10.10.17

The Threadbare Flags of My Radiant Motherland




The Threadbare Flags of My Radiant Motherland

I'm interested in fabric, but not the fabric that is sold in cuts in stores. I’m not into new fabrics, in those fresh clean threads, direct from the machine and soaked in fresh paint. I'm interested in fabric that has been worn, that lived a long life together with its owner. Clothing means a lot in our frigid region, a place where the snow still covers the ground in May, and where in October it's time to put on quilted jackets. Clothes were repaired yes, and they were also inherited. When a person died, their wardrobe was distributed among relatives. And when things became too ragged to wear, they were cut into pieces, which were used to weave rugs or were taken to an old woman to weave floor runners. From this dilapidated fabric, from these worn out rags, people made round crochets that they put on the courtyard floors of their homes. Newer, brighter crochets were put inside the house, at the front door, on chairs, on the couch, at the foot of an armchair and by the bed, to tread on them with bare feet. The floors’ wooden planks, painted with the brown oil paint, were cool to the touch, and made you shiver with the cold in winter. Without these rugs, you could completely freeze your feet, that’s how cold it was in our houses.
My mother used to wake me up on cold dark mornings. I always tried to get dressed right under the blanket, and only after managing that did I get up and have a wash.  The rugs, like colorful warm islands under my feet, kept me warm. Those round rugs seemed to preserve the memory of those many people who used to wear the clothing from which they had been made, clothes that had been torn to ribbons, deemed useless, worn out, or irrelevant after the demise of their owners. Such a rug preserves the memory of the departed and exudes the light of their memory, almost as if it were a digital disc.
These memory laden carpets now lie at the entrance to rooms, greeting those who arrive. They welcome visitors like a round, bright, warm sun. The round rug recalls the main symbol of the Slavs, the solar disk, making such rugs solar symbols. The visitors enter the gornitsa, an elevated room, which was the brightest one in traditional houses, and was said to be where the sun lived, with its windows pierced by the rays of the bright noon sunshine. That is why it is called svetyolka or svetlitsa(the room of light). This room was usually located on the upper floor of the house, where young girls were spinning and knitting, embroidering and cutting clothes, painting, singing songs, and gossiping. The windows, on all four walls, have carved wooden frames; the light is the master here. We leave, but the light remains.

Flag of my Motherland. 2017
Metal, wood, old carpet from family of the artist.
XII Krasnoyarsk Biennale "Word and Village". 

Lightroom. 2017
Wood, glass, neon, LED, windows from late house. 
XII Krasnoyarsk Biennale "Word and Village". 
Photo by V. Dmitrienko

31.7.17

Private Moon in Lipetsk





Private moon exhibition in Lipetsk Aplied and Folk Arts until 3th September 2017

7.7.17

Floating Moon



The Moon Draft. Floating Moon in Art-Ovrag Fest in Vyksa. 2017

5.6.17

Art Innovation Prize

Look At Your Home in Arsenal NCCA, Nizhny Novgorod. 


26.5.17

Look Homeward





Look Homeward installation at Schusev State
Museum of Architecture from 26 May until 25 June 2017.  Exhibition of Art Innovation Prize









13.5.17

Private Moon in Venice

Private Moon installtion in Palazzo  Soranzo Van Axel "Man as Bird: Images of Journeys", showcases the work of 14 Russian and foreign artists working with different media



16.4.17

The Moon of William Blake



I want! I want! The moon of William  Blake. 2017

Metal, acrylic glass, LED

The English poet and artist William Blake has a small engraving, which he created in 
1793 for the book of his poems The Gates of Paradise. It was signed by the author 
"I want!, I want!", on it a young man put a ladder to the moon and tries to climb up. 
It is this desire to reach the moon that arises us when we see a real ladder to heaven. 
Let the ladder attached to the waning moon, but the desire of the impossible 
overcomes prudence.The installation is located on the roof of the school, in which 
young people receive knowledge, faith in the dream. The school as the base of the 
stairs to the moon, as the first step to a dream. 

All works as part of Museum of the Imaginary Moons ( 2003-2017)
Ichihara Art x Mix 2017, Japan

The Moon of Taneda Santoka


Somewhere the moon wanders. Moon of Taneda Santoka. 2017

Metal, acrylic glass, LED


Moon dedicated to the Japanese poet Taneda Santoka. 
He was a poet-stranger, his life passed in wanderings. 
So I imagined his moon as a vagabond with a stick. 
The crescent in round spectacles, 
in a broad-brimmed hat, the wanderer is not known where with the 
stick of a Zen monk. Young moon of the old poet who wrote the immortal lines:


Now again all day
Walked towards the wind.

Without a goal, to wander and wander.
The moon follows me.

Coming home
All in the moonlight.

Wanders around the world
My old hat
Frost covered

Ichihara Art x Mix 2017, Япония


28.1.17