Russian Rooster Reunion
Sometimes when I am rummaging at flea markets or thrift stores, I find something serendipitous. This charming clay man riding a rooster is one such find. I suspect the work is based on artwork by Marc Chagall, as that was the only “man on a rooster” imagery I could locate either in art or fairy tales. Chagall (1887-1985) was born in Belarus, at that time part of Russia. His art often included roosters, and there is some conjecture he used it as a personal identifier. The rooster symbolizes good luck as well as virility, so my clay man seems to be taking no chances in that regard. Unfortunately, he is not signed, so no idea who made him, why or when. He seems Russian, and the details on his coat create a military vibe. Other than a chipped nose, he is in great condition. When he arrived, it was obvious he was meant to reside by the black lacquer box on our living room mantle.
The black lacquered box was a gift for my parents I brought back from travels in The Soviet Union in 1985. It depicts Pushkin’s tale of the Golden Rooster (not a story for the faint of heart). The box was handmade and painted in Mstoira, Russia, though the artist is not identified. These lacquer works were a huge tourist item in Soviet Russia, and at the time were sold only in government-run stores.
I was living in London in February, 1985 and booked a flight to the USSR on a “tour” program. I’m not one for organized tours, however, and had picked up a guidebook of wonderful architecture in Russia to explore on my own. When the chartered flight landed in Moscow, no one got up. As a seasoned traveler, I didn’t care for waiting around, promptly disembarked, grabbed my bag, waved at all the guards and sailed through Soviet customs. Then sat for a very long time as every single passenger after me was stopped and searched.
The tour group stayed in a massive Moscow hotel built for the Russian Olympics in 1980. I learned how to navigate the subway system, (involving a lot of hand signals) and meandered around Moscow with my architectural book. I recall one outing with a fellow traveler where we decided to detour to buy cookies. The process was to stand in a line to pay in advance for your item, then take the receipt to stand in yet another line to request them. Not a very efficient process for purchasing food, and not helpful when you don’t speak the language. It turned out I had paid for a ridiculous amount of cookies, and I was handed two large paper bags filled to the brim. After eating a few (they were not up to my sweet tooth standards), I promptly found a young child with a grandmother walking through the park nearby and handed the bags off to them. The look on the child’s face was worth the cost of the trip.
One young man in the tour group, Nick, was of a dubious background – he arrived with many bibles and multiple passports. I did not ask. During one outing, he wanted to buy bread to bring to a family he was visiting, so we crossed a street to enter a bakery. No sooner were we in the shop than a very imposing Soviet policeman tapped me on the shoulder and began speaking (visualize “Starwars Imperial Storm Troopers”). Nick stepped in as he spoke Russian (again, didn’t ask) and we were fined for jaywalking. As we left, I again felt a hand on my shoulder. This time, a young woman, who had witnessed the interaction, was trying to give me her bags of food. Again, Nick translated – the woman was worried we would not be able to buy food as the fine was so large and she did not want us to have a bad impression of Russians.
At this point, Nick went off on an (undisclosed) errand, and I returned to the hotel via a subway, carrying the bread as I didn’t have a bag with me. As I stood in the train, the women around me began to chatter (which was unusual) and eventually one reached out and grabbed the bread. Seriously, I figured, enough already – the bread wasn’t worth the effort. However, as the older women mumbled among themselves, eventually one pulled out a piece of paper, wrapped the loaf of bread, and handed it back to me!
In a peculiar twist of fate, husband and I ended up living in a property in Illinois that had once been a chicken research farm created by Quaker Oats. So now the funny Rooster Man sits next to the Golden Rooster box in our living room and I appreciate the serendipity of their cohabitation.