When I first came to see him he was sitting in wooden armchair in his sell. A book in Greek and a service book were lying open on a low book-stand in front of him. The cell was cool and lark. A tiny square of the blue sky as seen through the only small window looked distant, squeezed as it was by the mass of the two-metre thick walls and vaults. I asked Father Zinon to tell me about himself and his work.
Icons speak better than words about their author.
Then he fell pensive, his face became austere and withdrawn and he seemed to be oblivious of my presence, revealing his extraordinary ability to concentrate and consider any matter seriously. It's in Nikolayev Region. Formerly called Olviopol. Once there were Greek settlements there. After graduating from the eighth grade I entered the Odessa arts college.