tyutyunnyk. what a strange way this tandem of brothers happened, that he was in his life for a little while, but managed to influence both the inner world of the younger brother grigoris artistic talent. in 1966, the first collection of hryhor tyutyunnyk, zavya, was published. and the editor was ivan dzyuba, the only one who came to literature as an honest worker, a person devoted to literature, ukrainian literature, that is grihyr tyutnyi, without exaggeration. grihir penetrated so deeply into the essence of a person, among people, among the community in which he lived and was formed. earlier than from childhood itself, that is, to some extent , the characteristic of the era, time was invisibly present. sometimes i feel a person like a wound salt. once cries. this mother is raw the land, as it were, is pure, the insurance is immaculate, before christ, before the lord. i cannot tolerate, lord, many, many filth on earth, moreover, iniquity, christ on... and the heavenly one is destroyed, and some mother grew a mountain of the earth, bear with the mother once a mountain of the earth, until the sinners calm down, we do not pass. there's a terrible thing, the akhtor of

this is grigor tyutyunnyk.i perceive what surrounds me and what is happening around me, first with my feelings, with my heart, and then i realize it with my mind, that is, i suffer twice for the same reason, my god, how difficult it is - grigoriy correctly wrote in a letter to kharkiv, your heart is unprotected, at night you dreamed of the whole of ukraine, the image of ukraine, from long ago and to this day. lubny, sula river. it was here that grihyr tyutyunnyk found the creative and mental balance he so longed for. in the family of his good friend , the photo artist volodymyr bilous, where he found a kindred spirit, mr. volodymyr's little daughter, oksana. it seemed to me that in our family, in addition to dad and mom, there is... there is also such an uncle grisha, such a second dad, a dad who came, and it was always a holiday, and for me , well, he wasn’t just my dad’s friend, he was a person i looked up to, ryger mykhailovych loved children terribly, maybe because they knew how to listen, we could just wal