Photographs by Otto Saxinger, Miklos Boros
12.11.09
1.11.09
Faith in the Ideal
FAITH IN THE IDEAL
I see an ideal kingdom in a stony and sleepy land. Artists founded that kingdom and inhabited it with their images.
An artist is like a mad gardener who has grown a garden in the desert. Generations of them brought earth in baskets there, sowed flower seeds and then every day went for water so far away that by the time they were back there were but a few drops of water left at the bottom of their buckets - the scorching sun had dried it up along the way. Yet, those few drops were enough to keep the garden alive.
I live there behind a fence, growing images that, like climbing plants, twine round and sustain my reality, restore my lost memory and prevent the decrepit and weak walls of the house of my life from crumbling down.
I thus bolster my understanding that life is not absurd and that my existence there is not a flash of some chance light or a perishable spark. What surrounds me? What surrounded me when I was an embryo? Out of non-existence and on to the edge of a precipice, I am trying to stay on the threshold of reality.
With but a movement of his pencil or an idea alone the artist is capable of creating an ideal world of his own free from violence, market and justice.
Reality – a chaotic and meaningless material world – is but a sketch to be redone on the body of the Universe, and this is within the artist’s power. Before being born, the Diver creates the world out of nothing.
Does the artist have to stick to the images produced by a legion of designers and to reflect pictures of the outside world with the help of distorting mirrors, thus multiplying them ad infinitum? Wouldn’t it be better to turn the mirror to oneself and to open up in front of it to one’s metaphysical depths?
Faith in the ideal and the fantastic reveals facts of different intensity of being and opens various ontological horizons.
Isn’t it a privilege to be an idealist nowadays? To decide to become an artist means today to follow the road of St. Francis of Assisi. When you cover this road you will be able to talk to birds, and angels will share their secrets with you, as they did with Swedenborg in his time. You will be able to notice small and insignificant things because they mirror something eternal and significant.
Artists and poets allow themselves to believe in the impossible and the unattainable, to build utopias and castles in the air and to inhabit the earth with imaginary worlds. We can thus show other roads rather than one and the same that a generalized human being usually takes.
Artists exist in society, serving as fine membranes that connect the visible world with the invisible fields around. Being fine and insignificant, they are thus themselves invisible. Always on the edge, the finer they get the closer they are to non-existence, they disappear without a trace, dissolving in their works. This worthy lot bordering on selfless devotion is not chosen but granted from time out of mind. One can be like that only if one believes in the ideal.
What ideal artists create is above life, and life cannot explain it. They create their own space that is governed by imagination, pervaded with happiness and attracts those around.
Their art is autonomous and part and parcel of them; they shed the burden of memory, get over knowledge and become innocent. Every time the products of such artists are pure and independent, and their work itself is the achievement of freedom.
Art gives us a chance to become free, and in this freedom we find faith in the ideal. Wherever there was doubt before, faith roots itself, and immediately despair gives way to hope and sorrow becomes joy.
Leonid Tishkov, 12 July 2006
I see an ideal kingdom in a stony and sleepy land. Artists founded that kingdom and inhabited it with their images.
An artist is like a mad gardener who has grown a garden in the desert. Generations of them brought earth in baskets there, sowed flower seeds and then every day went for water so far away that by the time they were back there were but a few drops of water left at the bottom of their buckets - the scorching sun had dried it up along the way. Yet, those few drops were enough to keep the garden alive.
I live there behind a fence, growing images that, like climbing plants, twine round and sustain my reality, restore my lost memory and prevent the decrepit and weak walls of the house of my life from crumbling down.
I thus bolster my understanding that life is not absurd and that my existence there is not a flash of some chance light or a perishable spark. What surrounds me? What surrounded me when I was an embryo? Out of non-existence and on to the edge of a precipice, I am trying to stay on the threshold of reality.
With but a movement of his pencil or an idea alone the artist is capable of creating an ideal world of his own free from violence, market and justice.
Reality – a chaotic and meaningless material world – is but a sketch to be redone on the body of the Universe, and this is within the artist’s power. Before being born, the Diver creates the world out of nothing.
Does the artist have to stick to the images produced by a legion of designers and to reflect pictures of the outside world with the help of distorting mirrors, thus multiplying them ad infinitum? Wouldn’t it be better to turn the mirror to oneself and to open up in front of it to one’s metaphysical depths?
Faith in the ideal and the fantastic reveals facts of different intensity of being and opens various ontological horizons.
Isn’t it a privilege to be an idealist nowadays? To decide to become an artist means today to follow the road of St. Francis of Assisi. When you cover this road you will be able to talk to birds, and angels will share their secrets with you, as they did with Swedenborg in his time. You will be able to notice small and insignificant things because they mirror something eternal and significant.
Artists and poets allow themselves to believe in the impossible and the unattainable, to build utopias and castles in the air and to inhabit the earth with imaginary worlds. We can thus show other roads rather than one and the same that a generalized human being usually takes.
Artists exist in society, serving as fine membranes that connect the visible world with the invisible fields around. Being fine and insignificant, they are thus themselves invisible. Always on the edge, the finer they get the closer they are to non-existence, they disappear without a trace, dissolving in their works. This worthy lot bordering on selfless devotion is not chosen but granted from time out of mind. One can be like that only if one believes in the ideal.
What ideal artists create is above life, and life cannot explain it. They create their own space that is governed by imagination, pervaded with happiness and attracts those around.
Their art is autonomous and part and parcel of them; they shed the burden of memory, get over knowledge and become innocent. Every time the products of such artists are pure and independent, and their work itself is the achievement of freedom.
Art gives us a chance to become free, and in this freedom we find faith in the ideal. Wherever there was doubt before, faith roots itself, and immediately despair gives way to hope and sorrow becomes joy.
Leonid Tishkov, 12 July 2006
27.10.09
15.10.09
LIGHT ALL AROUND
15.10.09 – 15.11.09
Leonid Tishkov
LIGHT ALL AROUND
To Vsevolod Nekrasov
The poet Vsevolod Nekrasov came to every one of my exhibitions. Instead of attending the opening ceremonies he used to come later, all alone, and examine the display. I was later told that Seva Nekrasov had visited the gallery, scrutinized everything, liked something and disapproved of something else. He once wrote a large poem about my Private Moon. At the latest exhibition the House of Artist he singled out The Starry Sky in Shoe Boxes especially: he liked those black cardboard boxes pierced by shining stars very much. Now that the autumn of 2009 is here, and we have “September and October both ending in ber,” the time has come for another show of mine. But my special rare guest, the poet Vsevolod Nekrasov, won’t be able to attend it for the obvious reason: “one cannot stay here,” on the ski-track because one has “to see the sky”. That’s why I have made an exhibition, with Vsevolod Nekrasov present again. He’ll be Here and Now. Here are his poems. Here are his skies. Here is his moon. Here is his light. Light is all around, and in the center of light is a tiny dot – the celestial skier Seva – light and all.
“This is all.
All and nothing else.
All and nothing else.
And everything’s fine.
And everything’s fine.
All and everything.”
Leonid Tishkov
LIGHT ALL AROUND
To Vsevolod Nekrasov
The poet Vsevolod Nekrasov came to every one of my exhibitions. Instead of attending the opening ceremonies he used to come later, all alone, and examine the display. I was later told that Seva Nekrasov had visited the gallery, scrutinized everything, liked something and disapproved of something else. He once wrote a large poem about my Private Moon. At the latest exhibition the House of Artist he singled out The Starry Sky in Shoe Boxes especially: he liked those black cardboard boxes pierced by shining stars very much. Now that the autumn of 2009 is here, and we have “September and October both ending in ber,” the time has come for another show of mine. But my special rare guest, the poet Vsevolod Nekrasov, won’t be able to attend it for the obvious reason: “one cannot stay here,” on the ski-track because one has “to see the sky”. That’s why I have made an exhibition, with Vsevolod Nekrasov present again. He’ll be Here and Now. Here are his poems. Here are his skies. Here is his moon. Here is his light. Light is all around, and in the center of light is a tiny dot – the celestial skier Seva – light and all.
“This is all.
All and nothing else.
All and nothing else.
And everything’s fine.
And everything’s fine.
All and everything.”
9.10.09
Private Moon in Kaohsiung Museum of Fine Arts, Taiwan
Following its large-scale outdoor sculpture projects, ecological art projects and Contemporary Austronesian Art Project, the Kaohsiung Museum of Fine Arts will highlight the nocturnal charms of the museums park with "light art". The renowned contemporary Russian master Leonid Tishkov, a talented artist working with performance, theatre, poetry and painting, will present a large moon installation rich in literary associations. Opening during the Mid-Autumn Festival, the exhibition will bring us a magnificent
visual feast of Russian culture and the poetic imagination of Nordic fairytales.
8.10.09
THE INNER URAL
In the frames of the 3rd Moscow Biennial of Contemporary Arts M'ARS Centre for Contemporary Arts presents - THE INNER URALS, a project by the Yekaterinburg Branch of the NCCA
"THE INNER URALS"Curators: Alisa Prudnikova, Vladimir Seleznev, Svetlana Usoltseva
"The Inner Urals" is not a plagiarism of Pelevin, not even an homage to Boyce; rather, it is the very alchemy which emerges at the geographically enticing frontier between Europe and Asia. A deceiving metaphor for a region exceedingly rich in existential background.The Urals is either inside, or merely aside. Any attempt at metaphorical comprehension makes one cast aside all that is modern and related to frontiers and instead embrace images of inner experiences. But to what extent is that typical of the Urals? The Urals is a severely dissected space bound together by the almost souvenir stories – all those "from the Urals" and "we were born at the Urals". Those who live at the Urals not only form an eternal bond with those mountains, those forests, and those fields beneath the never-ending snow, they also carry the Great Ural Mythology gene. This mythology is like a fathomless quarry, a black hole that sucks in anyone who approaches it: the Demidovs, the Russian tycoons of yore, whose fake gold coins still excite the imagination of local treasure hunters; the numerous Ural craftsmen, from the fairytale Danila to the Cherepanovs; the Red Army divisional commander Chapaev, who had sunk into the River Ural as if into the mythical Lethe; the infernal pioneer Pavlik Morozov.And right in the middle of this pantheon is the custodian of cedar wisdom, the surrealist of mines and metallurgical plants – Bazhov, narrator of folk tales.Ekaterinburg is a very sensitive city, often overreacting, constantly amassing the functions of the center of the Urals. One has to firmly believe in one's center, which is located exactly where you live; and to do that one sometimes requires a certain initial shove or impulse. For the Ural artists, the fundamental principle has always been this: "Real art always comes from within", using the words of the artist Leonid Tishkov. Objective circumstances are not enough to explain the local cultural explosion; rather, there are some mutagenic agents at play here, creating this reality of the surreal space with an elusive identity.
Alisa Prudnikova, Vladimir Seleznev
Participants:
Leonid Tishkov
Kuda begut sobak
iZer Gut
Victor Davydov
Den Marino
Oleg Lystsov
Vladimir Seleznev
Alexander Shaburov
Elena Klimova
Alexander Belov
Alexander Solnechnyi
Fedor Telkov
Soup Studio
Julia Bezshtanko
Katya Poedynschikova
26.8.09
Art-Zavod exhibition in Ekaterinburg
Dabloid Production Shop
The installation is a workshop for production of bulk products, namely objects, known as "Dabloids." This action-performance to work during the festival exhibition. For this purpose, invited a few workers and workers laid off from Worsted Plant. They paid the average daily wage in the mill, the number of days worked. They should sew Dabloid fabric, fill them and put on the table during the working day of the exhibition. Women workers and employees must be dressed in the form of a working mill, have experience of working with fabric, sewing. Design and sample products will be provided by the artist. Installation itself is a shop - a few tables - tables with sewing machines, table for the pattern, a table for packing and tables for the finished product. On the wall is hung with posters technological plans, drawings of the product. Foreman - inspector of finished products must be member of the NCCA. He should give the salary and monitor the implementation of standards, quality of products. On the wall is hung a banner with the text "production shop Dabloid" and a couple of maintaining the enthusiasm of the workers. Most importantly, the workers were satisfied with working conditions and wages.
The installation is a workshop for production of bulk products, namely objects, known as "Dabloids." This action-performance to work during the festival exhibition. For this purpose, invited a few workers and workers laid off from Worsted Plant. They paid the average daily wage in the mill, the number of days worked. They should sew Dabloid fabric, fill them and put on the table during the working day of the exhibition. Women workers and employees must be dressed in the form of a working mill, have experience of working with fabric, sewing. Design and sample products will be provided by the artist. Installation itself is a shop - a few tables - tables with sewing machines, table for the pattern, a table for packing and tables for the finished product. On the wall is hung with posters technological plans, drawings of the product. Foreman - inspector of finished products must be member of the NCCA. He should give the salary and monitor the implementation of standards, quality of products. On the wall is hung a banner with the text "production shop Dabloid" and a couple of maintaining the enthusiasm of the workers. Most importantly, the workers were satisfied with working conditions and wages.
During the exhibition it is clear that wage labor is pure art, although it is hard to believe. But the fact remains. The artist pays for labor and the workers themselves become part of an art project, paid for it. Money itself is played as a catalyst for creativity, no increment, and not bringing profits, and vice versa - they disappear, turning in a pile of useless items - Dabloid, as part of this money goes into the hands of workers, allowing them to exist.
Thus is manifested the social function of art, art becomes necessary people in the literal sense, while maintaining the purity and perfection, becomes an act of kindness and selflessness.
Dabloids, 1994-2009
Following the precepts of the great artist Vladimir Tatlin, the developer of the principle of «thing-IDEA», exactly the opposite, I used a variant of «IDEA-thing», because of the great Platonic principle of all that surrounds us - it is only shadows of things rather than things themselves. Our consciousness has given them the form and labeled. Dabloids - a phantom of human consciousness, mental baggage, social and family clichés, so make the whole of Dabloids - the primary task of the artist - avant-gardist. Manufacturing Dabloid don’t makes man free, but indicates the path of liberation. Consciously laboring in the field of reproduction Dabloid, the worker embodies in his funny and a bit strange form of all that pent up, that prevented him to live, that tormented his soul bonded circumstances. Through Dabloid – to freedom. Through Dabloid’s work - a revolution of consciousness!
28.7.09
2.7.09
21.6.09
Living In a Trunk
Living In a Trunk is almost a Chinese story, drawn in Indian ink. It tells about a frightened rabbit, about how standing next to person there is always something Huge. Maybe it's God, subconscious, eternity or the power. Sometime you think something is folloving you in your sleep - don't be afraid: it's only an elephant and you - his trunk. This is your world, from which you can't leave. You don't even want to give up this world. In the trunk it's warm and damp. You lie there naked, but it's safe. It's haven, the mother's womb in which the infant hid. Be happy as a trunk: two tusks protect you, two tiny eyes always follow you. Tomorrow the elephant will show us a valley of violets and how to pick bananas. Living In the Trunk is the Little Prince of Sant-Exupery, in which the person and elephant can't live without each other, and each dreams about freedom, forgetting about the rose of love.
While they haven't their own elephants they must sit in anthills
Each of us has own elephants
Living In a Trunk also wants a little love
At night they awakened Living In a Trunks in alarm and they ran with gasmasks on
A very heavy suitcase but in it are Livinh In a Trunk's things
Living In a Trunk's elephant went out of his mind
Fatal mistake of a lunatic: Living In a Trunk commits the suitcide of his elephant
While they haven't their own elephants they must sit in anthills
Each of us has own elephants
Living In a Trunk also wants a little love
At night they awakened Living In a Trunks in alarm and they ran with gasmasks on
A very heavy suitcase but in it are Livinh In a Trunk's things
Living In a Trunk's elephant went out of his mind
Fatal mistake of a lunatic: Living In a Trunk commits the suitcide of his elephant
L.I.T.'s elephant grows to the size of the universe
L.I.T. looks in microscope and sees: even the smallest microbe lives in a trunk
What has this freedom given him L.I.T. crawls along the ground like a worm
What has this freedom given him L.I.T. crawls along the ground like a worm
One must look after Living In a Trunk and with food nourish Living In a Trunk
Thus sleep Living In a Trunks roll up in balls close their eyes and silently lie crying in the dark
This one that's left his trunk will still be lying on the ground when the others move ahead
While Living In a Trunks sleep their elephants are making love