bil-mistress –
what simple Russian speaking names.
But they are in the past.
And with what we live today?
Jonathan, Golden, Pink Lady.
And if our apple is in the supermarket,
then it is written just seasonal or domestic, without any name.
And what in the future depends on us.
You understand what I’m leading to.
And the genius of Feodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky supports us and inspires us,
like pushing me in the back:
“Go, do not be afraid!”
From the writer’s diary the article “Land and Children” of 1876:
“I do not know how all this will be,
but this will come true,
The garden will be.
Remember my word in 100 years
and remember that I talked about this to you.
Humanity will be renewed in the Garden and the Garden will straighten out –
here’s the formula. “
(Applause)
”
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