In the middle of the night the angel was flying ...

Not all angels have wings. Sometimes they come imperceptibly, barely audible, with cautious steps down the ladder from the sky.

A white collar, a violinist, two lovers ready to fly - these are the pieces that make up his soul, like a mosaic. He took off as high as few people could.

Where does the genius begin? What could a son dream of a simple loader from a fish shop? About that his paintings were hanging in the Louvre. So that people, seeing them, smile. Our dreams are truly boundless.

Fascism, two emigres, a revolution - grief would be enough for one life. Or maybe this is the price that had to be paid for recognition in life? Rare artists get such happiness.

The whole life of a great artist from a 9-year-old boy to a 98-year-old. But life is not just a series of events. Not the artist's life. The receptacle of emotions - that's what an artist is. Not a single work was finished until he heard her "yes" or "no".

Steadily enduring all the misfortunes, he did not lose his wings, fearlessly looked into the bottomless black abyss and day after day carried beauty to the world. Love is the only thing that matters.

How hard it is to be an angel in this hell ...