Two men lean in. Their lips meet. One is Leonid Brezhnev, Soviet leader. The other is Erich Honecker, head of East Germany. This is the kiss that shook the world.

The mural is called 'Mein Gott, hilf mir, diese tödliche Liebe zu überleben.' My God, help me to survive this deadly love.

It was painted by Dmitry Vrubel, a Russian artist born in Moscow on July fourteenth, nineteen sixty. He moved to Berlin in nineteen ninety.

Vrubel studied graphic design at the Moscow Lenin Institute. Before Berlin, he ran a small art gallery in his Moscow apartment.

The image comes from a photograph. In nineteen seventy-nine, French photographer Régis Bossu captured the moment at the thirtieth anniversary celebration of the German Democratic Republic.

It was called 'Le baiser'—the kiss. A fraternal socialist greeting, frozen in time. When Vrubel saw it, he later said, it electrified him.

But the title didn't come from politics. Vrubel gave it that name in nineteen ninety, when he had severe lovesickness. He sought healing through irony.

The Wall had just fallen. Artists from around the world were invited to paint on a one point two kilometre stretch. They called it the East Side Gallery.

Vrubel painted his mural in nineteen ninety-one. He worked directly on the concrete, seven point two metres wide, three point six metres tall.

His method, he said, was multimedia graffiti. He reproduced images from the internet, transferring them onto concrete in photorealistic detail.

While he painted, Vrubel said he felt trapped between the lips of two disgusting old men. It was intimate. It was repulsive.

The mural became famous immediately. Sarcastic, haunting, absurd. A Mona Lisa of the Wall. Everyone came to see it.

But fame brought violence. Visitors threw paint bags at the central area, censoring the intimately entwined lips with dripping streaks of color.

By two thousand nine, the original mural had been destroyed. The Gallery needed restoration. The Wall was crumbling.

At first, Vrubel refused to restore it. He was tired. The work had drained him. But eventually, he returned to the Wall.

He repainted the mural in two thousand nine, reproducing every detail. The lips. The pale blue. The intimacy. The absurdity.

The concrete you see today bears the marks of both versions. Weathered. Scarred. Covered in visitor inscriptions, names, declarations.

Vrubel lived in Berlin until his death. He ran a gallery with his wife, artist Victoria Timofeeva. He never left the city.

On August fourteenth, twenty twenty-two, Dmitry Vrubel died in Berlin. He was sixty-two. The mural outlived him.

Today, the East Side Gallery stretches along the Spree. One point two kilometres of murals. Vrubel's is the most famous.

Tourists still come. They photograph the kiss. They add their names. The Wall continues to speak.

The concrete is real. It stood here when the city was divided. It held people in. It kept people out.

Now it holds a kiss. A deadly love. A moment of absurdity painted by a man who understood irony as survival.

Mein Gott, hilf mir, diese tödliche Liebe zu überleben. The prayer is still here. The Wall is still listening.

Two men lean in. Their lips meet. One is Leonid Brezhnev, Soviet leader. The other is Erich Honecker, head of East Germany. This is the kiss that shook the world.

The mural is called 'Mein Gott, hilf mir, diese tödliche Liebe zu überleben.' My God, help me to survive this deadly love.

It was painted by Dmitry Vrubel, a Russian artist born in Moscow on July fourteenth, nineteen sixty. He moved to Berlin in nineteen ninety.

Vrubel studied graphic design at the Moscow Lenin Institute. Before Berlin, he ran a small art gallery in his Moscow apartment.

The image comes from a photograph. In nineteen seventy-nine, French photographer Régis Bossu captured the moment at the thirtieth anniversary celebration of the German Democratic Republic.

It was called 'Le baiser'—the kiss. A fraternal socialist greeting, frozen in time. When Vrubel saw it, he later said, it electrified him.

But the title didn't come from politics. Vrubel gave it that name in nineteen ninety, when he had severe lovesickness. He sought healing through irony.

The Wall had just fallen. Artists from around the world were invited to paint on a one point two kilometre stretch. They called it the East Side Gallery.

Vrubel painted his mural in nineteen ninety-one. He worked directly on the concrete, seven point two metres wide, three point six metres tall.

His method, he said, was multimedia graffiti. He reproduced images from the internet, transferring them onto concrete in photorealistic detail.

While he painted, Vrubel said he felt trapped between the lips of two disgusting old men. It was intimate. It was repulsive.

The mural became famous immediately. Sarcastic, haunting, absurd. A Mona Lisa of the Wall. Everyone came to see it.

But fame brought violence. Visitors threw paint bags at the central area, censoring the intimately entwined lips with dripping streaks of color.

By two thousand nine, the original mural had been destroyed. The Gallery needed restoration. The Wall was crumbling.

At first, Vrubel refused to restore it. He was tired. The work had drained him. But eventually, he returned to the Wall.

He repainted the mural in two thousand nine, reproducing every detail. The lips. The pale blue. The intimacy. The absurdity.

The concrete you see today bears the marks of both versions. Weathered. Scarred. Covered in visitor inscriptions, names, declarations.

Vrubel lived in Berlin until his death. He ran a gallery with his wife, artist Victoria Timofeeva. He never left the city.

On August fourteenth, twenty twenty-two, Dmitry Vrubel died in Berlin. He was sixty-two. The mural outlived him.

Today, the East Side Gallery stretches along the Spree. One point two kilometres of murals. Vrubel's is the most famous.

Tourists still come. They photograph the kiss. They add their names. The Wall continues to speak.

The concrete is real. It stood here when the city was divided. It held people in. It kept people out.

Now it holds a kiss. A deadly love. A moment of absurdity painted by a man who understood irony as survival.

Mein Gott, hilf mir, diese tödliche Liebe zu überleben. The prayer is still here. The Wall is still listening.

Mein Gott hilf mir, diese tödliche Liebe zu überleben

在东边画廊，两名男子在风化的混凝土上接吻。涂鸦覆盖了他们的脸。油漆已经开裂。 一九七九年十月七日。勃列日涅夫和昂纳克在东德成立三十周年时拥抱。一个社会主义兄弟之吻。 法国摄影师雷吉斯·博苏捕捉到了这一刻。《巴黎竞赛》杂志在跨页上刊登了这张照片。它成为东欧集团的象征。 一九九零年，俄罗斯艺术家德米特里·弗鲁贝尔在这里画下了这幅作品。墙刚刚倒塌。勃列日涅夫已经去世。东德已经消失。 他将昂纳克的头裁剪在画框之外。东德总是较小的伙伴，半可见，顺从。 今天，游客在他们的嘴唇上签名。锈迹、涂鸦、签名——现在都是故事的一部分。 听完整的导览。我会带你到墙边，向你展示这里发生的事情。

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