Vitaly Umansky

Can you talk about your childhood? What kind of kid were you? Who fist showed you how to draw? What did your first sketchbook look like?

The first memory of my drawing that I really tried to be good at was copying my sister’s drawing, who in turn made what she thought of being a serious drawing: a landscape. That is, the building she saw out of our window. Copying was really what I did mostly back then. I guess I was about six. I was copying flags from a set of tiny atlases we kept. And I repeated that drawing of a building my sister drew, over and over again. 

And then, I think I was about seven, the TV started really changing. It was probably ‘88 or ‘89, I saw a commercial of an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie, and that was it, those 10 seconds ignited me. I realized that I can copy an image stored in my memory onto the paper. So a long phase of superhero drawings started. When I moved to Israel and discovered the Ninja Turtles, I drew them all the time. Them, and as I discovered new cartoons, those heroes occupied all of my free time, Spider-Man, Batman mostly these figures. I loved 

Spider-Man for his elasticity and Batman for this simple dark

shape that was moving around eliminating bad guys. I also liked copying from books. Knights and illustrations of WWII battles. That I guess till I was maybe 11 or 12. Maybe even older. But from about 13 I started visiting an art teacher, and switched to drawing from observation.

In school I mostly drew. Each year began with a promise to myself and to my mom not to draw in notebooks anymore, and each year I lasted 10 days tops. It was all full with cars, and doodles, and tools, and whatever it was on my mind.

Is there one particular artist’s journey that has touched you 

the most?

The first artist I fell in love with was Magritte. I got this big album of his works, studied them, copied them. I believe I was about 15 then. But I can’t say that I was touched by Magritte’s life journey. Especially reading his biography recently, I can’t say he had the most moving life. I guess the moving ones are really the poetic and dramatic ones. Especially those with their dramatic and tragic endings: Van Gogh, Modigliani, Soutine...

Can you talk about mentorship in art? Have you had a mentor at any point? If so, what did they do that was most helpful? Was there anything especially memorable they said to you that you still remember?

Absolutely. I had a couple of mentors (or teachers), but the most memorable is the late Benjamin Kletzel. He was a great artist and a great teacher. I often fondly recall some of the things he said. He spoke with this squeaky low voice, and often would say these enigmatic things, the meaning of which I only partially caught, which I guess is the best. Things you grasp only partially stay with you forever, as you keep working on their meaning. For instance: “hurry slowly” or, “while painting a landscape, paint a portrait, and in a portrait, paint a landscape.” 

He once asked me what I thought painting was. I was about 18 or 19, and I started a long philosophical response. He listened, listened, then when I paused, he said: “nah, it’s just the right stroke in the right spot.” He said great many things. “You need to get a little angry.” “When you paint you must talk to your painting. Ask it, where is it going, how will it continue, where will it turn?” He was a truly fantastic human being. I don’t think there are many people like him in this world. And I was very lucky to have known him. I feel I could benefit greatly from his mentoring now, but unfortunately, all I have are 

these memories.

How have you learned to be fearless in your choice of the subject matter for your paintings? Do you often find yourself motivated by a social cause?

I had a period I was drawing and painting social commentary. I don’t do that anymore. At least I’m consciously try not to. I stopped commenting in drawing on US politics, I felt it was pretty foolish of me, and then Ukraine happened, and I did a series of paintings on the subject. I can get get very emotional from these very distant events. And once started, it’s hard to stop. So I force myself not to respond at all to news, and try to limit my exposure to news, as well. Of course, it’s impossible to fully cut yourself from the world nowadays.

I was always leaning left in my views. However, recently, I saw that the left is becoming too left for me. Now I’m neither left nor right. I try to break free from whatever formula that has a clear worldview. But I did a couple of paintings that are specifically made to anger the left, and it worked. One is a 4’ sq. painting of a raiding of a store in New York during the BLM movement and the riots that came along with it. A footage of

the raid amazed me. I inserted two red army soldiers from the painting by Ivan Vladimirov, of a 1917 raiding of a liquor store. Seemed appropriate. And the second one was a painting done based on a photograph of a religious Jewish kid pushed in the Old City, with Muslim women standing aside. His tallit looked like a wing. So I made it into a wing. But a friend suggested I give all the people around him wings too. I thought it was brilliant. What moved me in this photo is a mixed facial expressions: some were shocked, some rejoiced, some silently saw Justice being done, some were empathetic and terrified. I got several very angry responses to this one, and had to defend it at length. I think sometimes, evoking anger is good enough a reason to do art. For being emotionally sterile there are shampoo ads.

How did you become involved in set design? Can you talk in more detail about the process of working with a 

theater troupe?

Last year my friend Gera Sandler was directing the Singing Windmills. His set designer Jenya Shekhter needed someone to decorate the coats of the actors. So I came in. At first I didn’t understand what she had in mind, and I have made them too colorful. I called her on zoom to show the work, and she’s like: “ok... how do we fix this?” I had to launder them three times I think. The second attempt was better. She was very happy with the result. And then in December, Alex Notkin who was also in the play directed two children’s winter shows, and he called me to do the decorations. In the process I learned that I am too far in my abilities from actually building the decorations. Or anything else for that matter. But I could paint. Anything and on anything.

The process of working within a collective is very different. It has a certain magic magnetism. Once I was locked out of the building without my phone at 2 am. After knocking and yelling for no avail I ended up leaving VERY angry. I was furious at everything. Going home I told myself that that’s it. I’m through with this. But in the morning I had an itch that spread to my entire being: I had to go back! I had to be there not in an hour, but NOW! It is an amazing feeling. Very powerful magnetism. The endless work that just keeps piling up is tiring, but it’s worth it. And I’m looking forward to new projects like that.

What motivates you in creating paintings with multi-point perspective? What do you find most challenging about it? 

What comes easy?

I’m glad you noticed that. Thank you. I love those games of multi-point perspective. I guess it reflects my own thinking process. I’m like Tevye in the Fiddler on the Roof: “on one hand... on the other hand...” Many of my paintings reflect this ambivalence I have in my own thoughts about life, about the world, about myself. And I’m like other paintings that are like that. Paintings that touch on social matters but are not ambivalent are, in my opinion, a sort of propaganda posters - however artistic they may be. And I myself have a share of those, too. Not very proud of them.

My favorite one of your paintings is “Winter.” In it, the houses are green, as if they are awaiting spring. What were some of your influences in learning to use color in a meaningful way?

Thank you. I think the previous question is going to barge in. In painting from nature (at this time) there is also

ambivalence. In the past couple of years I was following the landscape painting process of James Gurney. I learned a lot from these videos, but there is an internal struggle in me when I do these landscapes. In Gurney’s classical method there is safety. There is a way to transfer reality in a more or less accurate way to the canvas. It is a process that works. And the result (in my case) is more or less pleasing. But I do feel that when doing the safe thing I am betraying my mentor - Kletzel. To him it is all nice and all, but - why? “A painting should be beautiful - not pretty”. I feel that when I try to be more emotional in my choice of color, it’s more often a miss than not. So I try to open the color faucet very cautiously, and in moderation. And I try to stop myself before in grows out of proportions because then again, it would be a miss. Neither a nice and cozy landscape, nor a truly deep, truthful and moving one. I need to build up the courage to leave the nice and cozy ones behind, though. But the realm of no guarantees, of no prescribe path to arguable success, is frustrating. There are lot of wrong ones, and no guarantee that there ever will be a right one. But for that courage to appear there must be a routine of many hours a day - painting, painting, painting.

What supplies and mediums did you use to make “Shtetl?” Is this an arbitrary village or did you use a historical reference? I love the upside down houses and the narrative they create together with the other elements. What meaning does storytelling hold for you?

Shtetl was made for a puppet show of Gera Sandler about a boy’s journey from the old land to New York. There is actually another painting on the other side of it: New York (which I made like a looming Emerald City - in all green shades). And

Shtetl was supposed to be from a recognizable Jewish iconography yet with muted colors. So I took a recognizable Chagall landscape, and drew it with charcoal and chalk 

on board.

Where have you received your training in working with people who have special needs? What are some of the things you do in preparation for your lessons?

I work with special needs people, most of whom are well over sixty. I was contacted by this center, I think I was recommended by Tatyana Kot. It was during Covid, and I first worked with them on Zoom - which produced various problems. Tech problems, that went with some people who are non-verbal, that went with me not being able to see what they are doing and not really knowing what I am responding to. But we managed. And then when the facility opened, I started seeing them in person, and I think they really need this. If only for some extra attention.

What challenges do you face as an art teacher? What is a good age for a child to begin drawing lessons? What is one of your favorite things to draw or make with kids? 

The challenges as an art teacher (right now I have groups 

of 3-4s’) these are challenges of any teacher working with groups of this age: how to not miss the second when the thing that supposed to happen happens. If an energetic kid starts flying across the room, what do you do? If a dried clay sculpture they made last week is being smashed while you distribute paint for them to paint the sculptures, what do you do? It’s mostly classroom management.

As for formal art education for children - I’m against it. I think that to foster the artist in the child (who is already there), there are much better things you could do than weekly, hourly art classes. You can take kids go to museums. You could take them to artists’ studios open hours, or lectures. You could notice curious things in shadows, clouds, twigs, faces, clothes, roofs... And you could just have art materials always available. But I don’t think formal art education anywhere before 16/18 years old is beneficial. When my kids paint, I might make a suggestion or comment when they ask for it, or when I think they could benefit from it, but I don’t teach them. I compliment them on their work. I do think it’s often marvelous and very interesting, so I give genuine positive criticism. I explain exactly what I like about it. But that’s 

about it.

What does your artistic community look like? What do you look for in your collaborations?

Regrettably, I must admit that currently I do not have an artistic community. And even more regrettably I must admit that I have none of the three prerequisites Leonardo da Vinci lists for an artist to thrive:

⁃  A mentor

⁃  A studio

⁃  A circle of likeminded artists

What are you currently working on? Can you talk about your most recent exhibit in New York City?

I just finished a third painting in a commission of three child’s room paintings. That was fun. I decided I would give this one as a gift, and it turned out (I think) better than the other two.

Somehow paintings for a gift turn out better than paintings 

for sale.

As for the recent exhibition in NYC, I was happy with it. I was better prepared: meaning, I did not come there to make many sales (sold one painting), but instead meet with people. Last year I had a benefit for Ukraine exhibition, and expected many sales, but was disappointed with only three sales. And indeed, this year, although many people who I expected to see couldn’t make it, I met some people that I really did not expect to see. People whom I haven’t seen for a decade. That was a very lovely surprise. As well as people such as yourself, whom I met for the first time!

What type of artwork do you have in your home? What does creative play with your own children look like? What are some things you have learned from them?

I admit, I have little art that isn’t mine. I have two works of Anya Roz, whom I adore, two paintings of a Ukrainian landscape painter whom I discovered and really love his works - Denis Gorodnichy, and a gift from Kletzel. I’d love to greatly expand this collection.

Creative play with children subsided over the years. With the coming of the second child, my energy seemed to dwindle, and with it the enthusiasm and the number of art projects diminished. When Katia (my oldest) was little, I rolled huge rolls of paper, she did full body painting, sat in a huge bin of sand, pebbles, and what not for hours... and then there simply wasn’t enough energy to repeat all that. Imaginative play became so tiresome! Maybe it’s a phase... I hope it’s just a phase!

My younger daughter is very artistic. She has an impeccable sense of composition, both in painting, in storytelling and in dancing. Her characters are all - living characters! They’re alive. They’re all in some sort of action. I made large bins for their works - the ones I’d like to keep. I wish one day I’ll have the time to pick a bunch and copy them. I mean, how does someone ignorant of any rules of “how to draw this and that” create a character so expressive it pulls you to a dance, or at least make you giggle?

That’s why I’m against art education for children. The “how do” kills that lively spontaneity. It would, of course, die on its own eventually, but why hasten it? Silly ignorant expressiveness; the raw soul with no masks to hide behind; that sparkle that lights up the world, but only burns for a little while, to extinguish it - why? For the sake of what? So that a child would learn that a highlight brings a form forward, and that a reflected light follows shadow? For the excited exclamations of aunts and uncles? Not much of a trade off if you ask me.