The purpose of this presentation is to get you acquainted with the creation work of Taras Hryhorovych Shevchenko an artist. Although trained as an academic artist in Saint Petersburg, T. G. Shevchenko moved beyond stereotypical historical and mythological subject to realistic depictions of ethnographic, that is deeply national themes.
Portrait of Platon Zakrevsky( Портрет Платона Закревького 1843 )His portraits members of former Cossack starshyna families Portrait of Hanna Zakrevska ( Портрет Анни Закревської 1843 )Portrait of Illia Lyzohub( Портрет Іллі Лизогуба 1846 )Portrait of Princess Keikyatova( Портрет княжни Закревської 1843 )
My Testament. When I am dead, then bury me. In my beloved Ukraine,My tomb upon a grave mound high. Amid the splendid plain. So that the fields, the boundless steppes,The Dnieper’s plunging shore. My eyes could see, my ears could hear. The mighty river roar. When from Ukraine the Dnieper bears. Into the deep blue sea. The blood of foes…then will I leave. These hills and fertile fields –I’ll leave them all and fly away. To the abode of God,аnd then I’ll pray…But till that day. I nothing know of God. Oh bury me, then rise ye up. And break your heave chains,And water with the tyrants’ blood. The freedom you have gained. And in the great new family,The family of free,With a softy spoken, kindly words. Remember also me. VERMÄCHTNISWenn ich sterbe, sollt zum Grab ihr. Den Kurgan mir bereiten. In der lieben Ukraine,Auf der Steppe, der breiten,Wo man hören kann sein Tosen,Seine wilden Sänge. Wenn aus unsrer Ukraine. Zum Meer dann, zum blauen,Treibt der Feinde Blut, verlaß ich. Die Berge und Auen,Alles laß ich dann und fliege. Empor selbst zum Herrgott,Und ich bete… Doch bis dahin. Kenn’ ich keinen Herrgott!So begrabt mich und erhebt euch!Die Ketten zerfetzet!Mit dem Blut der bösen Feinde. Die Freiheit benetzet!Meiner sollt in der Familie,In der großen, ihr gedenken,Und sollt in der freien, neuen. Still ein gutes Wort mir schenken.
The Mighty Dnieper. The mighty Dnieper roars and bellows,The wind in anger howls and raves,Down to the ground it bends the willows,And mountain-high lifts up the waves. The pale-faced moon picked out this moment. To peek out from behind a cloud,Like a canoe upon the ocean. It first tips up, and then dips down. The cocks don't crow to wake the morning,There's not as yet a sound of man,The owls in glades call out their warnings,And ash trees creak and creak again.
A Spring Evening A Spring Evening. Close by the house the cherries flower,Above the orchard the beetles hum,Still singing, the girls homeward come,The tired plowmen's steps grow slower,And mothers with supper wait at home. Close by the house they eat their supper;Just then the evening-star appears;As daughter serves. Her mother cares. To teach to do things in ways proper. The nightingale's song interferes. Close to the wall on the clay-benches. The mother lulls her Nell and Bill,And falls asleep ... But the sweet wenches. And nightingales are singing still.
Lights Are Blazing. The lights are blazing, music's playing,Like jewels gleaming in the night. The eyes of youth are shining gaily,Alight with hope, with pleasure flaming;Their eyes are bright, for to the sight. Of innocence all things seem right. So all are laughing, all are jolly,And all are dancing. Only I,As though accursed, in melancholy. Look on and wipe a mournful eye. Why do I weep? Perhaps the reason's. That dreary, like the rainy season,My youth has uselessly slipped by.