Beyond Virmenka

The walk is a journey along the human memories and the imaginary cityscape, and it is more than a mere attachment to specific spaces. The key materials for it's preparation were the interviews: it is a huge advantage and a challenge at the same time. 

The advantage is in working with the stories and emotions. That is why we can render what was important for our heroes and heroines, and share about the places that now live in their memories only. 

The challenge arises from the fact that human memory may sometimes take us astray, and combine the things we have experienced, heard, or seen with the things we have imagined. There is a risk for excessive romanticization or the exoticization of people's stories. The memories are by all means a valuable source to understand the artistic and cultural landscape of the city. They show the social framework of remembering. It should be kept in mind that interviews are always about the interaction. Various stories that we managed to record, archive, and further process, have not appeared on their own but resulted from answers to questions, and are preconditioned by the storyteller’s representation before a listener. 

During our city walk around Lviv, either material or virtual, let us think about how the places have been transformed. How they acquired new senses or how they became crucially different. It is going to be an exercise on imagination, and on certain sort of archeology when the present façades are hiding the unobvious stories behind.

"It had three or four table stands, and several generations would gather there, acting as mentors for each other. The older generations were, for example, Yaroslav Hnativ, Yarko Hnativ, or Yarko Nektarskyi. The Kalynets couple would also come there. Bohdan Horyn could come there, this sort of person. Then, there was our generation, the artists. Loboda came here, the artist, his wife, too. Even [Viktor] Neborak dedicated to this place his poems, to the "Doghouse" place. It was very much interesting… Aunty Svieta was the owner, and the ouncer, too. She liked it that this sort of person was coming there, so, whenever some boozer entered, she could well approach him and have him over the barrel and throw him out. It lasted for several years. I mean, who would be there? The Humeniuks, Slavko Shymin, [Mykola] Krytskyi, [Yurko] Kokh, [Vlodko] Kaufman — all of them would come there. There was also the younger generation… Taras Chubay, Sashko Neborak… The coffee place lasted like that for some two or three years. It was so popular among this sort of people that whenever anyone came to visit, such as from Canada, or America, it was a must-visit place… There, you could come across Natalka Huzar, too. She was a well-known artist from Canada. Some dissidents, and so forth. It was a very important spot for the city. Later, the spot degraded and degraded forever. We tried some other coffee places, some "Chervoni Kalyny" (" The Red Guelder Roses”) — or whatever it was called at Dudayeva Street, to the best of my memory. But all of it perished, forever, vanished with the "Doghouse."

Another gallerist shared some similar memories about the place:  

"There was also the "Doghouse" place at Kostomarova Street. Presently, it is the "Rodynna Kovbaska" sausage shop [as of 2013; in 2019, the place hosts the "Lviv Butcher’s shop"], opposite the waste paper collection center... There was a room, 4 square meters large. There was an Aunty Svieta working there. Everyone would call her this way — Aunty Sveta, she was making coffee in the jezve, and then you would go out to have it. So, they nicknamed the spot the "Doghouse." And people would keep going there, and smoke, and have a coffee. You could have as much coffee as you wished back then, everyone was young. And we had a chat. And whenever you feel like leaving, there's another friend coming, and you continue the friendly chat."

Why has this place disappeared from the map of places to hang out for creative communities? The interview suggests an explanation related to the change of the place's "profile" when they started offering vodka on the menu. Lviv coffee places used to have their norms for things acceptable and things unacceptable. They defined the attitudes of creative communities to a place. It was not only about the quality of coffee as such but about the informal rules adopted in the place. Besides, having vodka added drastically changed the type of audiences in the "Doghouse." Potential conflicts could be another reason to erase this place from the map of places to hang out for creative communities.

Viktor Neborak "Vodka Treason"

The vagabonds replaced, the roving crowd

came unwelcome. The guards defeated.

The walls are broken. 

And the pedestaled firewater

deluged and swamped it.

The roar, the bellow, earthliness, the dirt, the plague

on all the motley crew, the bloody hell!

It’s how the world degrades. The liquor, cognac,

Some fine wine, but not a vodka

In a coffee place. How come?

How could it happen? It’s all mixed up. The bar

shall serve the vodka, or

the dumpling house, the kebab place, or any other

eatery, as such. The ABC it is, because

the coffee pairs with some milder drinks,

if you need anything at all that’s 

noble. Money, money... What is money

compared to eternity? The bitter

hangout and the wilted mugs.

The faded flowers. And the phizes, alike,

Scattered in the global timeliness.

We had to brick us up in the Tower

for Gunpowder. Be that as may. But yet...

— Love you as much,

You are all gone,

Where I can't outreach.

But the time has gone, and the place vanished from the map of creative communities — it was shut down in 2007.

Gleb Hodorkovskyi "There used to be a Nektar Café in Lviv..."

    We used to go to Nektar for a coffee.

    All of them came there as if for a trophy:

    Actors, and

    Painters, and

    Art critics,

    Poets,

    Museum people

    Also came fOr it,

    The "demi-monde" ladies,

    Chess players, musicians, 

    Ill-fated and Gifted —

    The naïve and the vicious.

    They settled their disputes,

    Had a heated debate,

    On theater shows, 

    Or exhibitions they hate...

    Ideas floated around...

    But, ruefully, all is worn out —

    It was so much pleasure and fun,

    But all of it has been long gone

    No meetings,

    No arguments,

    Talks we will grieve...

       ..........................

       ..........................

    Whatever we have now — 

    Is a boutique

    In lieu of Nektar in Lviv…

Who owns the city? The discussions have become highly relevant after the protests of 1968. However, in the Soviet Lviv, the city, and rather its public space, functioned only to place the practices determined from "above." City walks, especially during the work hours, were considered as idleness, non-productive use of time.

An artist reveals: "there was the “law on parasitic lifestyle” in the Soviet Union. If you stayed out of job for over four months — you could even be put to prison. The work of a coal-heaver gave a chance to avoid that kind of persecution... I had an ID confirming I worked as a coal-heaver. Whenever they asked me why I was not working, I would answer that I had the official job in such-and-such place, and since it operated season-wise, I was entitled to, a long job leave."

The practice of walking around the city meant its appropriation through visual, tactile, or audial experiences. In the free time, they could "walk the goat" which meant having it large, when they were going from coffee places to coffee places, from apartments to apartments, or studios throughout the day. The popular itinerary was the "Lenin road" — when they changed locations at Lenin Avenue (presently — Svobody), Lenin Street (Lychakivska), and along to the Leninskyi Komsomol Avenue (Pasichna). Also, they often moved around the studios. One artist would recall: "[19]86 — I was allocated with a studio, so we used to get together there. Actually, we got together for a drinking spree." Other artists (a man and a woman) are sharing about a studio as the "third place" in a similar light: 

The studio would often act (actually, you would not take people to your apartment, to a small khrushchovka place), so, it often acted as a meeting place. Thus, for example, a place like that was the studio of  Sahaidakovskyi  and Bratkovskyi. On the other hand, Aksinin's was not that kind of transit lane. It was not a problem to come to the Sahaidakovskyi’s studio, bringing along a cognac. You could know him through other people, but they would let you in. Aksinin had a rigid filtration, to pick who you let in, or not… he had a sort of jealous privacy, a small apartment, I am not sure, some eight square meters or so... So, it would usually turn out that there were one or two people, maybe, three, at most.

It happened that people were getting together there, they made an appointment to meet at my studio, they arranged among themselves, not involving myself, I had no idea… everyone knew where the key was, in any case. Whenever I went to the studio, I never knew who I could see there... it was a sort of place, for people to hang out. Few people had any such places at the time, you know, where you could freely come, uncensored, sort of.

Creative communities in Lviv grouped not only around visual art but also around the music. There was a network of people who shared records of rock musicians from abroad, sometimes even on the X-ray radiograms, which gave names to this music as the rock "on the ribs" or "on the bones."

A storyteller recalls that "we could obtain disks, cassettes, etc., it was easy to get it in Lviv. So, it was only a matter of money."  The interviewer asked whether it was expensive. The answer was: "Very expensive, it was. If it were a disk or a record of progressive groups, you needed 60 to 100 roubles. In other words, if a coal-heaver got 72 roubles. It was like... a monthly payment. Those were expensive things… But it was possible, it was not a problem." Music was often possible to get through foreign students — the records were copied and disseminated via informal networks.  

In the case of "live" performance, those who were able to closely imitate western musicians were highly ranked. An artist describes the situation: "We did not have any independent bands, there was hardly any. The "Gadiukin Brothers" might have been the first band that can be called authentic, and self-sufficient. But in the Soviet times, the bands who could perfectly copy the rock classic were very highly valued. I mean "Deep Purple" or "Led Zeppelin." Actually, their copying was fantastic! It could drive everyone crazy, the skill to copy. The "Vuyky" ("Old Geezers") was one of the best-known bands; they were unbelievable in their imitation." 

"Braty Gadiukiny" ("The Viper Brothers") came from the environment of the Lviv rock club in 1988. At different times, the band included Oleksandr Yemets, Serhiy Kuzminskyi, Mykhaylo Lundin, Oleksandr Hamburg, Andriy Partyka. A collector and a member of the music crowd recalls the following:

Their road for public acknowledgment started with the show in Moscow at the "SiRock-88" festival. In 1989, the "Gady" were awarded the second prize at the first "Chervona Ruta" festival. Before that, they recorded the "Vsio Chotko" album, in the  House of Culture for Railway Workers  ("Rox"). It was the album that Olena Markhasiova paid for; and later she became the band producer. An artist shares about how Mykhaylo Lundin and Olena Markhasiova met each other:

"…I came across Lundin in the street, and he would complain that "for once in a while, do I finally play the music I like, but there's no money, at all." They had to pay for something, to record some disc, or whatever. Something like that…. And I was walking along with Lenka Markhasiova, it was a good friend of mine, and she heard him saying it. And he would just share, without any hidden agenda. Just complained about the problem, like “what a mess.” Like he finally managed to find the music he is fond of. And what is missing to make things happen is the little thing, like money. In fact, it was some 1000 roubles; at the time, it was rather much... And we went on, and then Lenka would tell me: "You know, with luck or without! Why not. I have some money available. The guys were lucky to find something relevant…" To cut a long story short, she just tuned into the emotions. And she gave them the money, on parole. And it all started from that on."

(Brativ Rohatyntsiv Street, previously — Komsomolska)

Coffee places, art studios, and apartments of artists, apartments of people who cared about art in various expressions, were transformed into public spaces claiming the pretense (?) of keeping the privacy. They acted as platforms for the interaction of experiences, ideas, and views. One such location was an apartment of Oleksandr Korolyov. His private space (as far as one could talk about any privacy in Soviet times) was an important spot in the map of locations of creative communities in the 1970-1980s Lviv.

A practicing psychiatrist, working first in Berezhnytsia, and later in Lviv, Oleksandr Korolyov collected vinyl records of jazz music, owned a huge library with the books on various topics, from the prevailing books on psychiatry, psychology, or philosophy to the works on literature and art, viniculture or household management; he was keen on languages; he read books not only in Russian or Ukrainian but also in Polish, Czech, French, German, and Italian. 

His home welcomed his friends and acquaintances. At some times, Korolyov would invite people around; at other times, his friends called him to get an invitation. Oleksandr did not like spontaneity. At times, people would bring unfamiliar people on the "Sasha will find them interesting" basis. Other memories from a photographer, Korolyov’s contemporary, tell us that there was no anything "anti-Soviet" in the Korolyovs’ apartment. The visitors were rather attracted by a personality of a well-educated charismatic and orderly practicing doctor; you could talk about anything with him, or use his library, or listen some jazz records.

The topics for conversations depended on the interests of the peoplegathered. At the same time, Korolyov shared about his routines and stories about patients. He analyzed the creativity of his patients, he showed their paintings, stories they wrote, etc. Visitors liked it; they were attracted to psychiatric practice. They would often talk about philosophy, psychology, art, or literature. In the apartment, they often asked the question of what art is. However, people rather suggested the answers based on the "like-it-or-not" principle. Others tried to understand the "depth" of the question, to contextualize or conceptualize it.

The most frequent visitors were those who worked with different media.  Oleksandr Aksinin  was one of them. A graphic artist, and a close friend of Korolyov. Male bonding, much communication, finishing each other’s sentences — the "artistic kind of interaction only they could understand."

In addition to a graphic artist Aksinin, Korolyov also received artists Oleh and Ihor Vvedenskyi, a artist and a ceramist Yaroslav Kachmar, artist  Antonina Denisiuc , photographer  Mykhailo Frantsuzov , orchestra conductor Roman Filipchuk, actor and  director Roman Viktiuk, and many others. Sometimes, a political figure Yaroslav Andriushkiv stayed overnight. Did any psychologists or psychiatrists come to visit? Yes, they did. But they were "out of town" ones. From the memoirs, we can see that the "local" psychologists and psychiatrists hardly ever were on speaking terms.

High activity levels, sleep neglect, the insatiable attitude to life Korolyov had are explained in the memories of the people who were close to him by the invincible fear for the looming death — that could arise on the next day. Korolyov tried to be cautious in any situation. Sources reveal he had a particular habit when coming from his doctoral practice. He never stood with his back to the door, as danger could arise there. 

The city is changing, the city-making spaces are changing, too. New spaces are emerging, and old spots are vanishing. We hope the city walk revealed to you yet another layer of the past Lviv to help you search it yourself. In fact, creative communities are not only about Virmenka.

In 2011, Bohdan Shumylovych suggested an idea, and the Center’s team started recording interviews with people who used to be related to creative activities and tried to restore the link between their lives and Lviv's social space. The talks were included in the " Creative Communities " project. In 2019, we revisited the collection during the [unarchiving] program and a " (Trans)forming a story " workshop.

It arose from the ideas expressed by the workshop participants, and thanks to the efforts of Olena Herechko, Viktoria Panas, and Nataliya Otrishchenko after it was over, we managed to design this walk afterwards. We would therefore like to express our thanks and acknowledge our colleagues from the Center for Urban History — Olha Zarechnyuk, Oleksandr Makhanets, and Taras Nazaruk — for their help in preparing the materials for publication.