At 18, my hero was Igor (Landahl-Oliveira) Balbachevsky. Although only 7 years older, he was already 24, married and had 2 kids! On and off, I had visited the Balbachevsky's in SP. An incredible house with many surprises for me. I vaguely remember a kind of small, dark backyard with a rabbit and a dog. my cousins Lidia - the blond bombshell and her ochi chornya when angry, and Betty, always the studious intellectual. Igor, was definitely the ultimate macho and an incredibly talented artist, who for a living did Mandrake and other illustrated cartoons by day, and boxing, by night - a wierd thing to do in the 1970s, times of Peace & Love.
At 18 I was already in search of a definition for a second career choice. Having been accepted at Agronomy school the year before, and being totally disappointed with the facilities at the state college in Rural Rio, I decided to wander 'North' . So, I called on Igor who was living in Fortaleza, CE and asked him if I could crash in for some time... A Fisheries Engineering college had opened there and the excuse was to check its program and facilities. To get a feel for this, potential career in the marine environment Igor, myself and Pedro Pankov, - another SP second generation Brazilian of Russian extract - talked some of the local fishermen to take us aboard on their 'jangada' to fish. Cost? 8 bottles of the cheapest booze, cachaça, guaranteed to get everyone drunk, would do...I had but a dram during the 10 hours or so we spent at sea, but all bottles were dry when we finally landed... My dear friend Pedro, who is still the one of us more often on a boat, couldn't be in worse shape... drunk as a skunk and puking during the whole trip, he looked green as green can be. Igor was having a hell of a time, laughing his head off, thoroughly enjoying Pedro's misery, and my naiveté...and I guess, the distance from the problems on shore. At one point, when the wind had dropped to nada, I asked if I could dive of the boat for a swim. He and the captain said sure! Sure enough, the wind picked up, and fortunately I was tied by a rope... During this little fun time, just as I re-boarded, a white-tip shark swam in parallel to the jangada and followed us for a little while...! When I complained, they laughed all the harder... 
The sailing experience included going off to 'a risca' a definite trace in the sea, where suddenly the greenish, turbid coastal waters meet 'blue waters', turquoise blue waters, because of the huge increase in depth. It is along this 'line' that hungry oceanic migratory fish like tunas come in search of small coastal fish. All day long, with our artisanal hook and lines we pulled in shiny, bizarre, colourful fish, and ate fried manioc flower and fish downed with cachaça, of course. It was enough for me to decide a career on...
But Igor was in trouble, of all sorts...Too many very loose women, him a bright blue-eyed good looking hippie-like artist from 'the South' and also kind of loose in town... At home, a troubled relationship with a beautiful, intelligent hard-working wife and smart kids to look after. Cloudy horizon, turbid waters.. So he and I moved from the home to a tiny house by the sea. He owed everything, had no income... Aside from the very few clothes he took with him, the only other material belonging he cared enough to carry were the art books, from Russia. Somehow, I managed to send them back to Rachel (Landahl) Balbachevsky in SP. I can clearly see the inspiration of this painting of his from these books, although the original material in the books was much more depressing. Still, here the sky is cloudy, but somehow there is hope. But Igor was on a long journey. His talent lost in a sea of booze. He died on on island, true to his calling, painting until the very end.
