Dabloids in NCCA

Dabloids installation ,1989, DADA festival in National Center for Contemporary Arts, Moscow
until 19 June 2016


Dabloids, scroll, 1000 cm x 110 cm, paper, ink, acrylic, 1989

Light works in MAMM

Snowangel and Private moon, 2003

Buckets with Light, 2009

Shoes Boxes with Stars, 2009

Shoes Box with Stars, 2009

Snowangel,video, 1998
Russian Space exhibition in Multimedia art Museum, Moscow until August 2016


Look Homeward exhibition in Perm

LOOK HOMEWARD exhibition in Perm State Art Museum from 28 April until 14 August 2016


Diver Lighthouse

2009-2016. Bronze, metal, LEDs.

“Diver-Lighthouse” was devised by a famous Soviet sculptor Vera Mukhina who became widely known for her “Worker and Kolkhoz Woman” monument, constructed in 1937. The size of the sculpture in a form of the lighthouse was supposed to reach over 40 meters and be located on the rocky cost of the Black Sea in Crimea but wasn’t embodied. Contemporary artist Leonid Tishkov implemented this avant-garde idea as the public art object dedicated to Russian divers.


Private Moon in Norilsk

Private Moon in the Arctic in Norilsk Art Gallery from 8 April until 22 May 2016. Exhibition "Space Landing" of contemporay russian 
artist dedicated of 55th anniversary of  first flight of Yury Gagarin


Secret Signs

Secret Signs, 1986. Canvas, oil, 70 cv x 60 cm. Exhibition "And even with glasses" by Kovcheg gallery
in The Pushkin Museum  Prechistinka str. 12/2 from Match 10 until the end of May 2016


Look Homeward

Look Homeward exhibition until March 1th 2016 in Museum Centre "Peace Square" in Krasnoyarsk. 


Derelict Utopia

Leonid Tishkov.Ruins of Memory: Missa Solemnis from Leonid Tishkov on Vimeo.

Abandoned Utopia: The Ice Skate Factory

Leonid Tishkov 

“Abandoned Utopia: The Ice Skate Factory” is an aesthetic, archeological and sociological interpretation of field studies of a ruined industrial landscape of Verkhoturye and creation of an ideal museum from the Ice Skate Factory of Verkhoturye. The exhibition includes multimedia installation “Cathedral of Workers of the Ice Skate Factory”, sculpture “Ever Higher and Higher and Higher!”, video and photographs “Ruins of Memory: Missa Solemnis” and also a documentary film “End of the Working Day”.
“We present an imaginary museum of the Ice Skate Factory as a museum-cathedral of individual people, united by their erstwhile labor at the factory. The industrial era substituted cathedrals for factories, and this process went even further in the Soviet Union, where religion was abolished, and factories were perceived as spiritual and quasi-religious centers. In 1997 the Ice Skate Factory at Verkhoturye was closed. So we have built transparent walls for the cathedral-museum of the Ice Skate Factory in which to house the souls of all those who once dwelled in these shops, stood at the work benches, ground the blades, affixed them to the soles of the shoes, stacked them neatly in boxes, and performed quality control.” 

Leonid Tishkov


In the Field of My Father

Leonid Tishkov.In the Fild of My Father from Leonid Tishkov on Vimeo.

In the beginning of the War in August 1941 my father, who was he commander of an artillery platoon was taken prisoner by German troops and went missing for the next four years of the war. He then returned to his family in the Urals from Siberia, from the Soviet filtration camps, which is where he ended up after being freed from prison by the Americans. For the whole of the war he was a prisoner in Germany and transported from one camp to another right up to the end of the war. My father said almost nothing about this period of his life. Only once he let slip that his unit, stationed near Belaya Tcerkov, Ukraine, was encircled in the first days of the war and that they all had to find their own way out of the trap. Everyone wandered in whatever direction they could to escape, after throwing away their weapons and destroying their documents. Early in the morning he was walking across a vast field, hoping to get across the front line, but judging by the German aeroplanes flying eastward, this would be impossible. Coming to the edge of the field, he saw some indistinct human figures in the morning mist; they were pointing at him and shouting in an unfamiliar language. He put his hands up and slowly walked toward them. Thus my father's war ended without ever having really begun. And so when I travelled through the Kirovograd region I stared into the distance, into the sodden haze, into the drizzle, trying to spot the lonely figure of my father, slowly stumbling through the field with his hands above his head on his way to meet the unknown. It seemed to me that this field that we were riding across was the very field where it had all happened. I got out of the bus and wandered through the knee-high wet grass toward the forest. The damp fog enveloped my body, transporting me back to the past. To this earth, this grass and this moisture it did not matter who was here now. It could have been me or my father. Time had stopped and was rushing backward. Everything around me turned into infinity. My path along this field had become an eternal return, a symbol of my path and memory. When I saw the hazy outlines of the trees in the distance I felt exactly the same fear that my father had experienced when he saw the dark trees and the armed German soldiers heading in his direction. For a short time I lost myself and became my father, in much the same way as people lose their sense of identity when they find themselves in the middle of the steppe, forest or desert without any discernible road. All this only remained in my memory, but memory has no purpose in these places, there is only your empty body, as weightless as a dry stem of corn, and the almost unnoticeable pathway leading somewhere through the fog. The anticipation of death is probably akin to walking along such a path. In the black-and-white photograph you can see a man with his hands in the air. He is coming toward us unarmed, without any of life's belonging, having lost everything, completely alone. It is impossible to make out his face. Even if we approach him we still can't understand who it is. He is so far away it seems that any minute now he will dissolve into the fog and disappear like a wisp of smoke. That - he - is me, my father, your father or you yourself standing in that field between the earth and the sky in the void like a little piece of silent eternity, like eternity itself...