The 12th
TIME
ZONE
TIME
ZONE
A CONTEMPORARY ART REPORT FROM RUSSIA
BRUSSELS, 28 JUNE – 8 SEPTEMBER 2019
The 12th
TIME
ZONE
TIME
ZONE
BRUSSELS, 28 JUNE – 8 SEPTEMBER 2019
A CONTEMPORARY ART REPORT FROM RUSSIA
BOZAR - Centre for Fine Arts
Rue Ravensteinstraat 23
1000 Brussel
Rue Ravensteinstraat 23
1000 Brussel
28 June – 8 September 2019
Tuesday — Sunday : 10 am — 6 pm
Thursday : 10 am — 9 pm
Tuesday — Sunday : 10 am — 6 pm
Thursday : 10 am — 9 pm
Curated by Inke Arns & Dieter Roelstraete. Coordinated by Antonio Geusa
More than a quarter century after the collapse of the Soviet Union and its dissolution into 15 sovereign states – an experience that continues to color much of what happens within its bounds, in artistic, cultural and intellectual terms – Russia continues to be the largest country on earth – by a massive margin. One of the preferred metrics to best express its enormity likewise remains unchanged: the fact that, stretching all the way from Kaliningrad on the Baltic sea in the west to Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy on the Pacific Ocean in the east, it covers a mind-boggling eleven time zones.
In the summer of 2018, a curatorial caravan crossed most of these time zones in search of art beyond the perimeter of Russia's established (read: "western") power centers, calling in a total of twelve cities sited along the iconic Trans-Siberian railway.
In the summer of 2018, a curatorial caravan crossed most of these time zones in search of art beyond the perimeter of Russia's established (read: "western") power centers, calling in a total of twelve cities sited along the iconic Trans-Siberian railway.
The current exhibition showcases work made by artists from each of these ports of call, some better known, such as Ekaterinburg or Vladivostok, some much less so, like Omsk or Ulan-Ude. The resultant panorama – a "report", not a survey – highlights some of the bracing diversity and heterogenous riches of art practiced in this largely unmapped, indeed unmappable, territory.
Where, then, does the titular twelfth time zone lie? We take it to be the transcending time of art – the only way, perhaps, to wrap our heads around the thought-defying immensity of the terrain under consideration. It is art o'clock aboard the Trans-Siberian – calling in Brussels all summer.
Inke Arns & Dieter Roelstraete
Where, then, does the titular twelfth time zone lie? We take it to be the transcending time of art – the only way, perhaps, to wrap our heads around the thought-defying immensity of the terrain under consideration. It is art o'clock aboard the Trans-Siberian – calling in Brussels all summer.
Inke Arns & Dieter Roelstraete
Nizhny Novgorod
Perm
Yekaterinburg
Tyumen
Omsk
Novosibirsk
Tomsk
Krasnoyarsk
Irkutsk
Ulan-Ude
Khabarovsk
Vladivostok
PROVMYZA
Eternity
2011
Single-channel video. Courtesy of the artists
For Heraclitus, eternity was a "child playing a game, moving counters, in discord, in concord." The child we see in the film is weeping, and is carrying a heavy stone. It is climbing over half ruined walls of a giant industrial building, and is finally throwing the stone at the structure. The child — a girl — is crawling up a sand dune (the waste of an open pit mine?), and throws the heavy weight down when she reaches the top. We see her lying in a deep pit, barely able to climb up again — but attempting it, again and again. When she throws the stone/s at nature and at the remains of a huge industrial crane, we can also feel anger in her actions. The ruins of the industrial landscape look gigantic compared to the small human figure. One is reminded of the myth of Sisyphus, of Bulgakov's Frieda, who is constantly offered a handkerchief, or we see the grown-up daughter of Tarkovsky's Stalker, roaming in the Zone which gives neither fulfilment of desires, nor relief. Like her father, she is navigating the world through throwing a stone, a performative practice of tactile probing/exploration. And like Stalker's daughter, she may be a child, but has the face of someone who has seen everything. (IA)
Eternity is a child playing… Heracletus of Ephesus
Eternity is both an abstract "tribute" to the No Wave movement and an experimental visual text — referring to the works of "New Wave" Portuguese filmmakers. An absurd recirculating landscape becomes an interdisciplinary statement about loss of a message, impossibility of a dialogue, labyrinth of meanings. Monotony of action spurs a multitude of associations: Sisyphus; Bulgakov's Frieda, who is constantly offered a handkerchief; Stalker's grown-up daughter, roaming in the Zone which gives neither fulfillment of desires, nor relief. Viewers are slowly immersed into a multilayered space in which reality and human sight are dissolved.
Performative tactile practice of the world inherent in the throwing a stone scrupulously delivers new external meanings provoking a reflection on simulation of tactile experience, a ceaseless lamentation. Here, eternity is perceived as something transcendental extending beyond the limits of intelligible sphere, like a series of mortal cyclic circumstances in which the little girl finds herself. Life itself becomes Eternity and death — just an instant. (PROVMYZA)
2011
Single-channel video. Courtesy of the artists
For Heraclitus, eternity was a "child playing a game, moving counters, in discord, in concord." The child we see in the film is weeping, and is carrying a heavy stone. It is climbing over half ruined walls of a giant industrial building, and is finally throwing the stone at the structure. The child — a girl — is crawling up a sand dune (the waste of an open pit mine?), and throws the heavy weight down when she reaches the top. We see her lying in a deep pit, barely able to climb up again — but attempting it, again and again. When she throws the stone/s at nature and at the remains of a huge industrial crane, we can also feel anger in her actions. The ruins of the industrial landscape look gigantic compared to the small human figure. One is reminded of the myth of Sisyphus, of Bulgakov's Frieda, who is constantly offered a handkerchief, or we see the grown-up daughter of Tarkovsky's Stalker, roaming in the Zone which gives neither fulfilment of desires, nor relief. Like her father, she is navigating the world through throwing a stone, a performative practice of tactile probing/exploration. And like Stalker's daughter, she may be a child, but has the face of someone who has seen everything. (IA)
Eternity is a child playing… Heracletus of Ephesus
Eternity is both an abstract "tribute" to the No Wave movement and an experimental visual text — referring to the works of "New Wave" Portuguese filmmakers. An absurd recirculating landscape becomes an interdisciplinary statement about loss of a message, impossibility of a dialogue, labyrinth of meanings. Monotony of action spurs a multitude of associations: Sisyphus; Bulgakov's Frieda, who is constantly offered a handkerchief; Stalker's grown-up daughter, roaming in the Zone which gives neither fulfillment of desires, nor relief. Viewers are slowly immersed into a multilayered space in which reality and human sight are dissolved.
Performative tactile practice of the world inherent in the throwing a stone scrupulously delivers new external meanings provoking a reflection on simulation of tactile experience, a ceaseless lamentation. Here, eternity is perceived as something transcendental extending beyond the limits of intelligible sphere, like a series of mortal cyclic circumstances in which the little girl finds herself. Life itself becomes Eternity and death — just an instant. (PROVMYZA)
Elena Slobtseva
Steel Life
2019
Video installation with staples. Courtesy of the artist
Objects sometimes do have a life of their own. Glasses are moving by themselves, or, rather, are moved by "spirits of the dead" called upon during a seance, stones are wandering in the desert, and computers are talking — to us or among themselves. In Elena Slobtseva's work, it is neither glasses, stones nor computers, but staples that are behaving in unexpected ways. Usually, staples are vernacular office materials used for stapling documents and keeping them in order. But here, tens of thousands of steel staples can suddenly be seen performing in unexpected ways. As if re-enacting the memories of a dreaming bureaucrat, on whose table they have been sitting for just too long, they form images of landscapes, trees, houses, and of the horizon. We can only speculate about the force that induces movement into this strange material. Maybe it is through simple magnetism — or through magic. The title, however, suggests that these staples have an uncanny life of their own. (IA)
I often choose office and construction staples as the material for my animations and installations. One of my friends from the Netherlands once told me that for him Russia is associated with steel, metal, something brutal and cold. I would agree with him as I think that such rough materials may to some extent express the character of my country. Steel Life refers to a drawing by one of the greatest Russian landscape painters Isaac Levitan. The 19th-century artist painted landscapes along the river Volga which is considered a tributary of the river Kama in Perm. In the animation, it turns out that Levitan's landscape is assembled out of staples which start to fall and destroy the image. I see this image transformation as a tribute to the Russian classical art, countryside, and industry, as well as the challenges they have been facing. (Elena Slobtseva)
2019
Video installation with staples. Courtesy of the artist
Objects sometimes do have a life of their own. Glasses are moving by themselves, or, rather, are moved by "spirits of the dead" called upon during a seance, stones are wandering in the desert, and computers are talking — to us or among themselves. In Elena Slobtseva's work, it is neither glasses, stones nor computers, but staples that are behaving in unexpected ways. Usually, staples are vernacular office materials used for stapling documents and keeping them in order. But here, tens of thousands of steel staples can suddenly be seen performing in unexpected ways. As if re-enacting the memories of a dreaming bureaucrat, on whose table they have been sitting for just too long, they form images of landscapes, trees, houses, and of the horizon. We can only speculate about the force that induces movement into this strange material. Maybe it is through simple magnetism — or through magic. The title, however, suggests that these staples have an uncanny life of their own. (IA)
I often choose office and construction staples as the material for my animations and installations. One of my friends from the Netherlands once told me that for him Russia is associated with steel, metal, something brutal and cold. I would agree with him as I think that such rough materials may to some extent express the character of my country. Steel Life refers to a drawing by one of the greatest Russian landscape painters Isaac Levitan. The 19th-century artist painted landscapes along the river Volga which is considered a tributary of the river Kama in Perm. In the animation, it turns out that Levitan's landscape is assembled out of staples which start to fall and destroy the image. I see this image transformation as a tribute to the Russian classical art, countryside, and industry, as well as the challenges they have been facing. (Elena Slobtseva)
Where Dogs Run
Pause
2019
Electromagnetic installation. Courtesy of the artists
Legend has it that Czar Peter the Great, on his voyage through western Europe in 1697, sent home Russia's first bag of potatoes. But for more than a century afterwards, the new tuber was widely considered poisonous and shunned as "the devil's apple". When Russian farmers finally warmed to the potato, in the mid-1800s, there was no stopping them: by 1973, the then-Soviet Union was producing more than 100 million tonnes of potatoes a year. Today, Russia's annual production has stabilized at around 35 million tonnes, thus making it a "potato giant", with output second only to China. The average Russian consumes a hearty 130 kg of potatoes a year. More than 90 percent are grown on household plots and private farms. While in many American phrases, potatoes are used to describe laziness and dullness (like in "I am a potato"), in Russian, however, potatoes elicit senses of summer dachas and of strength. When people say they're going to their dacha, they say they are going на картошку: to the potatoes. And now here we are, in a room full of levitating potatoes. Where has gravity gone? Are we in the Zone, so convincingly conveyed by Andrey Tarkovsky's film Stalker? Or is this what Kazimir Malevich's Suprematism really was all about? (IA)
In an empty white room some potatoes are hanging under the ceiling. The distance between the potatoes and the ceiling is not big and, probably, is not even visible for everybody. The shadows on the ceiling help to realize it. The potatoes are on the verge of falling down or hitting the ceiling. The line is very thin. In principle, falling or going up are possible (by electromagnetic levitation). The magnets in the potatoes maintain them in a state of levitation. However, this foreign body hidden inside the vegetables accelerates their decay process. Eventually, the potatoes will rot slowly and fall, but the magnet which maintained them under the ceiling will be still levitating. The fallen potato will be then replaced by a new one. (Where Dogs Run)
2019
Electromagnetic installation. Courtesy of the artists
Legend has it that Czar Peter the Great, on his voyage through western Europe in 1697, sent home Russia's first bag of potatoes. But for more than a century afterwards, the new tuber was widely considered poisonous and shunned as "the devil's apple". When Russian farmers finally warmed to the potato, in the mid-1800s, there was no stopping them: by 1973, the then-Soviet Union was producing more than 100 million tonnes of potatoes a year. Today, Russia's annual production has stabilized at around 35 million tonnes, thus making it a "potato giant", with output second only to China. The average Russian consumes a hearty 130 kg of potatoes a year. More than 90 percent are grown on household plots and private farms. While in many American phrases, potatoes are used to describe laziness and dullness (like in "I am a potato"), in Russian, however, potatoes elicit senses of summer dachas and of strength. When people say they're going to their dacha, they say they are going на картошку: to the potatoes. And now here we are, in a room full of levitating potatoes. Where has gravity gone? Are we in the Zone, so convincingly conveyed by Andrey Tarkovsky's film Stalker? Or is this what Kazimir Malevich's Suprematism really was all about? (IA)
In an empty white room some potatoes are hanging under the ceiling. The distance between the potatoes and the ceiling is not big and, probably, is not even visible for everybody. The shadows on the ceiling help to realize it. The potatoes are on the verge of falling down or hitting the ceiling. The line is very thin. In principle, falling or going up are possible (by electromagnetic levitation). The magnets in the potatoes maintain them in a state of levitation. However, this foreign body hidden inside the vegetables accelerates their decay process. Eventually, the potatoes will rot slowly and fall, but the magnet which maintained them under the ceiling will be still levitating. The fallen potato will be then replaced by a new one. (Where Dogs Run)
Anton Vinogradov
A Place Where I Skipped School
2019
Installation with lightboxes
Didn't we all skip school at some point when we were kids or teenagers? Spending small fortunes on gaming machines in the nearby café, or stealing booze at the local gas station around the corner? Anton Vinogradov takes us to the places where he skipped school: An apple garden, a swamp, a field and an empty field. One even features a ship constructed from a pallet and a white cloth (the sail). There's snow covered landscapes decorated with fire circles and bottles, arranged ornamentally. While all these places look like nature, at first glance, on all the photos we see concrete housing blocks looming in the background, through the trees and bushes. On the picture with the sailing boat, we are told that "A shopping centre will be built here." Is it melancholy, memory, or a melancholic memory? What is more, the five lightboxes/places are linked to each other by a speculative map, which at times recalls a (psychological) development chart, connecting the swamp to the apple garden and then pointing outside of the picture, into the life of adulthood. While the land of childhood still promised small escapes, that of a grown-up happens in the concrete high-rises surrounding the garden of places where we once skipped school. (IA)
I used to skip classes near the high-water bed of the river behind my home. It was like an adventure described in books. Walking in the places you had never been to before. Those first sharp, piercing impressions! You are all by yourself. You are a discoverer. After I graduated from school, I moved to another city and only went back there nine years later. I sensed the flow of time, a gap between the present and the past. The past became tangible. I am in this place, looking at the emptiness between me and high-rise buildings, my silent childhood companions. Here, I make interventions in the landscape based on local residents' (and my own's) memories of what has happened in the bed of the river. Insignificant memories that are usually fading away and disappearing together with their bearers. Accordingly, I am extracting something personal from each of them and connecting it in a public space. By playing in that space, free from the pressure of city norms and big historical and modern narratives, liberation happens and the space for art is revealed. (Anton Vinogradov)
2019
Installation with lightboxes
Didn't we all skip school at some point when we were kids or teenagers? Spending small fortunes on gaming machines in the nearby café, or stealing booze at the local gas station around the corner? Anton Vinogradov takes us to the places where he skipped school: An apple garden, a swamp, a field and an empty field. One even features a ship constructed from a pallet and a white cloth (the sail). There's snow covered landscapes decorated with fire circles and bottles, arranged ornamentally. While all these places look like nature, at first glance, on all the photos we see concrete housing blocks looming in the background, through the trees and bushes. On the picture with the sailing boat, we are told that "A shopping centre will be built here." Is it melancholy, memory, or a melancholic memory? What is more, the five lightboxes/places are linked to each other by a speculative map, which at times recalls a (psychological) development chart, connecting the swamp to the apple garden and then pointing outside of the picture, into the life of adulthood. While the land of childhood still promised small escapes, that of a grown-up happens in the concrete high-rises surrounding the garden of places where we once skipped school. (IA)
I used to skip classes near the high-water bed of the river behind my home. It was like an adventure described in books. Walking in the places you had never been to before. Those first sharp, piercing impressions! You are all by yourself. You are a discoverer. After I graduated from school, I moved to another city and only went back there nine years later. I sensed the flow of time, a gap between the present and the past. The past became tangible. I am in this place, looking at the emptiness between me and high-rise buildings, my silent childhood companions. Here, I make interventions in the landscape based on local residents' (and my own's) memories of what has happened in the bed of the river. Insignificant memories that are usually fading away and disappearing together with their bearers. Accordingly, I am extracting something personal from each of them and connecting it in a public space. By playing in that space, free from the pressure of city norms and big historical and modern narratives, liberation happens and the space for art is revealed. (Anton Vinogradov)
Damir Muratov
Taiga Law inside Us. Snow Sky above Us
2019
Mural. Courtesy of the artist and 11.12 Gallery (Moscow)
"Siberia" is many things — a promise, an idea, a frontier, an expanse, an elsewhere, a curse — but a precisely defined geopolitical entity it is not: it may be said to begin "somewhere" (its standard western border usually considered to be the Urals), but the disagreement about its actual limit is so foundational that it may just as well be considered (fittingly so, of course) endless. All we know, among many other facts, is that, in the instance of the Sakha Republic, for example (though now technically a part of the Far Easter Federal District), it actually comprises the largest "subnational governing body by area in the world" — comparable in size to India. Damir Muratov, a leading figure in the Siberian arts ecology, is prime bard of this unfathomable tangle of geographical oddities, captured so poignantly in his crudely painted fictional flags denoting the non-extant "United States of Siberia" or "United Kingdom of Siberia": countries wished into being by the sheer force of art, if you will — in this case, appropriately enough, Muratov's caustic brand of prickly, faux-naif Sibirskiy pop. Modern-day icons simmering with anticipation, they flutter fitfully in a long line of pop art & agitprop forays into flag design. (DR)
A quote from Immanuel Kant's Critique of Practical Reason translated into the language of snow and Siberian taiga. (Damir Muratov)
2019
Mural. Courtesy of the artist and 11.12 Gallery (Moscow)
"Siberia" is many things — a promise, an idea, a frontier, an expanse, an elsewhere, a curse — but a precisely defined geopolitical entity it is not: it may be said to begin "somewhere" (its standard western border usually considered to be the Urals), but the disagreement about its actual limit is so foundational that it may just as well be considered (fittingly so, of course) endless. All we know, among many other facts, is that, in the instance of the Sakha Republic, for example (though now technically a part of the Far Easter Federal District), it actually comprises the largest "subnational governing body by area in the world" — comparable in size to India. Damir Muratov, a leading figure in the Siberian arts ecology, is prime bard of this unfathomable tangle of geographical oddities, captured so poignantly in his crudely painted fictional flags denoting the non-extant "United States of Siberia" or "United Kingdom of Siberia": countries wished into being by the sheer force of art, if you will — in this case, appropriately enough, Muratov's caustic brand of prickly, faux-naif Sibirskiy pop. Modern-day icons simmering with anticipation, they flutter fitfully in a long line of pop art & agitprop forays into flag design. (DR)
A quote from Immanuel Kant's Critique of Practical Reason translated into the language of snow and Siberian taiga. (Damir Muratov)
Konstantin Skotnikov
Siberian. European: Rembrandt Does Not Speak Russian
2018-2019
Mixed media
According to Konstatin Skotnikov, Siberian artists brought "the innermost values of European culture deep into the continent" where they have been preserved "in absolute purity and beauty" — in schools, academies and universities. Therefore the Siberian artist — which is an imaginary figure — should be given a particular status in contemporary art. Konstatin Skotnikov presents ten of these "European Siberians" who share their insights with us. "Rembrandt could not speak Russian!" boasts the architect Ivan Nevzgodin, author of The Architecture of Novosibirsk. "A poet in Russia — is more than a poet" underlines the poet Evgeny Miniyarov, cunningly. Another interjects: "The pen is mightier than the sword". The Siberian creatives are bursting with confidence. It should not surprise us that the wisdoms of life uttered by the Siberian artists come with barely hidden ironic undertones. (IA)
Being an artist, I always have a question that is difficult to answer: what is a Siberian artist? Following the Old Believers dissenters, Siberian artists brought the innermost values of European culture deep into the continent. Schools, colleges, academies and universities in every possible way contributed to the improvement of mastery and the highness of the spirit of Siberian creators. Thus, we — the Siberian artists — have reason to insist on approving a particular aesthetic status in contemporary art. The actualization of the old traditions from Rembrandt to Meza, from Velasquez to Sierra, from Turner to Hirst, from Sigmund to Lucian Freud, from Duchamp to Auchan, inspires us for new achievements and clarifying the true position of the creative agents of Siberia. Siberian artist as a European Siberian, of course, is an imaginary figure, taken with a tolerant smile. But he is sure that Siberian art has a humanitarian-planetary character and dialectically connects Siberia with people from planet Earth! (Konstantin Skotnikov)
2018-2019
Mixed media
According to Konstatin Skotnikov, Siberian artists brought "the innermost values of European culture deep into the continent" where they have been preserved "in absolute purity and beauty" — in schools, academies and universities. Therefore the Siberian artist — which is an imaginary figure — should be given a particular status in contemporary art. Konstatin Skotnikov presents ten of these "European Siberians" who share their insights with us. "Rembrandt could not speak Russian!" boasts the architect Ivan Nevzgodin, author of The Architecture of Novosibirsk. "A poet in Russia — is more than a poet" underlines the poet Evgeny Miniyarov, cunningly. Another interjects: "The pen is mightier than the sword". The Siberian creatives are bursting with confidence. It should not surprise us that the wisdoms of life uttered by the Siberian artists come with barely hidden ironic undertones. (IA)
Being an artist, I always have a question that is difficult to answer: what is a Siberian artist? Following the Old Believers dissenters, Siberian artists brought the innermost values of European culture deep into the continent. Schools, colleges, academies and universities in every possible way contributed to the improvement of mastery and the highness of the spirit of Siberian creators. Thus, we — the Siberian artists — have reason to insist on approving a particular aesthetic status in contemporary art. The actualization of the old traditions from Rembrandt to Meza, from Velasquez to Sierra, from Turner to Hirst, from Sigmund to Lucian Freud, from Duchamp to Auchan, inspires us for new achievements and clarifying the true position of the creative agents of Siberia. Siberian artist as a European Siberian, of course, is an imaginary figure, taken with a tolerant smile. But he is sure that Siberian art has a humanitarian-planetary character and dialectically connects Siberia with people from planet Earth! (Konstantin Skotnikov)
Natasha Yudina
Siberian Nightmares
2015-2019
Courtesy of the artist
One of the oldest urban settlements in Siberia and a notable center of learning — it appears to have been dubbed the "Athens of Siberia" in the past — Tomsk is the only city in this exhibition that is not located on the Trans-Siberian mainline, which bypasses the city a mere hundred kilometers to the south. It is historically significant as the home-in-exile of the 19th-century anarchist theorist Mikhail Bakunin and a stronghold, during the Civil War that followed the October revolution, of the anti-Soviet White Army. A more permanent whiteness cyclically blankets Tomsk during Central Siberia's fabled snow-rich winters — and likewise sets apart some of the city's best-known artistic export products: the fur-clad sculptures and virgin knit- and needlework of Natasha Yudina. Yudina has stated, with a steely Siberian sense of irony, that "art in Siberia needs to be warmed up, rolled up in wool, protected in skins." The most famous icon of Soviet history to have received this wrapping treatment is the ubiquitous Lenin bust, featured so disarmingly in a double portrait alongside the artist titled "Judith and Holofernes": a subtle sheen of violence, not without gendered overtones, coats much of Yudina's plush, winking work. (DR)
"Siberian Nightmares" is art that originated in Siberia, where it is very difficult to survive. Snowstorms, frost, blizzards; somewhere in the neighborhood walks a scary bear. Therefore, in Siberia you must hide, wrap yourself in wool, warm animal skins, grow hair. Art in Siberia also requires insulation. It needs to be wrapped in wool, wrapped in skins, insulated with fur. Brutal Siberia is very cold and all art here is ephemeral! Art becomes for the artist her secret, personal property, almost a dream! From dreams she creates her white, sterile and hermetic mythology called "Siberian Nightmares". Wassily Kandinsky described the color white as "the great silence"! White is a colorless color, a silent lifeless color. White is the color of the dead Kingdom of Siberia! Siberia rests under a white down jacket of oblivion, sleeps peacefully, swept up by a snow shroud! (Natasha Yudina)
2015-2019
Courtesy of the artist
One of the oldest urban settlements in Siberia and a notable center of learning — it appears to have been dubbed the "Athens of Siberia" in the past — Tomsk is the only city in this exhibition that is not located on the Trans-Siberian mainline, which bypasses the city a mere hundred kilometers to the south. It is historically significant as the home-in-exile of the 19th-century anarchist theorist Mikhail Bakunin and a stronghold, during the Civil War that followed the October revolution, of the anti-Soviet White Army. A more permanent whiteness cyclically blankets Tomsk during Central Siberia's fabled snow-rich winters — and likewise sets apart some of the city's best-known artistic export products: the fur-clad sculptures and virgin knit- and needlework of Natasha Yudina. Yudina has stated, with a steely Siberian sense of irony, that "art in Siberia needs to be warmed up, rolled up in wool, protected in skins." The most famous icon of Soviet history to have received this wrapping treatment is the ubiquitous Lenin bust, featured so disarmingly in a double portrait alongside the artist titled "Judith and Holofernes": a subtle sheen of violence, not without gendered overtones, coats much of Yudina's plush, winking work. (DR)
"Siberian Nightmares" is art that originated in Siberia, where it is very difficult to survive. Snowstorms, frost, blizzards; somewhere in the neighborhood walks a scary bear. Therefore, in Siberia you must hide, wrap yourself in wool, warm animal skins, grow hair. Art in Siberia also requires insulation. It needs to be wrapped in wool, wrapped in skins, insulated with fur. Brutal Siberia is very cold and all art here is ephemeral! Art becomes for the artist her secret, personal property, almost a dream! From dreams she creates her white, sterile and hermetic mythology called "Siberian Nightmares". Wassily Kandinsky described the color white as "the great silence"! White is a colorless color, a silent lifeless color. White is the color of the dead Kingdom of Siberia! Siberia rests under a white down jacket of oblivion, sleeps peacefully, swept up by a snow shroud! (Natasha Yudina)
Alexey Martins
Black Cloud
2019
Wood, metal, acryl. Courtesy of the artist
In this installation sky and earth are intertwined. One side, entitled "Black Forest," represents a ruined soil that conjures up the image of "sprouted mycelium, crystalline structures or calcareous skeletons of various organisms living on the seabed." The other side, entitled "Black Sky," appears to the audience as "pure materialized air so compressed that it hangs over the 'inhabitants' of this territory as some kind of threatening stalactite." In Krasnoyarsk, where Martins comes from, the term "black sky mode" is used for describing heavy smog. While some air pollution is said to be caused by stoves and fires necessary for heating private houses in the cold weather, the main sources are probably local factories and the fumes they pump into the atmosphere. At Yenisei Pulp and Paper Mill a landfill with sawdust has been burning for months. In Martins' installation, the visitors are caught into a cloud of soil and air which due to pollution becomes more and more polluted, dense, and opaque. The artist has found a compelling form for visualising this dire ecological situation. (IA)
Ecology can be called the main challenge of our time. Many people are actively occupied with it: from politicians and ecologists to philosophers and artists. Classical ecology is often reduced to criticism of human impact on the environment and to attempts at developing reasonable nature management. There are also philosophical projects of environmental criticism, which see the root of the problem in the very model of thinking. These projects believe that a positive approach not only puts man in a privileged position in relation to nature, but would also change the very concept of "nature", which falsely excludes man from the ecosystem. A whole bunch of projects, such as "dark ecology" and "inhuman anthropology", try to achieve full environmental awareness. The task of art is to develop its own meta-discursive approach and create a dynamic image of modernity. For me, such a construction becomes a massive structure resembling a crystallized cloud of smoke suggesting a menace dangling over humanity's environmental threats and a graphic representation of the sound track echoing the polyphonic environmental discourse. As a result, the set of semantic perspectives generates a single monument of anxiety. (Alexey Martins)
2019
Wood, metal, acryl. Courtesy of the artist
In this installation sky and earth are intertwined. One side, entitled "Black Forest," represents a ruined soil that conjures up the image of "sprouted mycelium, crystalline structures or calcareous skeletons of various organisms living on the seabed." The other side, entitled "Black Sky," appears to the audience as "pure materialized air so compressed that it hangs over the 'inhabitants' of this territory as some kind of threatening stalactite." In Krasnoyarsk, where Martins comes from, the term "black sky mode" is used for describing heavy smog. While some air pollution is said to be caused by stoves and fires necessary for heating private houses in the cold weather, the main sources are probably local factories and the fumes they pump into the atmosphere. At Yenisei Pulp and Paper Mill a landfill with sawdust has been burning for months. In Martins' installation, the visitors are caught into a cloud of soil and air which due to pollution becomes more and more polluted, dense, and opaque. The artist has found a compelling form for visualising this dire ecological situation. (IA)
Ecology can be called the main challenge of our time. Many people are actively occupied with it: from politicians and ecologists to philosophers and artists. Classical ecology is often reduced to criticism of human impact on the environment and to attempts at developing reasonable nature management. There are also philosophical projects of environmental criticism, which see the root of the problem in the very model of thinking. These projects believe that a positive approach not only puts man in a privileged position in relation to nature, but would also change the very concept of "nature", which falsely excludes man from the ecosystem. A whole bunch of projects, such as "dark ecology" and "inhuman anthropology", try to achieve full environmental awareness. The task of art is to develop its own meta-discursive approach and create a dynamic image of modernity. For me, such a construction becomes a massive structure resembling a crystallized cloud of smoke suggesting a menace dangling over humanity's environmental threats and a graphic representation of the sound track echoing the polyphonic environmental discourse. As a result, the set of semantic perspectives generates a single monument of anxiety. (Alexey Martins)
Elena Anosova
Sagaan Sag
2012-2015
Print on plastic, Courtesy of the artist
"Sagaan Sag" is a Buryat phrase meaning "white time" — the thirty- or forty-day period in December and January when Olkhon Island in Lake Baikal, one of the sunniest places on earth, is blanketed by a cloud-like fog so thick that transport from the island, home to some thousand people, to the mainland becomes temporarily suspended, while the ice is not yet solid enough to enable cars or trucks to cross the strait. "Sagaan Sag" is also the title of a suite of near-documentary photographs by Elena Anosova, who spent much of her youth on the island in Lake Baikal. (That this body of water, the largest freshwater lake in the world by volume, was inscribed in the Unesco World Heritage List in 1996 barely begins to scratch the surface of the site's enduring, awe-inspiring holiness.) Anosova's eerie depictions of windswept desolation and the abiding, austere beauty of winter's whiteness zoom in on the various traces of human presence (or absence) scattered across the island, ranging from the futile to the heroic, from self-effacement to stoic resignation. A picture of a deserted yet joyfully color-rich children's playground conjures an image of almost cosmic contrasts, of life lived lovingly along the living, heaving lake. (DR)
Olkhon is the only inhabited island of the lake Baikal and a tourist resort center of Siberia during summer-time. The island is a sacred place for several religions, especially shamanism and Buddhism. It also used to be the territory of Neolithic people. For several winter months I recorded everyday life of the locals, objects of ancient tradition and history; this not yet clear, symbiotic and harmonious structure of human life on an ancient territory. In December and January, Olkhon is difficult to access from the mainland. The island is separated from the world and tourists by the freeze-up. There are 50 murky days a year on Olkhon. In winter, the interaction of cold weather with the huge water space forms unique atmospheric nebulosity. It is the time when objects and people become a reflection of the modest human scale on an almost changeless sacred landscape. (Elena Anosova)
2012-2015
Print on plastic, Courtesy of the artist
"Sagaan Sag" is a Buryat phrase meaning "white time" — the thirty- or forty-day period in December and January when Olkhon Island in Lake Baikal, one of the sunniest places on earth, is blanketed by a cloud-like fog so thick that transport from the island, home to some thousand people, to the mainland becomes temporarily suspended, while the ice is not yet solid enough to enable cars or trucks to cross the strait. "Sagaan Sag" is also the title of a suite of near-documentary photographs by Elena Anosova, who spent much of her youth on the island in Lake Baikal. (That this body of water, the largest freshwater lake in the world by volume, was inscribed in the Unesco World Heritage List in 1996 barely begins to scratch the surface of the site's enduring, awe-inspiring holiness.) Anosova's eerie depictions of windswept desolation and the abiding, austere beauty of winter's whiteness zoom in on the various traces of human presence (or absence) scattered across the island, ranging from the futile to the heroic, from self-effacement to stoic resignation. A picture of a deserted yet joyfully color-rich children's playground conjures an image of almost cosmic contrasts, of life lived lovingly along the living, heaving lake. (DR)
Olkhon is the only inhabited island of the lake Baikal and a tourist resort center of Siberia during summer-time. The island is a sacred place for several religions, especially shamanism and Buddhism. It also used to be the territory of Neolithic people. For several winter months I recorded everyday life of the locals, objects of ancient tradition and history; this not yet clear, symbiotic and harmonious structure of human life on an ancient territory. In December and January, Olkhon is difficult to access from the mainland. The island is separated from the world and tourists by the freeze-up. There are 50 murky days a year on Olkhon. In winter, the interaction of cold weather with the huge water space forms unique atmospheric nebulosity. It is the time when objects and people become a reflection of the modest human scale on an almost changeless sacred landscape. (Elena Anosova)
Zorikto Dorzhiev
Mistress of Steppe
2019
Aluminium. Courtesy of the artist and Khankhalaev Gallery (Moscow)
Ulan-Ude, capital of the Republic of Buryatia, sits at a peculiar intersection of diverging pasts — one ancient Mongol, another ancient Soviet — and intertwining futures — that of "New Silk Road" economic opportunity and reenergized cultural identity. One of the city's signature aesthetic tropes neatly reflects this forking path in the meshing of artisanal techniques (one of the republic's more popular creative exports are its beautiful handcrafted knives) and traditional narrative themes with a futurist manga-like sensibility suffused with female imagery and agency. Zorikto Dorzhiev is among his generation's most highly regarded artists, and his paintings and graphic work, much of which engages in an irreverent dialogue with canonical western art history, constitutes some of the most widely circulating Buryat art imagery. This newly conceived monumental sculpture — a model for a much larger monumental work to be erected in the south Siberian steppe — represents something of a departure. Traditional Buryat iconography is retained, however, in the outline of the figure's head, shimmering with echoes of old-fashioned female headdress. (DR)
One of the frequently repeated motifs of my paintings is a stylized female image in an unusual headdress. "Mistress" is an archetype of the feminine. She is flexible and can change her appearance. Despite her external stillness, inside she has a quiet but strong inner movement. She is able to listen and inspire, to get rid of fears and give confidence. She knows the secret of the continuation of life. She stands as a monolith notwithstanding her multifacetedness. This image is inspired by Buryat and Mongolian women's costumes. One day, working on a sculptural project, I had the idea to turn this familiar shape into a frame, a metal skeleton. Immediately, I pictured the sculpture in the landscape of the steppe. Later, the idea led to a high-voltage tower. It is the same Mistress of the Steppe. It still gives life to all living things. Now she's doing it with electrical power passing through her body. She transmits vital energy further and further into infinity. (Zoritko Dorzhiev)
2019
Aluminium. Courtesy of the artist and Khankhalaev Gallery (Moscow)
Ulan-Ude, capital of the Republic of Buryatia, sits at a peculiar intersection of diverging pasts — one ancient Mongol, another ancient Soviet — and intertwining futures — that of "New Silk Road" economic opportunity and reenergized cultural identity. One of the city's signature aesthetic tropes neatly reflects this forking path in the meshing of artisanal techniques (one of the republic's more popular creative exports are its beautiful handcrafted knives) and traditional narrative themes with a futurist manga-like sensibility suffused with female imagery and agency. Zorikto Dorzhiev is among his generation's most highly regarded artists, and his paintings and graphic work, much of which engages in an irreverent dialogue with canonical western art history, constitutes some of the most widely circulating Buryat art imagery. This newly conceived monumental sculpture — a model for a much larger monumental work to be erected in the south Siberian steppe — represents something of a departure. Traditional Buryat iconography is retained, however, in the outline of the figure's head, shimmering with echoes of old-fashioned female headdress. (DR)
One of the frequently repeated motifs of my paintings is a stylized female image in an unusual headdress. "Mistress" is an archetype of the feminine. She is flexible and can change her appearance. Despite her external stillness, inside she has a quiet but strong inner movement. She is able to listen and inspire, to get rid of fears and give confidence. She knows the secret of the continuation of life. She stands as a monolith notwithstanding her multifacetedness. This image is inspired by Buryat and Mongolian women's costumes. One day, working on a sculptural project, I had the idea to turn this familiar shape into a frame, a metal skeleton. Immediately, I pictured the sculpture in the landscape of the steppe. Later, the idea led to a high-voltage tower. It is the same Mistress of the Steppe. It still gives life to all living things. Now she's doing it with electrical power passing through her body. She transmits vital energy further and further into infinity. (Zoritko Dorzhiev)
Svetlana Tikanova
Series of collages
2018
Colored paper, adhesive film, photographs and magazine foil, marker, acrylic, ink. Courtesy of the artist
Located on the Amur river within proverbial spitting distance of the Chinese border, Khabarovsk is perhaps eastern Russia's most "western" city — a little island of Saint- Petersburg planning in the boundless wastes of the Russian Far East. It is fitting, therefore, that this marvel of contrast and incongruity should be represented here by way of collage or photomontage — an art of juxtaposition with a particularly rich Russian prehistory. Indeed, in considering the photo-collages of Svetlana Tikanova, we are inevitably reminded of the pioneering precedents of El Lissitzky, Gustav Klutsis and Alexandr Rodchenko and the momentous, Soviet-era paradigm shift from the artist as formalist and pictorialist to the artist as activist message-maker. The message in question, of course, has altered dramatically, and so too has the historical breadth of the collaging instinct in artist hands such as Tikanova's: the pictorial references roam wide and free, from fashion to cosmic imagery, with a telling focus on art-historical allusions — Leonardo, Holbein, Botticelli. Titles such as "enigma," "reflection", "search" and "substitution" have a tentative ring to them: the future seems a faraway place, and the trust of old in it vaguely misplaced. (DR)
Collage has become for me a way to communicate, to reflect. Making a collage can be compared to a journey to a new self and a new reality that is born before your own eyes and it is based on intuition. I just dissolve into space when I make a collage. Collage is freedom, but it is freedom subject to your personal rules. You can make a collage in a few minutes, or it can take you hours moving and changing images, waiting for the final connection of what you do with what you feel. The subjects of the collages develop themselves. Heterogeneous elements, when get close, start "dialogues". I love when details find each other. The end of each collage is a feeling akin to the first days of love. Collage gives you the opportunity to choose what you want more: to give thought a form, to strike a balance between sometimes completely incongruous or to do something meaningless, but very atmospheric. Collage is something deeply personal, intimate, but at the same time detached, impersonal, and together it gives the effect of three-dimensional perception. Collage always contains a mystery, innuendo and leaves room for imagination and for different interpretations. (Svetlana Tikanova)
2018
Colored paper, adhesive film, photographs and magazine foil, marker, acrylic, ink. Courtesy of the artist
Located on the Amur river within proverbial spitting distance of the Chinese border, Khabarovsk is perhaps eastern Russia's most "western" city — a little island of Saint- Petersburg planning in the boundless wastes of the Russian Far East. It is fitting, therefore, that this marvel of contrast and incongruity should be represented here by way of collage or photomontage — an art of juxtaposition with a particularly rich Russian prehistory. Indeed, in considering the photo-collages of Svetlana Tikanova, we are inevitably reminded of the pioneering precedents of El Lissitzky, Gustav Klutsis and Alexandr Rodchenko and the momentous, Soviet-era paradigm shift from the artist as formalist and pictorialist to the artist as activist message-maker. The message in question, of course, has altered dramatically, and so too has the historical breadth of the collaging instinct in artist hands such as Tikanova's: the pictorial references roam wide and free, from fashion to cosmic imagery, with a telling focus on art-historical allusions — Leonardo, Holbein, Botticelli. Titles such as "enigma," "reflection", "search" and "substitution" have a tentative ring to them: the future seems a faraway place, and the trust of old in it vaguely misplaced. (DR)
Collage has become for me a way to communicate, to reflect. Making a collage can be compared to a journey to a new self and a new reality that is born before your own eyes and it is based on intuition. I just dissolve into space when I make a collage. Collage is freedom, but it is freedom subject to your personal rules. You can make a collage in a few minutes, or it can take you hours moving and changing images, waiting for the final connection of what you do with what you feel. The subjects of the collages develop themselves. Heterogeneous elements, when get close, start "dialogues". I love when details find each other. The end of each collage is a feeling akin to the first days of love. Collage gives you the opportunity to choose what you want more: to give thought a form, to strike a balance between sometimes completely incongruous or to do something meaningless, but very atmospheric. Collage is something deeply personal, intimate, but at the same time detached, impersonal, and together it gives the effect of three-dimensional perception. Collage always contains a mystery, innuendo and leaves room for imagination and for different interpretations. (Svetlana Tikanova)
Inna Dodiomova
Vortex
2019
Video installation. Courtesy of the artist
Although founded as recently, relatively speaking, as 1860, the Pacific port city of Vladivostok — the mythical endpoint of the Trans-Siberian railway and a seven-day train ride away from Moscow, it literally translates as the "ruler of the east" — feels historical. This is a function, perhaps, of the city's proximity to China, Korea and Japan, which accounts for a certain cosmopolitan and decidedly mercantile and multicultural flair, as well as a well-developed arts ecology. It is telling, for instance, that a well-regarded representative of a younger generation of Vladivistok artists such as Inna Dodiomova should have received part of her training in (relatively) nearby Harbin, the largest city in China's northeastern region. Her work is rooted, in part, in the many historical complexities that attend her hometown's location in these far-flung borderlands: her newly conceived installation Vortex recalls the memory of the Battle of Lake Khasan, "the tight corner where the territories of Korea, Manchuria, and Russia meet", in the words of a military historian of the region. Vortex is a quasi-pyramidal sculpture made up of used cartridges whose gentle sway evokes the chime-like jangle of small change — of both the monetary and geopolitical kind. (DR)
Lake Hassan is a small freshwater lake in the Primorsky Territory near the borders with China and Korea. Here, in 1938, a military conflict occurred between the USSR and Japan. Both sides suffered heavy losses. After violent clashes on August 9, Soviet troops completely defeated the invaders. According to official figures, Soviet troops lost 792 people (2,752 wounded), and Japanese 525 (913 wounded). The "Whirlwind" is an land art installation whose shells symbolizing the struggle of the two states for transboundary territories. It stands at the top of the Zaozernaya Hill, where the Soviet troops set their flag and further battles took place. When the wind blows, the sleeves knock (fight) against each other and create a sound similar to that of coins. In 1938, we defended our land, sovereignty and independence with the help of weapons. Now these countries have changed their political systems and they have become investors and economic engines in our country. Ultimately, weapons have been replaced by coins (money). We have a question, if after 80 years a coin has replaced a cartridge, then what will happen in the next 80 years? (Inna Dodiomova)
2019
Video installation. Courtesy of the artist
Although founded as recently, relatively speaking, as 1860, the Pacific port city of Vladivostok — the mythical endpoint of the Trans-Siberian railway and a seven-day train ride away from Moscow, it literally translates as the "ruler of the east" — feels historical. This is a function, perhaps, of the city's proximity to China, Korea and Japan, which accounts for a certain cosmopolitan and decidedly mercantile and multicultural flair, as well as a well-developed arts ecology. It is telling, for instance, that a well-regarded representative of a younger generation of Vladivistok artists such as Inna Dodiomova should have received part of her training in (relatively) nearby Harbin, the largest city in China's northeastern region. Her work is rooted, in part, in the many historical complexities that attend her hometown's location in these far-flung borderlands: her newly conceived installation Vortex recalls the memory of the Battle of Lake Khasan, "the tight corner where the territories of Korea, Manchuria, and Russia meet", in the words of a military historian of the region. Vortex is a quasi-pyramidal sculpture made up of used cartridges whose gentle sway evokes the chime-like jangle of small change — of both the monetary and geopolitical kind. (DR)
Lake Hassan is a small freshwater lake in the Primorsky Territory near the borders with China and Korea. Here, in 1938, a military conflict occurred between the USSR and Japan. Both sides suffered heavy losses. After violent clashes on August 9, Soviet troops completely defeated the invaders. According to official figures, Soviet troops lost 792 people (2,752 wounded), and Japanese 525 (913 wounded). The "Whirlwind" is an land art installation whose shells symbolizing the struggle of the two states for transboundary territories. It stands at the top of the Zaozernaya Hill, where the Soviet troops set their flag and further battles took place. When the wind blows, the sleeves knock (fight) against each other and create a sound similar to that of coins. In 1938, we defended our land, sovereignty and independence with the help of weapons. Now these countries have changed their political systems and they have become investors and economic engines in our country. Ultimately, weapons have been replaced by coins (money). We have a question, if after 80 years a coin has replaced a cartridge, then what will happen in the next 80 years? (Inna Dodiomova)
Artists
PROVMYZA
Galina Myznikova, Nizhny Novgorod, 1968; Sergey Provorov, Nizhny Novgorod, 1970
Founded in 1998. Working in various areas of contemporary art (video art, performance, installation, and theater), the two artists follow the tendency to blur the boundaries between types and genres of art by creating complex synthetic forms. Their films – over two dozen – have taken part in numerous international festivals and have been awarded with various prizes. Live and work in Nizhny Novgorod.
Elena Slobtseva
Perm, 1981
Education: Perm State University (English Language and Literature), Bowling Green State University, ArtPolitika School of Contemporary Art, School of Art Involved. In her work she uses creates objects, drawings and animations, the protagonists of which are often furniture, stationery and construction staples of various sizes. Works and lives in Perm
Where Dogs Run
Natalia Grekhova (Kamensk-Uralsky, 1976); Alexey Korzukhin (Yekaterinburg, 1973); Olga Inozemtseva (Yalutorovsk, 1977), Vladislav Bulatov (Yekaterinburg, 1975)
Founded in 2000. They work in the field of technological art and use a wide range of media to create their installations, performances and kinetic sculptures. In their projects, the group explores the technological processes of the mythological and the everyday; studies the mechanisms of human interaction in various forms of reality. Live and work in Yekaterinburg.
Anton Vinogradov
Nizhny Tagil, 1991
Education: Baltic State Technical University D.F.Ustinov (Engineering), Foto Departament Institute. He is interested in the themes of the modern landscape, loneliness, historical and personal memory. To create his art works he uses photos, performance, text. Works and lives in Saint Petersburg.
Damir Muratov
Tobolsk, 1967
Education: Omsk State Pedagogical University (Graphic Arts). His practice includes painting, drawings, installations, and art objects. In his work he appeals to pop and social art, using the mythology and images of Siberia. Founder of "Kuchum: gallery (1995). In his works he often applies to. Works and lives in Omsk.
Konstantin Skotnikov
Maima, 1958
Education: Novosibirsk Institute of Civil Engineering (Architecture). According to his artistic credo culture is a filter that purifies the soul from ignorance and inhumanity. To understand, imagine and improve the truly human in a person is an important task of art. In his works, he addresses the categories of aesthetics (beautiful-ugly, sublime-low, tragic-comic) and adds interesting-uninteresting and witty-weak-minded. Lives and works in Novosibirsk.
Natasha Yudina
Tomsk, 1982
Education: Tomsk State University (Fine Arts). In her work she rethinks the identification of her native Siberian region, translating metaphor into material. She uses wool, animal skin – everything that keeps one warm in the harsh Siberian conditions of life. Lives and works in Tomsk.
Alexey Martins
Krasnoyarsk, 1989
Education: Krasnoyarsk Art School (Painting), Free Workshops. In his works, he reflects on ecological cataclysms, regional identity and the uniting potential of art. He often refers to the relationship between civilization and nature through the creation of zoomorphic mysterious sculptures and laconic graphic compositions. Works and lives in Moscow.
Elena Anosova
Elektrostal, 1983
Education: Irkutsk State Technical University, Rodchenko Moscow School of Photography and Multimedia. In her art practice she combines documentary photography, video, installations, research archives and publication of books. Her work focuses on the relationship between the level of (self-)isolation and supervisory control, the study of emotional and social relationships within limited communities, and identity and collective memory in Siberia and the Far East. Works and lives in Moscow and Irkutsk.
Zorikto Dorzhiev
Ulan-Ude, 1976
Education: Republican School of Culture and Arts, Krasnoyarsk State Art Institute. Works with easel painting, drawing, book illustrations, sculpture and film. His creative method is based on the synthesis of the figurative tradition of the academic school and the cultural heritage of the nomads of Buryatia. He creates images that are saturated with the characteristic properties of the culture of Central and East Asia, such as closeness and self-absorption of characters, plastic asceticism and lapidary forms of decorative design. Lives and works in Ulan-Ude.
Svetlana Tikanova
Litovko, 1966
Education: SPTU-27, Khabarovsk Regional School of Culture. Chairman of the Khabarovsk Photographic Society, founder of "FotiniaZ" Studio of Contemporary Photography. As an artist, Svetlana likes to experiment using mixed techniques, especially encaustic. In her work she celebrates the natural world, based on the associative perception of reality. Through color, plastic form, she conveys the sensual experience of what she saw and the spirit of the place she visited. Lives and work in Khabarovsk.
Inna Dodiomova
Arseniev, 1988
Education: Harbin Institute of Technology, Vladivostok School of Modern Art. In her artistic practice she engages with the study of the issues of memory and identity, through the use of different media such as drawings, video, sound and site-specific installations. Lives and works in Vladivostok.
is a contemporary art platform initiated by the National Center for Contemporary Arts (ROSIZO) in 2017 as a strategic project for the development of contemporary culture in the Russian regions. Its main mission is to support and promote artists and curators living and working in the Russian regions, to study and divulge art made today in the Russian regions through the facilitation of professional dialogue, to build an international network of horizontal connections and creating new possibilities for international partnership.
Team
BOZAR
CEO and Artistic Director
Paul Dujardin
Director of Exhibitions
Sophie Lauwers
Curatorial Project Coordinator
Christel Tsilibaris
Head of Production
Evelyne Hinque
Assistant to the Director
of Exhibitions
Axelle Ancion
CEO and Artistic Director
Paul Dujardin
Director of Exhibitions
Sophie Lauwers
Curatorial Project Coordinator
Christel Tsilibaris
Head of Production
Evelyne Hinque
Assistant to the Director
of Exhibitions
Axelle Ancion
Technical Coordinators
Fred Oulieu, Colin Fincoeur
Audience Development
Chloë Vanneste
Press
Leen Daems
Russian Turn Program
Daria Bocharnikova, Ekaterina Kaplunova, Polina Vulf
With the dedicated support of Rudi Anneessens, Olivier Boruchowitch, Amina Dahman, Justine Detienne, Koenraad Impens, Joëlle Massau, Brecht Wille
Fred Oulieu, Colin Fincoeur
Audience Development
Chloë Vanneste
Press
Leen Daems
Russian Turn Program
Daria Bocharnikova, Ekaterina Kaplunova, Polina Vulf
With the dedicated support of Rudi Anneessens, Olivier Boruchowitch, Amina Dahman, Justine Detienne, Koenraad Impens, Joëlle Massau, Brecht Wille
ROSIZO-NCCA
General Director
Sofia Gracheva
NEMOSKVA Project Commissioner
Alisa Prudnikova
Exhibition Executive Director
Anastasia Lomonosova
Production Manager
Olga Burasova
Assistant Curator
Ivan Novikov
General Director
Sofia Gracheva
NEMOSKVA Project Commissioner
Alisa Prudnikova
Exhibition Executive Director
Anastasia Lomonosova
Production Manager
Olga Burasova
Assistant Curator
Ivan Novikov
Technical Coordinators
Pavel Luzhin, Vyacheslav Pavlovich
PR Director
Olga Kocharina
Press manager
Anastasia Petrakova
Scenography
YACHEYKA Architecture bureau
Pavel Luzhin, Vyacheslav Pavlovich
PR Director
Olga Kocharina
Press manager
Anastasia Petrakova
Scenography
YACHEYKA Architecture bureau
