🕯️ In Memory of Igor Shulman (Igor Andrianov)
1959 — 2026
With deep sorrow in our hearts, we announce to all relatives,
friends, and admirers that our beloved husband, father,
grandfather, father-in-law and friend.
Igor Andrianov
painter and artist
known to the world as Igor Shulman
passed away peacefully after a long and difficult illness
on Thursday, May 7, 2026,
at the age of 67.
The funeral service and final farewell will take place
on Friday, May 15, 2026 at 11:00 AM
at the Grand Ceremonial Hall of the Strašnice Crematorium, Prague.
Tetiana Feskova
Alisa Shusta
Sofia Feskova
Ivan Shusta
We thank everyone who will honor his memory
either in person or in silent remembrance.
Your tired heart has stopped beating,
the light in your eyes has faded away.
Dear father, thank you
for everything.
We were not close friends and did not see each other often, yet I always knew he was there — kind, honest, genuine — someone you could call just to talk things through.
I knew he was immensely talented, a deeply thoughtful person and, at the same time, a true веселчак — always positive, always with humor.
Today I stood crying as I suddenly realized he is gone…
My memories return to March 2022, when he brought six enormous paintings to an exhibition supporting Ukraine. He responded immediately and embraced the idea at once, saying: “I’m in for any kind of chaos if it helps.”
That was Igor entirely.
He was Russian, yet he came to help Ukraine in a moment of grief.
Back in 2010, my gallery acquired an entire collection of his works. We created a catalogue and successfully exhibited them. To this day, some of his paintings remain in Kyiv under bombardment, and I pray the building will survive.
At that time, inspired by Igor’s works, I wrote about the seriousness of light and the way light accelerates the power of thought… about the psychophysical impact of light in visual art, like the music within Kandinsky’s paintings and the play of light in Monet’s works.
We explode emotionally in a whirlwind of feelings… and within a single ray of light, hidden moments of life suddenly ignite.
And perhaps, in that instant, a moment of revelation arrives.
It is bitter that he is gone.
Today in Prague we said goodbye to the artist Igor Andrianov.
All week I have been reading posts from friends about him. Very different people — of different ages, professions, and circles, many of whom may not even speak to one another — were all saying the same thing: what a remarkable person he was.
Because he really was that way for everyone.
His openness to new ideas, his ability to connect with younger people, his constant desire to keep learning — all of this made him an artist who never stopped surprising others.
Usually, the older a person becomes, the more of their life exists in the past. But Igor lived in the present, because he knew how to live fully and enjoy both life and creativity in the here and now.
And there was always a feeling that his art was moving toward the future. There was so much future in it.
That is why his illness and death felt not only unfair, but somehow unnatural. There was still so much left for him to live through, to say, to paint.
I do not know what Igor’s thoughts were in recent times, but for some reason I believe he was grateful that all these years he had Tanya Weinstein beside him. To find a person who is at once your friend, your wife, your companion, and your muse — that is a kind of happiness not given to everyone.
And he deserved that happiness.
“I am not a crowbar, I am a hammer,” he said during his last major exhibition.
Goodbye, dear Igor.
I cannot write, I cannot think — time seems to have stopped.
There is a quiet feeling inside me, and I cannot even describe it.
Today was the farewell to the Prague artist Igor Andrianov.
I sit here wondering: why are the good and luminous ones taken from us? Why are we given so little time with people like this?
We get caught in the whirlwind of life, always thinking: “It’s fine, next time I’ll ask, I’ll visit, I’ll talk. Tomorrow, or the day after, when I have more time…”
And then, in a single moment, there is no tomorrow.
My dear friends, cherish every moment with your loved ones and those close to you. Leave your tasks for tomorrow, but keep your conversations with them for today.
So often we postpone what truly matters.
And then come the long evenings of regret, when we speak to those who have already gone to heaven.
Sending hugs to everyone.
Postscript to a Life
We said goodbye to Igor.
I do not know how reincarnation works for Artists, but it seems to me that the number of true souls is strictly limited. Perhaps there are only a few hundred of them, endlessly reborn since the days of the ancient caves of El Castillo, returning to finish saying what they did not have time to express in life.
And I suspect that somewhere, right now, a new Artist has already been born. And in ten years or so, without even understanding why, he will pick up a delicate brush, dip it into paint, and create something that Igor had conceived long before him, but which never had the chance to appear on canvas.
And our descendants will never even suspect that this is merely the continuation of the eternal cycle of art, the only true way to overcome death.
Today in Prague there will be a farewell for Igor Andrianov.
How bitter it is that such a good man is gone, a friend, an artist, a father. The husband of our dear Tanya.
I cannot even come to say goodbye. Something happened to my eye, and I had to cancel the trip.
If Igor were still alive, I would have joked about the “log in my eye”, and he probably would have answered with one of his sharp punchlines. But now we will never have that conversation again.
A month ago, when there still was time, I did not call him. Foolishly, I thought there would always be more time.
And without us noticing, that time came to an end.
A friend has died. A friend who always seemed immortal to me. Maybe he really is immortal. Maybe he just decided to play one last joke on us.
I still cannot process it enough to write anything adequate. So I will simply repeat something old.
Bright memory to you. For Anya and me, Prague will forever be inseparably connected with you.
It is difficult to find the right words, and even harder to accept what has happened.
Our last conversation showed how courageously you faced the inevitable.
Thank you, Tanya, for helping us speak with him. Thank you for being by his side.
All day long, I have had this painting before my eyes: an empty table and falling snow.
Igor Andrianov painted snow in a remarkable way — soft and heavy at the same time. Snow as forgiveness, snow as oblivion…
And today, snow is also farewell.
Igor had his own way of seeing the world, his own angle of vision. He would stay silent for a long time, and then suddenly say something that could completely change the way I saw a situation. And I listened.
He, who mastered irony and self-irony so perfectly, always praised me for listening attentively, and then added that I reminded him of his little dog Chloe — she too would look directly into the speaker’s eyes and listen with all her tiny canine strength.
Of course, he will remain in our memory through all that we lived through together.
But unlike us ordinary mortals, the Maestro leaves behind his paintings.
There, snow will always be falling. And that touching little child’s dress — the red one with white polka dots — will always remain hanging there.
Tanya Weinstein ♥️, you were his love, his muse, and his sister of mercy all at once… I do not know whether any words or even our presence can truly help share your grief.
We remember. We love.
Today we lost a very good friend.
For us, Prague will always be associated with Igor Andrianov. With meetings with him and with Tanya.
There is pain in the soul… the best are leaving us.
Igor inspired people with his honesty and humanity. Always cheerful, positive, and deeply grounded — a person firmly on the side of light.
Igor, your art will remain with us. And so will your memory.
There are people whose very existence, whose friendship and presence, reconcile us with the imperfections of humankind. And when they leave us, especially too soon, even the last remnants of faith in justice begin to collapse.
Our dear person, our precious friend Igor Andrianov, has left us.
An immense talent. An extraordinary mind. A great and kind heart. A boundless love for his wife, his friend, his muse, Tanya Weinstein.
And courage. The kind called courage in English and courage in French.
But Igor also possessed something uniquely Russian: “kurazh” in the very best sense of the word. Creative daring, uncompromising conviction, masculinity, and bravery.
I do not know what the Master himself called this painting.
But for me, and for Yury Fedorov, from this day forward it will forever be called “Kurazh.”
Farewell, my friend. Or perhaps not “farewell”?…
What if there truly is something “there”?
Then, until we meet again.
I’m so so sorry to hear of your loss. I did not know him personally but I have bought some of his art. I love his work! I’ve been following him for several years now. I had recently asked him to commission a piece for me. However, he replied that he was ill and no longer painting. That was heartbreaking enough. I cannot imagine the loss of him as such an important figure in your lives. My prayers are with you.
Light & Love,
Cynthia Stemrich
We forwarded your kind words to the family. Thank you sincerely for your support, compassion and for following Igor’s work through the years. It means a lot to all of us during this difficult time.