Alexander Pogrebinsky packs a mean resume.

His luminous oil paintings have been shown at national galleries and exhibitions. Chicken farms, banks, sugar factories, schools, libraries and cultural centers own his work. So do private collectors in Europe and the United States.

But those achievements belong to his other life.  The one he left behind in Kiev in 1990.

“We were reborn in America, and we are only 3 years old,” he says. “I believe if I will spend a lot energy, and be stubborn, (and) I could finally find a place to teach in an institute or college . . .”

His wife, Lena, completes the thought. “We decided if we could live from his work there, we have to try here.”

The Pogrebinsky's talk about their old life and rebirth as they stand in Alexander’s delectably messy studio in Westlake.  A large, unfinished scene of nearby Bradley Woods stands erect on an easel.  The painting is representational but contemporary, its broad-brush strokes smudging into one another.

In a way, their tale mirrors that of other Eastern European immigrants.  After years of agonizing over whether to leave the Ukraine, they were driven to their decision by governmental ineptitude.

They had long doubted the benevolence of the government, but the explosion at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, 60 miles from their home, cemented their distrust.  The disaster struck April 26, 1986. Word reached the Pogrebinsky's about five days later. Before citizens even caught wind of the accident, the militia sealed Kiev to prevent an exodus.  Meanwhile, state leaders in the region fled in droves.

“We just started to see that everything we had been taught was not what hey pretended,” Says Alexander, 43. “Chernobyl just showed that they didn’t care about the people.”

In deciding to leave, the Pogrebinsky's said goodbye to family and friends, and killed a familiar way of life.  Alexander was a successful artist.  Lena had been an engineer and technical editor.  Not everyone in Kiev owned cars, but the Pogrebinsky's did.

Aside from politics, their lives were comfortable.

The four of them – Alexander, Lena, Natasha and Alexander Jr. – used a travel visa to Paris to escape in December 1990.  They arrived in New York in January ’91, and won political asylum from the U.S. government.

Since arriving in Cleveland soon after that, they’ve learned English and have begun to generate their marketing machine for Alexander’s art.  They credit businessman Donald Wager for giving advice and allowing Alexander to show his work at Wagner’s Country Inn, which he owns.

Alexander had one painting within the Duncan Galleries display at the NOADA Art Expo at Tower City last weekend.  His work is sold through Chaika Gallery in Detroit and several Toledo venues. He exhibited at the 39^th Newman Religious Show at the Hallinan Center in Cleveland in January, and he’ll have a one-man show at Mural Gallery near Playhouse Square beginning May 6.

The challenge, Alexander says, is to get to know the fickle of American art market while buyers get to know him.  That means changing the focus of his work.

“I personally was more interested in (working on) philosophical ideas, and also working on historical compositions,” he says.  In the former Soviet Union, he explains, people depended on art as a font of information and ideas.

A prime example, a 9-by-6 foot painting of Pontius Pilate questioning Jesus titled Where Is the Truth? stands nearby as Alexander talks.  At first glance, the work looks purely religious, what with Faith, Hope and Love forming a feminine circle in the background.

On closer inspection, the firmament includes camouflaged figures.  The knight in armor and a suited astronaut articulate timelessness.

But to please audiences here, Alexander fins himself panting more landscapes and still lives, as well as the occasional portrait.

The couple had not expected that making a living, as an artist would be as difficult as it has been.  Had they known, Alexander says, immigrating “would be a much more difficult decision.”

But then he smiles, thinking about the promise his new homeland holds for him, his wife, and especially their children.  In a way, it’s good the Pogrebinsky's didn’t foresee the difficulties ahead, he says, “Lack of knowledge helped us.”

The Cleveland Plain Dealer