The Goddess of Freshness on Crimean Southern Coast, oil on canvas, 110 x 200 cm, 1989–1991
I’d say that the laws of the game imply an element of surprise and unpredictability on viewers’ part. In other words, I leave the viewer alone with his or her culture, background, and mood. They might be open to dialogue (or not). Oleg Tistol introduced me to the crucial and, as we now know, almost unique and definitely foundational artistic manifesto of Ukrainian contemporary art, “The Willful Boundary of National Post-Eclecticism.” As had often happened in history, the text itself is lost, or at least none of its authors-proponents-theoreticians-creators no longer have it. I know that you were directly involved in its creation. I’d like to talk about it. Yes, I was involved from the very beginning, in a way. We were two couples: Marina [Skugareva] with Oleg and me with Kostia Reunov (at the time). We mostly met at Kostia’s father’s studio on Andriivskyi Descent in Kyiv. It was all a jejune joke, or so we thought, until we realized that we’ve put something very important into words. It coincided with the end of the regime, Perestroika started, we were invited to Moscow, Mitia Kantorov came to invite us- It was like a secret handshake for the Ukrainian group in the Moscow context. That’s it, I’ve said everything I had to say. What came afterwards was another story altogether. You’ve discussed your teachers in many interviews. You said that your interest in color was informed by Zoya Lerman and Borys Lytovchenko, whereas Mykola Storozhenko inspired you to explore forms. You know that story, right? There was this scary moment when the administration wanted to kick us out of the institute. There was this conflict that is best described as ideological. We had this professor, I don’t even remember his name anymore. He was very pro-Soviet: he wasn’t even old, this died-in-the-wool Soviet brownnoser. Our cohort included Golosiy, Hnylytskyj, Max Oriabynskyi, Sasha Klymenko, Kostia Reunov, and Lioka Ryzhykh. The conflict reached the stage where the professor tried to get our entire group, all 6 of us or so, expelled for preparing an “inappropriate” exhibition. This
professor gave us failing grades and wanted to make a show trial of our expulsion. And he failed! In those days, nobody knew what was already allowed, and what was still punishable. Everybody started to rock the boat. People stood up for us. My grandma was a censor for art scholarship in Ukraine, and all my professors had to go through her if they wanted to get anything published. She stood up for me then, but I suspect that, obviously, I don’t know all the details of this episode. In a word, he didn’t manage to get us expelled, but we had to foot the bill for the yearly course exhibition as punishment, which we did, more or less. We had to choose a department, and everyone who hated Soviet painting chose Storozhenko’s program. Mykola Storozhenko never pressured his students, encouraged creativity and free-thinking, and taught everyone the craft of monumental painting. That wasn’t his biggest achievement though: none of us became a monumentalist, although everyone created large-format works back in the day. Kyiv still bears the mark of this gigantism. Storozhenko’s biggest accomplishment lies in the fact that he didn’t crush any of us and guided us towards graduation without professorial authoritarianism so characteristic of the Soviet mentality. Your works show that you are a Western artist, and here’s why. I have a homegrown theory about Ukrainian artists: they have this feminine moistness and an excess of raw talent, but very little by way of ratio. As a theater scholar, I have this example from my field: Ukraine always had brilliant actors, but much fewer directors. Indeed. Because these are Western phenomena. I’d like to talk about Louise Bourgeois. She’s my role model, I don’t even know what to say about her. The thing is, Bourgeois somehow combines vibrant, tense emotions with a solid intellectual background. I always find this appealing, especially given that women are often accused of putting too much emotions and too little ratio into their art. I find this combination very heady: for example, she offers a literal representation of hysteria, but the description remains detached, intellectual and full of dignity. This is very touching. They are very feminine, these works, you would never assume that the artist was a man, these are feminine motifs seen from the inside, but everything remains coordinated, her control never wavers. If one has really developed a world of one’s own and feels good in it, and this world miraculously describes objective reality while staying legible and interesting to a viewer, then I’d consider that a success. As to Louise Bourgeois’s thinking, I believe I can tell why she produced any given work in this way or that. If you can tell at least three times, I believe you understand the artist’s thinking. In conversation with Inga Esterkina
A Girl Without an Oar, acrylic and oil pastel on canvas, 100 x 80 cm, 1995 47