.jpg?w=1)
Lot Essay
This work is sold with a photo-certificate from David McNeil.
Chagall recalls his Vitebsk memories in this scene of daily life in a herring-warehouse. It refers to his father, Zahar, who had trained with the herring-monger Jachnine and who worked there all his life. Zahar was a very pious man and after going to the synagogue every morning, he had a cup of tea and headed off directly to work at Jachnine's warehouse. In My Life, Chagall describes his father's routine and pictures him as already being a tired old man at 38 years old. He emphasizes his father's hard work of pushing around heavy barrels, delivering them to the railway station and displaying the goods for the customers. Marc summed it up as a 'hellish work, the work of a galley-slave' (My Life, p. 28).
In Les Salaisons, Chagall shows a regular day of Zahar's laborious life, reminding himself how 'He lifted heavy barrels, and my heart used to twist like a Turkish pretzel as I watched him carrying those loads and stirring the little herrings with his frozen hands. His fat employer stood by like a stuffed animal. Sometimes, my father's clothes would glisten with herring brine' (My Life, p. 12).
Chagall recalls his Vitebsk memories in this scene of daily life in a herring-warehouse. It refers to his father, Zahar, who had trained with the herring-monger Jachnine and who worked there all his life. Zahar was a very pious man and after going to the synagogue every morning, he had a cup of tea and headed off directly to work at Jachnine's warehouse. In My Life, Chagall describes his father's routine and pictures him as already being a tired old man at 38 years old. He emphasizes his father's hard work of pushing around heavy barrels, delivering them to the railway station and displaying the goods for the customers. Marc summed it up as a 'hellish work, the work of a galley-slave' (My Life, p. 28).
In Les Salaisons, Chagall shows a regular day of Zahar's laborious life, reminding himself how 'He lifted heavy barrels, and my heart used to twist like a Turkish pretzel as I watched him carrying those loads and stirring the little herrings with his frozen hands. His fat employer stood by like a stuffed animal. Sometimes, my father's clothes would glisten with herring brine' (My Life, p. 12).