CRITIQUE - Kaire Nurk. When Will Z Take Up Bees? KUNST.EE 2013, 1, 17-28
An attempt to de-re-construct the Z formula by Kaire Nurk.
"Love all God's creation, the whole and every grain of sand of it. Love every leaf, every ray of God's light. Love the animals, love the plants, love everything.
If you love everything, you will perceive the divine mystery in things."
F. Dostoyevsky, "The Brothers Karamazov" (from a conversation with Father Zosima)
During the broadcast of the radio programme "Kunstiministeerium"1(Ministry of Art) on the 22 October 2012, the presenter of the show and manager of the Tartu Art House gallery, Indrek Grigor, explained the methods of autonomous art criticism which had accrued from the local idea factory (of the young semioticians of Tartu) and the pressure exerted by the training camps of the Artishok biennale – methods like "co-ordinated description" and "self-sufficient monologue". While the former implies the primacy of the artist and an "obedient" critic, the latter, by contrast, makes the artist secondary so as to allow the critic to realise their aspiration to sovereignty. As a macro commentary, we could mention the critic's refusal to interpret a work of art in the first case (given the "necessity of false interpretation" even "intentionally false interpretation"2does not appear attractive), and the critic's desire to assume the position of the artist as creator in the second case.
For this article, the radio programme referred to above is important by virtue of being the first purposeful and method-ical application of the experimental models of art criticism just described, with the artist and the work discussed being Yevgeni Zolotko and his series "Things". It is possible that in the youthful fermenting cauldron that is Tartu, Zolotko's "difficult" works and his artistic position, which is evasive (or rather demanding/critical) of (any?) definition, have complicated the writer's situation, undermined any (easy) way of "capturing the truth", and presented the challenge of trying out new ways of approaching a work. So, is this then a case of the primacy of art practice? Let us emphasise, however, that in the global world of contemporary art with its diverse (and more broadly interdisciplinary) art practice synthesised with theory, interviewing the artist, for example, is becoming the norm.3Despite all the artist's explanations, which probably never go into the detail anyway, so to speak, and the increasing mass of interpretations, the formula for Zolotko's works – and they do appear as a formula – still seems to lack a solution. In trying to provide my own model of the formula for "Things" below, I will rely on the "Kunstiministeerium" broadcast as well as published articles.4
Part I: Speech
19. III–03. IV 2012
In the first press release for Zolotko's (henceforth Z) series "Things", Indrek Grigor writes, "/.../ this time Z focuses not on the languishing of the world he is dealing with, but r e l y i n g [here and below K. N. places emphasis -- ed.] on the artefacts found in the attic, on recreating what is hidden in the dust. The latter is, of course, not to be understood as a real, or even imaginary, attempt to reconstruct something, but as a metaphysical game performed at the symbolic level, characteristic of Z."
Grigor does not say what is being recreated. How, in what and to what extent the artist has relied on a particular attic and its objects is also left unclear. He does not touch on this topic in the radio programme. A short announcement in Eesti Päevaleht based on the first press release is misleading and reductive: "The artist Yevgeni Zolotko recreates life in a dying space." The "metaphysical game" is not mentioned.5But as the attic has never seen the bustle of ordinary daily life, neither can this space expire. On the other hand, the attic too has its own daily life and big events. It could be said that the things stored in an attic do not so much expire (in the sense of depreciation) as persist. In other words, the attic is a place where the life of things stands still or functions in a different system to that of active life. The attic preserves. But the items in an attic do indeed fade from people's memory. And the attic itself is usually removed from people's thoughts and activities. The chance to encounter the Umwelt of such items in the "graveyard of dust and old things" tempts Kadri Rood to adopt an approach that focuses on the things (discussing the "creator" of things, the relationships between people and things, and the things themselves). (Let us mention that Rood's otherwise quite graceful interpretation retains this focus on things all the way through.) She assumes that "the forgotten things are given back the right to life", through "gaining someone's attention (as a work of art or through reuse)". But Z has spoken out against the work of art (?).6And against things (?).7
Part I of "Things" is titled "Speech" (performed by Anti Saar) and appears to list the things in the attic. Grigor, who focuses on the artist, mentions only naming ("In the beginning was the Word"); Rood sees the things as having been "systematised into types". And yet the things are not NAMED in "Speech", or at least the naming was paradoxical – the only noun that is endlessly and tautologically repeated in the list is the plural "things"! (On the day of creation, God too gave man and woman a name in the form of a single noun: "man" (Genesis 5:2).) A list of names would inform us WHAT things there are in the attic: a sink, a piece of pipe, two doors, a stool, a refrigerator, a bucket, tables, nails, etc. However, Z focuses on describing the things, including determining the state they are in. While everything was new and current when the world was created, the things in this (particular) attic are "stained", "full of holes", "abandoned", "broken", "dusty", "scarred", "forgotten", "twisted", "old", "muddy", "crushed", "smashed", "dented", "crumbling", "split", "smeary". Occasionally, things that are "intact", "warm", "lively", "solid", "smooth", "sturdy", "accurate" also appear on the list. As well as the temporality of things, in the context of art and sculpture we find a disorganised list of descriptions referring to the material, size, colour and form. But what about "other things", "internal things", "invisible things", "general things", "some kinds of things", "verbal things", "the rest of the things"? These uncla sifiable descriptions leap out between the concrete and tangible with a disorderly randomness, and alarm us and attract our attention.
In the "self-sufficient monologue" of "Kunstiministeerium", Grigor mentions Z's "interest in the relationship between the material world and the linguistic world", his "sharpened sensitivity to linguistic phenomena / words losing meaning". As a kind of parallel, I would like to mention a work based on language games and inspired by Wittgenstein – "If a Lion Could Talk"8(2005) by Thai artist Surasi Kusolwongi, which brings a lion into the Kunsthalle Wien, remodelling our contemporary statements about politics, sex, education, art, philosophy and so on as the "speech" of the lion, thus placing the audience "on the other side of language" and inducing critical social and self-reflection.9
Indeed, "Speech" (and the use of texts and quotations in Z's work more broadly) calls for closer study. How differently would Z's works function without quotes from Gogol, Dostoyevsky, the Bible, etc.? To what end does the artist need/ apply the quotations? Does an epigraph from Dostoyevsky, for example, incorporate the context of Dostoyevsky's writings into the process of understanding the work? What is the artist's broader relationship with Dostoyevsky? How and why does Z read Dostoyevsky? And how and why does he read, say, the Bible? (As we know, you do not "read through" the Bible; you R E A D the Bible. Is it the same with Dostoyevsky?)
How was the list in "Speech" actually created/compiled? As an immediate flow of associations while making an inventory in the attic, the "unclassifiable" things being a subsequent mental addition? Was it compiled with methodical consistency – "type by type" – and then intentionally mixed up? Or did the list emerge completely independently of this particular attic, to satisfy other motives and other ends? And which then? What is the artist's more general relationship to things? Wittgenstein speaks of "connections between things" rather than just things. Likewise, Z is in fact silent on things...
Part II: Loss 10.–24. IV 2012
All the broken junk has been cleared away from the attic, without trace. "The things are gone." (?) Or rather, the "other things" are gone? What are these "other things"? Z has replaced them with books made from celluloid insulation10stacked in disorderly piles. On a screen, a young man is counting (NB! counting again!) random numbers approaching one thousand. The genealogy of humankind in the Bible (Genesis 5), "the text that ties us to the beginning of everything, is incomprehensible", "words have lost meaning" (Grigor, faithful to the artist). Rood interprets: humanity is only capable of "losing the "living" things and replacing them with dead words". (NB! "Living things" are mentioned in "Speech".) Why is this part titled "Loss"? What could be the meaning for humanity, a meaning that should be searched for and cherished?
Part III: Things 30. IV–17. V 2012
The smallest pieces of the things already listed have been sifted out of the junk in the attic and placed on a three-step podium with a sieve hanging next to it. Grigor mentions sifting as a "reference to the beyond", but also its "purely practcal and ethical" sense. The accompanying "Hällilaul orvule" (Orphan's Lullaby), Grigor says, accentuates "sentimental value". (Is this statement really faithful to the artist? How is the description "sentimental" to be understood?) In a similar vein, Kiwa also starts from the Judgement Day. Rood sees the valuing of things, a reverence for things. She remains silent on the lullaby. Why is this part in particular titled "Things", while most of the remnants of things are unidentifiable? How are things crucially related to the state of an orphan?
Part IV: Dove 14.–29. VII 2012
Grigor relates: "a notional resolving of the intrigue posed begins"; "already in part III there was an attempt to make the unnameable meaningful". In this part, "the objects that were originally in the attic and the attempts to restore them are displayed – with a dove as the central object." But the things have not been restored – they are even more emphatically dust: a series of chosen objects have been covered in dust (earth? or celluloid insulation!?) – all alike and evenly, including the clay (or plaster) mould of a dove. In Chen Zhen's (1955–2000) roofless monochrome installation "Purification Room" (2000), everything – walls, floor and objects – are completely covered in red clay in order to deal with future archaeology and difficulties with identifying things. Vanessa Beecroft, an Italian-born artist living in America, seeks to produce monochrome images of groups of girls, but says, "Finally I'm always disappointed because of their realism and the arrogance of their physical presence."11In this case on the other hand, Z seeks contrast: the monochrome of dust becomes gloomy only against the background of the walls of the attic, slightly whitened for the occasion, and in the pure white radiance of the virtual dove flying on the screen above the window. The ONLY attempt to animate something, then, relates to the dove? Rood interprets: "The Holy Spirit is dead /.../ and with it humanity's real connection with the things around it has also been lost."
Which epithet from "Speech" would suit the dove? Perhaps "flying things"; certainly "feathered things"? Is a dove also a thing? A living dove at least is not a thing? Is a dried up skeleton of a dove (more of) a thing? As this part is titled "Dove", let us hope for a potential presence of different or even conflicting options regarding the dove.
Part V: Ecce homo 7.–15. VIII 2012
On a big screen, there is "the son and in his arms the father, whom he has brought back from the underworld". Grigor continues: here "a solution is offered to part II. Humanity is defined by remembering its roots." The accompanying text from Gogol's "Dead Souls" describing Plyushkin's dusty room is "an ethical evaluation of dusty human relationships. /.../ A human being is a human being only in relation with the other." Rood: "In 'Ecce homo', it is as if things had been renounced, turning to humanity as something more basic. There is something tragic and also heroic in the two figures; it is a resolute refusal by one human being to abandon another." However, I myself cannot help feeling that the two are one and the same. I would also draw a parallel with the painting "Sünnipäev II" (Birthday II) (2003) by Jaan Toomik.12
6. IX–6. X 2012
The final part has no title. In the now restored space of the attic, Helena Tulve's "Stella matutina" composed for the Litany of Loreto is playing – "it chimes right at the top of the head, on the frontier between being and nothingness" (Kiwa). Grigor: "All the things have been placed in their rightful positions down to the last detail. There is a shift from human beings and things to the cosmos. Z objects to the opposition of the spiritual and the material world. Mary was the purest part of the material world through whom God became matter. There is nothing foul; everything is noble. This brings us back to the epigraph of the work: "Love all God's creation...""
In his self-sufficient monologue, Grigor posits that, "the artist proceeds from an isomorphism between things and human beings; things do not signify a human being symbolically, but are inextricably tied to human beings." He also mentions "the synthesis of a religious / archaic world view and the modern treatment of form." Nevertheless, he dismisses a purely religious reading.
The quote from Dostoyevsky appearing as the epigraph to the work speaks of God's creation, of perceiving "the divine mystery in things". Kiwa describes it as Zen-like – Zen-like in what sense? Is it possible to perceive a mystery? For human beings to perceive the divine mystery? Human beings are not capable of ultimate knowledge. And on the other hand, does the divine mystery express itself in man-made things? In all of them? Also in the things produced by modern, humanly alienated industry? If not, the Art House attic all of a sudden becomes a godforsaken place. In his book "Things Tell Their Own Stories", Mikhail Rabinovich speaks about the sword of Dovmont, the horseman of the Kremlin tower, the metropolitan seal, the tsar's gift etc.13What does the attic of the Tartu Art House tell us a story about? At any rate, the (hi) story of the things should not be ignored. There is no mention of "divine things" in "Speech". "Loss" may refer to the deafness of the modern world to religious tradition and values. "Things" as the Last Judgement for the miserable, uninteresting and undistinguished things in this particular attic. "Dove", however, refers to the possible emanation of the Holy Spirit, although there seems to be nothing to inspire the sacred bird to land – rather, it flies around reluctantly under the roof, heading towards the window, heading out.
The dented bucket lying on its side has been specially chosen to represent those things destined for more description. The description considers the present state and the purposefulness of the form of the object ("it's lying on one side, holding nothing but darkness"), in summary: "Judging by the material, the bucket was made in the USSR in the second half of the 20th century." Thus, a reference to the absence of (divine) (en)light(enment) and to industrial production. "Ecce homo" exemplifies the death of Christ as an inspiring example in the modern world (in a Dostoyevskian as well as, say, Beuysian14sense), or at least his being suppressed in the depths of the subconscious – we have no idea whether the son will reach the shore or remain out in the water. In the final part, the attic with the sad broken junk and the corpse of a dead pigeon is left as it was at the beginning of the work – nothing can be changed. In desperation, the artist still tries to pray to the ultimate judges for this godforsaken place.
It may be even said that the religious reading works unhindered. Despite being too simple, monophonic, unequivocal. Kiwa warns against "organised religion" as "excluding the unique flight of free thought". As we know, Dostoyevsky was not a religious writer, as Z need not be a religious artist.
Ordinarily, I perceive the Tartu Art House attic in two different ways. Parking the car in the corner of the rear yard, I feel the vertical, towering superhuman-scale of the building overhead and the attic with its leaking roof at the top. Having reached the third floor inside the building, I continue on up to the attic, to an empty no-man's studio, methodically on steep and creaking open ladder-like wooden steps.
I had already read the surprising press release about the opening of Yevgeni's "Things" at the Tartu Art House attic on 19 March 2012, while I was in the countryside. I could not go to Tartu to see it. It seemed unexpected even disproportionate that a young artist, who does not have a studio at the Art House, and therefore, no intimate contact with the inner rhythms of the house, should be beavering away with the material past of the building up there above all the studios–inventorying, contemplating, evaluating. On the night of 21 March, I dreamt that my mother, actually over ninety and confined to bed, was on her feet again with her back straight walking around the room telling me with unusual alacrity how Yevgeni had been fixing our roof. And at the same moment in the dream I see Yevgeni pulling himself up to the roof along a ladder, methodically like a train on tracks. Coming down, he gently and carefully, with slowmotion precision, puts what he has made up on the roof down on the ground under an evergreen tree. I focus my gaze, there is a small square brown (flower) pot, about fifteen centimetres across, on the grass – inside it soil and in the middle a tiny green plant. (According to an ordinary dream dictionary, a plant refers to a new beginning. I do not know Freud's interpretation.)
I avoided a running analysis. I just went and looked. The first impression that etched itself in my memory was a boardwalk built with fresh wood, beginning right at the threshold to the attic and hurling, like a bright trajectory, through the dark narrow part of the room towards the light source (window) at the far end, with a Feng shui bend about two thirds down. Listening to "Speech", I tried to figure out the logic of the list. It was difficult. Fickle chance from the disorderly pile of borrowed things? But what about "internal things"? "Green things"! "Other things". Other things? Like what?
"Loss" was surprising in the meantime with its total cleanup, but it remained completely closed. The piles of closed books made of celluloid insulation, impossible to open, the young man on the screen with his back to them, looking aimlessly out of the on-screen window and just as aimlessly and unsystematically naming numbers, not once looking into himself or at the viewer. The actual window of the attic was somewhere in the distance, in the sidelines. Replacing the all-over whole of the natural cultural sediment of the attic territory, the exposition left a feeling of disharmony. And yet it was beginning to look like an ordinary show in an art gallery: a tidy (empty) room, a video screen, a (modern) installation. Is the Art House acquiring a fourth (very specific) exhibition space? In "Things", the same bright boardwalk led to a final
exhibit, this time rising in steps towards the attic window and covered all over – with shards. Hanging from the ceiling, there was a "cradle". From the dark depths of the attic, the orphan's lullaby could be heard. The shards on the steps transformed into a metaphor for a broken childhood. I cried inconsolably.
"Dove" did not for a moment remind me of the Holy Dove. It seemed rather like an incarnation of the dried-up carcass of a pigeon that had been lying in the attic and turned into a living bird, circling under the roof above the attic window. An actual pile of seeds seemed to confirm this. But why the selection of broken objects covered with a brown layer right next to it, along with the photographs documenting their original state?
In "Ecce homo", the scene with a figure standing in water and holding a person in his arms, almost entirely covering the attic window, created a sense of anticipation that something was going to happen. It looked like a young man carrying another young man out of the water. Was it a pietà with two male characters? The text from Gogol's "Dead Souls" running across the rather static shot was interesting: I thought about Gogol's sensitive visual perception, including colour sense–should re-read him with that in mind. Gogol, of course, was a great favourite of Oskar Luts. Why?
What does the final, untitled part contribute? The video clip accompanying the press release showed the same "uncleaned" floor of the attic!! Unbelievable! But there is no alternative! Is it a judgement? A death sentence? An abandoning of the attic? (It will not be an art gallery after all?) An insistent mass of sound with an almost desperate Last Judgement prayer to Saint Mary that she plead for us created a dramatic mood. Something has been done wrong. The still life of the attic has been disturbed. Yet everything has been restored as it had been!?
Completely unbelievable? The infinite patience with which the innumerable things have been replaced in their original positions! The artist creates order out of chaos; for the sculptor in particular, creating more or less ordered form runs in the blood. But what does it feel like to (re)create chaos? With a single action to re-realise the random piling of things over the years. Deleting time, winding it forward and back again in the attic – losing and creating, creating and losing. (In fact, this is the ordinary working process for the artist: the sculptor sometimes adds clay and sometimes takes it away; the painter applies paint and then wipes it off or spreads it out. Etc.)
But still, it is impossible to predict what strategy/technology Z will use for his next work. So far he has used a new set of techniques in every successive work and the contextual positioning has also been different. At one time he merges completely into the context/environment – even becoming one with the earth ("Müüt" (Myth) (2010) in the park at Raadi Manor); then, in contrast, he changes the environment beyond recognition ("A Work For Ten Critics: "It Is Time To Take the Ceilings Down"" (2010) for the 2nd Artishok Biennale), or presents a self-sufficient hybrid work that is autonomous/anonymous in relation to the environment and functions in opposition ("Üks päev riigiarhiivi töötaja elust" (A Day in the Life of a State Archivist) (2011) EKKM; "Vahevaip" (Temple Veil) (2012) Kumu), or utilises existing reality in his work ("Asjad", 2012). A prevalent device, though, is opposition, or more neutrally, working with two extremes.
The whole or the "metaphysical game"
Z claims that "Things" is not an installation, that it studies nothing, least of all space, and that the parallels with archaeology are irrelevant" (as Grigor reports). In "Speech", Z's contribution, alongside the voice reading the list, includes the clean white boardwalk. This may symbolise, for example, the beginning of a journey with pure open sensibility into the interior (of the attic), the subconscious. The old junk lying around bears no significance. As the chapters are staged in the centre of the attic, the pre-existent old junk on site simply plays a necessary role. The role could just as well be played by something else. Therefore, the things would be a changing/replaceable quantity in Z's formula. In "Speech" he mentions "other things"; that is, something else is more important than the things in the attic. The absent is more important. To be honest, this attic is very unimaginative and quotidian after all. Perhaps this explains the tediously emotionless tone of the voice reciting the list. Then again, the list introduces the conception of the work, delivers the keywords. However, these crucial keywords are also not clearly in the foreground, but disappear in the noise of insignificant things.
"Loss" is the condition that is revealed, the very problem, the challenge; it does not signify the mere "disappearance" of the things from view in the process of cleaning. We perceive a dead end. Zolotko is really not interested in this particular attic, its past or future.
"Things" refers to an ultimate effort to find something inside that is supportive, significant, valuable – a metaphor
for the most comprehensive inventory possible – before the harsh tribunal of one's self. In "Dove", the uselessness and brokenness of physical objects of utility (a sink, a glass vessel, a bucket, a stool) are in the foreground, and in clear opposition
to them, the connotation of the divinity of the virtual dove. But both the earthly remains and the sculptural mould of the dove
are lying on one side, just like the bucket seen in a photograph
and defined à la Kosuth. "Ecce homo" does not show rebirth.
The boardwalk, symbolically bright in the beginning, has eventually faded with the footsteps, and only a short stretch
of it remains, vanishing into the dark nameless interior of the room.
Dostoyevsky himself has called Victor Hugo's idea of "the regeneration of the fallen man" the greatest idea of the 19th century. It recurs throughout Dostoyevsky's works.15Does Z really leave only anguished prayer for the 21st century spectator? At the outset, Z did mention the prospect of a different solution. How different? One way or another, the viewers have completed a thought-provoking journey. And nothing stands in the way of their setting out again, on their own, on an ever renewed spiritual and ethical journey. A Sisyphean journey.
We could regard Z's attic work, maximized with ethical substance, as a heroic attempt to recapture territory from reality for art. Otherwise, perhaps everything may equally become a matter of artistic permissibility outside ethical responsibility.
WHEN WILL ZOLOTKO TAKE UP BEES? OR HAS HE DONE SO ALREADY?
Kaire Nurk is an artist and teacher working in the fields of philosophy, (art) history and art. She acted as "the supervisor being supervised
by the supervisee being supervised" in Yevgeni Zolotko's bachelor's project "Retrorsum" (2008) at Tartu Art College.
1 Podcast available at: http://klassikaraadio.err.ee/helid?main_id=1492633.
2 See also Indrek Grigor, Kiwa und das Sublime. – KUNST.EE 2010, No 3–4,
3E.g. the catalogues of the 7th Berlin Biennale (of contemporary politics) con- tain mostly interviews with artists; however, the curator Artur Žmijewski, himself an artist, probably had a crucial part in this. Another example is "dOCUMENTA 13" in Kassel (henceforth: d (13)) curated by Carolyn Christov- Bakargiev, with emphases on artistic creation.
4Kadri Rood, Asjade saatus. – Sirp 20. IV 2012; Kadri Rood, Jevgeni Zolotko asjade algus ja ots. – Sirp 5. X 2012; Kiwa, Zolotko maailmaruum pööningul. – Eesti Päevaleht 17. IX 2012.
5See Eesti Päevaleht 31. III 2012.
6See Kaire Nurk, Saab ainult interpreteerida. – Sirp 5. III 2010. (The opposition expressed in Zolotko's "Hall signaal" (Grey Signal) (2010) was actually aimed against "pseudo-conceptual" art.)
7There is a recurrent Bible quote in the long text accompanying "Hall signaal" (Grey Signal): "For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world – our faith." (1 John 5:4), which Z has commented on as follows: "In the case of NIKH, this means(!)
a solution to the problem of the opposition between space (place) and object; i.e. NIKH produces this space/place for itself; it is an independent, hermetic system, whose principle can be projected, so to speak, onto the existence of
all the physical objects in the world, which for me means triumph over the so-called physical objective reality – hence the world of objects exists nominally, notionally, in parallel. It is almost not there. It is true that "Grey Signal" can only be interpreted, not explicated. The above is my interpretation, which need not be better than others." [in an email, 9. 02.2010] More recently, however, the author has explained that this account of objects was merely "part of the hermeneutical game of "grey Signal"" [in an email, 28.XI.2012].
8Recall Z's "silent talk" (with Anti Saar), which closed the series of artist talks at the 2nd Artishok Biennale (2010).
9Gerald Matt, Interviews. Köln: Verlag der Buchhandlung Walther König, 2007, pp 183–186.
10In contemporary art, the book is often the polemical bearer of ideas between the supreme good and defensible knowledge; in last year's d (13), too, several artists – Matias Faldbakken, Issa Samb, Michael Rakowitz – used the book as a central motif, as did Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev in the presentation of her curator's conception in "Brain".
11Gerald Matt, Interviews, p 53.
12See e.g. Vikerkaar 2004, No 1–2; Kaire Nurk, Monokroomne kaader. – KUNST.EE 2011, No 3–4, pp 72–76.
13 Mihhail Rabinovitš, Asjad jutustavad ajaloost. Tallinn: Valgus, 1991.
14 Beuys on the Sermon on the Mount; see Joseph Beuys im Gespräch mit
F. Mennekes. – Zum Tod von Joseph Beuys. (Nachrufe. Aufsätze. Reden.) Inter-Nationes Bonn, 1986, pp 29–35.
15Peeter Torop has touched on the experience of Dostoyevsky's early period, where the censorship cut "the ideas most important and hopeful for the author about the Christian ideal, self-transcendence through the acknowledgement of Christ as an ideal". (See e.g. Peeter Torop, "Armastus ja halastus" – F. Dostojevski, "Kuritöö ja karistus", Tallinn: Eesti Raamat, 1987, p 523 ff)