This narrative touches upon the special, dramatic life lived by Repin's painting "Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan."
Shortly after appearing at the exhibition, the canvas was condemned at the insistence of the Ober-Procurator of the Holy Synod K. Pobedonostsev, who saw in it "outrage against morality." Contemporaries perceived in the tragedy of the tsar and the tsarevich an ominous parallel with the execution of the People's Will terrorists, which occurred in the same fateful year of 1881 when the painting was created. Pavel Mikhailovich Tretyakov, obeying the will of the authorities, was initially forced to hide the painting from the public, locking it in a separate room until the ban was lifted.
First Attack in 1913
But this was only the beginning of the tumultuous life of the work. In 1913, while Repin was still alive, the painting was subjected to a barbaric attack. Abram Balashov, an Old Believer and icon painter, about whom only scanty information has come down to us, attacked the canvas with a knife, making three gaping cuts in the area of the faces of Ivan the Terrible and his unfortunate son. This act of vandalism shocked not only the artist but the entire country, for such encroachments on works of art had never occurred before. This was a crushing blow for Repin.
A most complex restoration followed, in which the artist himself took an active part. But probably even more painful for him was the fact that his wounded painting evoked not only sympathy. Young artists — primarily Maximilian Voloshin, as well as members of the "Jack of Diamonds" group, including David Burlyuk, who had once visited Repin at his "Penaty," and others — boldly claimed that Balashov was not guilty, but Repin himself, whose canvas provoked such a monstrous act.
The Dispute About the Painting
A fierce controversy erupted. Maximilian Voloshin, who had earned fame as a brilliant orator, convened the public for a public debate, so popular in that era — a kind of tribunal over representatives of classical directions, whom they called to "throw off the modern boat." Repin, whose arrival no one knew about, suddenly appeared at this debate.
Repin was shocked by the accusation that his painting could so strongly affect the viewer, prompting vandalism! He was apparently so confused and disconcerted that he justified himself, as a person caught off guard justifies themselves.
This phenomenon was a characteristic sign of the new era. Repin interpreted the calls of young avant-gardists to get rid of classics, to throw classics out of museums and "from the modern boat" as a direct call to vandalism. In a conversation with the public at the debate, he repeatedly and directly stated: "You called to throw everyone off the modern boat! You bribed Balashov, an unintelligent man, insane, as medical examination established, to commit this act of vandalism!"
Many eventually sided with Repin. This happened at the debate itself, where opinions divided radically: someone shouted, someone whistled, someone applauded Repin. At the conclusion of the discussion, when a portrait of Repin appeared on the screen, the audience burst into applause.
Second Attack in 2018
Attempt number two. On May 25, 2018, one hundred and five years after the first act of vandalism, history repeated itself. Twilight was gathering in the Tretyakov Gallery halls, portending imminent closing. At this hour, like a shadow from oblivion, Igor Podporin, a 37-year-old unemployed man from the Voronezh region, slipped into the gallery. Pushing aside bewildered staff making rounds before closing, he headed purposefully for Repin's hall.
Before "Ivan the Terrible," fenced off with glass, like a shrine, Podporin pulled out a metal stand and struck the painting. Perhaps, like his predecessor, he aimed at the faces distorted by horror and the crimson rivers of blood, but providence or chance directed the blow lower — at the figure of the tsarevich. The glass trembled, absorbing the rage of the madman. Fortunately, the foresight of restorers, having learned from past bitter experience, had reinforced the canvas with a rigid plywood base. The canvas held, but the paint crumbled, exposing the whiteness of the ground.