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Exhibition in Belyaevo gallery, Moscow, until 11 November |
15.10.18
16.9.18
Drafty House
https://vimeo.com/290111481
Drafty House. 2018.
Installation: carpets, fans, lamp, motion detector.
Carpets, apparently ordinary, were hanging in Ossetian, Ingush and Russian houses. Houses with high strong walls, on the slopes of mountains, under a high sky. It seemed that nothing was stronger than a home, in which was safe and warm. But misfortune breaks into people's lives literally "from behind the carpet", destroying the cozy space of the house. This is our common home, because you can not destroy someone else's house without destroying your own.
At the exhibition "Beslan. A Minute of Silence" in the North Caucasus Branch of the NCCA-ROSIZO, September 2018
30.6.18
Tumbleweed
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Steppenläufer
(Tumbleweed). 2018
Installation:
archive photo, textile, latex, ventilators. Places exhibition in Jewish
Museum, Moscow. Human condition project, session 4. Curator Viktor
Misiano
The tumbleweed
is a bushy steppe plant that grows into a spherical form which,once uprooted,
can be carried over long distances by the wind.
My stepfather Alexander Davidovich Hilgenberg was a
Russian German. His life, like that of many of his countrymen, was difficult.
He was born in 1912 in the Volga region, in the village of Phillipsfeld, but in
1941 his entire family – his father David Davidovich, brother David and sisters
Irma, Erica and Olga – were deported to Kazakhstan and Siberia. From there,
Alexander Davidovich was conscripted into the Labour Army, and sent to the Ivdel
work camp in the Northern Urals, where he married a German woman named Emma Mayerle,
who was also serving in the Labour Army. They were later moved to the Vizhai special
settlement, where they had two daughters – Lilya and Vera. In 1968, Alexander
Davidovich went to live in the village of Nizhniye Sergi, in Sverdlovsk Oblast.
He was director of the local forestry enterprise until his retirement. After
the death of his wife, his adult daughters left for other cities and he was
left alone, and so my mother, having by that time lost my father, became his
support. They changed their flats for a single “two-roomer” and moved in
together, my mother looking after him when he suffered a stroke. He died at
home, in the Urals, and is buried beside my parents. His life story is my story
too. And I want to talk about him, but not just about him. The lot of the
Russian Germans has been unfairly tragic. Invited to Russia in the second half
of the 18th century by Catherine the Great, they settled along the
Volga, in the Southern Ukraine and Crimea. In September 1941, right at the beginning of the Great
Patriotic War, all of them without exception were evicted from their native
Volga to Siberia and Kazakhstan. About a million people were expelled from
their homes. Of these, around 300 thousand were then drafted into the Labour Army
and sent to the most remote areas of the USSR, where they worked and lived in
special settlements and camps. Only in 1955 were they allowed to return to the
original places of deportation – to Kazakhstan and Siberia, though the Germans
were forbidden from returning to the Volga region where they had lived up until
1941. The Russian Germans never resettled in their homeland – in the 1990s the
new Russian leadership did everything to prevent the restoration of the Volga
German Republic. Many Germans then left Russia, emigrating to Germany. Russian
Germans are a wandering people, they put down roots in Russia and it became
their real motherland, but the Soviet government cruelly tore up a whole people
from their native land. The Russian Germans have been driven around the world,
just like the wind chases the dried out balls of the tumbleweeds that my
stepfather saw so much of in the steppelands, where he was taken and left to
survive in as best he could, back in the autumn of 1941.
Leonid Tishkov
The author would like to thank the wolgadeutsche.net website and express
his personal gratitude to Alexander Spaсk for providing copies of photographs
from the family albums of the Volga Germans.
|
10.6.18
The star in bed
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A star
settles on the edge of my bed
she's old
and full of cracks, 2003. Light, fish net, metal, neon.
|
31.5.18
Moon goal
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| Moon Goal installtion in Taiwan, Taipei City Hall Public |
15.5.18
Sliced Moon
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| Sliced moon by Leonid Tishkov at shelves of ex-library of University Sassari. Exhibition No Man's Library / La Biblioteca di Tutti curated by Zerynthia The exhibition is part of the triennal project Sentieri Contemporanei promoted by Fondazione di Sardegna with Zerynthia Contemporary Art Fondazione No Man’s Land. From 10th May 2018 Ex Biblioteca Universitaria, Piazza Università 21, Sassari, Italy 🔹 Artists Mario Airò / Maria Thereza Alves / Marco Bagnoli / Massimo Bartolini /Gianfranco Baruchello / Elisabetta Benassi / Rossella Biscotti / Katinka Bock Paolo Canevari / Jimmie Durham / Bruna Esposito / Jan Fabre / Matteo Fato Marco Fedele di Catrano / Federico Fusj / Rainer Ganahl / Alberto Garutti gerlach en koop / Laura Grisi / H.H. Lim / Fabrice Hyber / IRWIN / Franz Kapfer / Gülsün Karamustafa / Koo Jeong A / Donatella Landi / Felice Levini / Sergio Lombardo / Mark Manders / Kris Martin / Liliana Moro / Hidetoshi Nagasawa / Matteo Nasini / Olaf Nicolai / Maria Nordman / Luigi Ontani / Luca Maria Patella Luana Perilli / Cesare Pietroiusti / Alfredo Pirri / Michelangelo Pistoletto / Annie Ratti / Gert Robijns / Remo Salvadori / Maurizio Savini / ManfreDu Schu / Roman Signer / Ettore Spalletti / Michele Spanghero / Donatella Spaziani / Leonid Tishkov / Luca Vitone / Erwin Wurm / Zafos Xagoraris |
27.3.18
Good bye friend of mine
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| Good bye friend of mine, 2017. Neon, LED, suitcase. Installation in the "The train is arriving" exhibition in Ekaterina foundation from 22 March 2018 |
19.12.17
Uman
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|
Leonid Tishkov
(Russia)
Uman, 2016
Installation,
mixed media
The concept of “displacement”, introduced into psychoanalysis by
Freud, is a tendency of the human mind to forget traumatic experiences which,
however, is not entirely possible to achieve. Displacement tends to return in a
changed form such as recurring nightmares and horrors. Therefore, in order to
outlive the grief a person has to make a certain effort and its first phase is
“processing” which implies acceptance of your memory and recognition of the
fact that a certain traumatic event has really taken place. Lately the theory
of psychoanalysis has been enriched with a new discovery. As it turns out, the
traumas, especially the ones that have not been overcome, can be inherited by
your descendants who may start experiencing them as their own. Marianne Hirsch
calls this phenomenon post-memory. Many of Leonid Tishkov’s works, in which he
addresses his family history and his parents’ tragic biography, corroborate
this idea. In the early days of the war, in August 1941, the artist’s father
Alexander Ivanovich Tishkov found himself in the Uman encirclement, where the
Sixth, the Twelfth, and the Twenty-sixth armies of the South and the South-West
Fronts were surrounded by the Germans. As a prisoner-of-war he spent a long
time in the camp at Uman and later was moved to Stalag 326 in the district of
Stukenbrock where he was liberated by the American army. In December 1945, he
returned to his home in the Urals having spent time in the NKVD camp Borisenko
at Frankfurt-on-Oder where he had undergone “filtration”. He never talked about
his war experiences, probably because he had signed a secrecy paper, or maybe
because he had simply “displaced” those events from his memory. His son became
obsessed with the task of reconstructing those events through “processing”.
Leonid Tishkov managed to find in the internet the report of his father’s
interrogation by the NKVD. The report shed much light on the circumstances of
his imprisonment. Leonid also collected scanty but scaring evidence left by the
survivors of the Uman encirclement. Finally he came across a German photograph
with the following inscription: “Negative № 1.13/22. Uman. Ukraine. Russia.
Date: 14 August 1941. 50,000 Russian military have been collected in Uman.”
Tishkov studied the picture closely trying to find his father among the
prisoners, but he failed and printed out an enlarged photograph on paper. His
archive also contains a photograph of his father in military uniform made
shortly before the war, and a black button from that uniform which he
discovered in his mother’s lifetime collection of buttons. That button became a
fetish for Tishkov and finally he made a bronze monument out of it. Having
identified himself with his father he saw in his life the fate of millions of
similar lives reflecting the fate of his generation. His father’s generation
had been immortalized in Mikhail Sholokhov’s The Fate of Man, one of the best
works of war prose. That was how it occurred to Tishkov that the name “Uman”
suggests associations with the word “human” and all that is associated with
humans and humanity in most European languages.
Viktor
Misiano
From
brochure TIME AND SENSES. Trauma, memory, oblivion, knowledge. Project THE HUMAN CONDITION SESSION III
Exhibition
“The Haunted House” December, 1, 2017 – January, 28, 201 in
|
18.11.17
Forms of Future
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| Forms of Future exhibition in Krokin gallery from 16th November 2017. Dedicated to Russian cosmist Konstantin Tsiolkovsky. |
Tyumen suffering
Leonid Tishkov UNMARKED, 2017
Installation: Tyumen carpet, found clothes, wood.
The artist learned about the tragic fate of his grandfather, Tishkov Ivan Grigorievich, only a few years ago. He did not have a single photo of his grandfather, not a single document. There was only a little information avaliable from the Memory Book of the Tyumen region that Ivan Grigorievich was from the village of Korkino in the Sverdlovsk region, was exiled to the Yagodny village of the Kondinsky district, and then was arrested and shot in Tyumen on December 10, 1937. 80 years have passed since his grandfather’s death, but Leonid continues to look for the place of his last refuge; the artist’s soul is restless until he finds the unmarked grave. "The local carpet is black like Tyumen land itself, on which flowers unplanted by me grow; this is the image of my memory of my grandfather and that I must find his grave while I have time," says the artist.
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