«The last big painting of my father stood on an easel for quite a while. He started making many sketches of a beautiful pastoral scene. Working on the canvas he constantly altered the composition giving up almost finished work for a new version with no compromise. All earthly things disappeared step by step – female figures, vaguely drawn shores, white ship looming on a surface of a Swiss lake. What finally remained on the canvas was a lonesome black boat on the horizon between the sea and the huge sky with the cloud, burning and wild, reminiscent of his favorite Mayakovsky’s «A Cloud in Trousers».
Tokarev died in one year on 22 of April, on a day of Open Tsar’s gates, went directly into the open skies».
«My father loved summers when he lived and worked in his summerhouse over last 25 years. The giant acacia grew in the center of his garden. He loved to seat next to this centuries old tree and watch life around him. This tree reappeared on his canvases again and again like the tree of life that towered over everything. The studio where all the family used to work was located right in the shadow of this big tree. The garden was a place for family gatherings and friends' meetings.
Many guests used to come over by his birthday. Over the time the circle naturally became narrow. However, the communication with new generations didn’t interrupt. The father was becoming closer to the younger much beloved painters – Orest Sleshinsky, Adolf Loza, Alexander Knyazik, Yuri Egorov etc.
My father’s commitment to his family and friends was a tradition. Since his childhood he was surrounded by his loved ones, by seasonal workers his father used to hire for harvesting, by farmers who saved his family at the times of terrifying expropriation. The family even had a horse stall. My grand mother Alexandra was a very good rider. My father remembered his mother wearing a beautiful amazone and riding horse to visit her neighbors. That’s why there’s no coincidence that Vyacheslav knew horses very good and could depict them from various angles. He included the images of horses into many paintings as symbols of running time or sometimes of a triumph of nature. Nature was a mighty source of inspiration for my father. It became his main teacher.
My father didn’t like the laziness. Everybody worked a lot trying not to miss the beautiful moments of summer in Odessa. There were stil-lifes arranged in the garden, parasols were towering all over the place. In the evening we watched the results of our day work. Sometimes we were criticized. My father wasn’t prone to make vain compliments – he was hard on himself and others. But when he acknowledged that the work was a success he congratulated us as if it was a big holiday.
When the summer season ended we moved to town where we continued to work in the studio completing what we started from life».