Steps, Ladders, Stairs in Art Volume 2

STEPS, LADDERS, STAIRS in Art

Saint-Petersburg

Steps, Ladders, Stairs in Art. Volume 2. St. Petersburg, Mihail Chemiakin Foundation, 2022. 360 pp., 362 illustrations.

Intended for the general reader, the two-volume monograph Steps, Ladders, Stairs in Art is a visual examination of the many manifestations of stairs in ne art and literature from pre-historic times to the present day. roughout history and across cultures steps, ladders and stairs play a philosophic role in religious tradition and works of art: artists use the image to address questions of the path of life — how to ascend or descend, and where to; what obstacles are encountered on the way; individual ights and falls. e two volumes present Chemiakin’s visual analysis of the subject as well as explanatory texts treating diverse aspects of the research.

Mihail Chemiakin, an artist, sculptor and art researcher, has collected over 2000 images on the theme of stairs in art, of which 768 are presented in this book. Steps, Ladder, Stairs in Art, rst published in Russian in 2020, is the third in a series of books on themes of Chemiakin’s “Museum of the Imagination” research project. e previous volumes are Letters, Words, Text in Art (2015) and Swaddled, Bandaged, Wrapped Figures and Objects in Art (2018).

Concept, compilation, analysis — Mihail Chemiakin

Layout and design — Marina Kesler

Image pre-production — Sergey Krylov

Translations — Sarah H. de Kay

Exhibition curator — Olga Sazonova

Translations: Jorge Luis Borges, The immortal, 1947

Translated by Andrew Hurley

P. 344–345)

© Anthony Clave (ADAGP), Anthony Tapies (ADAGP), Armando (PICTORIGHT), Vladimir Skoda (ADAGP), Gordon Matta-Clark (ARS), Danielle Desuses (ADAGP), Jim Lambie (DACS), Georgia O'Keefe (ARS), Giuseppe Penone (ADAGP), Jacques Karelman (ADAGP), Zarina (SABAM), Isa Genzken (BILD-KUNST), Inge Man (BILD-KUNST), Isamu Noguchi (ARS), Quint Buchholz (BILD-KUNST), Clay Catter (BUS), Loris Cecchini (SIAE), Michael Elmgreen, Ingar Dragset (VISDA), Mimmo Paladino (SIAE), Pablo Reynoso (ADAGP), Piotr Klemensevich (ADAGP), Pier Paolo Calzolari (SIAE), Richard Wentworth (DACS), Robert Smithson (ARS), Svetlana Kopystyansky (ARS), Seal Floyer (BILD-KUNST), Susana Solano (VEGAP), Sam Saffron (ADAGP), Tiharu Shiota (BILD-KUNST), Thomas Gaal (HUNGART), Fabrice Samyn (SOFAM) ), Chema Mados (VEGAP), Edward Weston (ARS), Hubert Quicol (BILD-KUNST) Reproduced per a license agreement with UPRAVIS.

At rst it wasn’t there, that ladder that you can’t see, that you only sense. Those ladders lead to nowhere, they won’t take you to the second or third oor, and anyway, how can you climb a ladder that you don’t see, but only sense? This ladder has no beginning and no end but then, as you climb it you don’t feel the weight of your own body and the burden of ordinary worries, no matter how hard they may press! Isn’t that an extraordinary ladder?

“Where are you going in such a hurry — to the sky? It’s very high, student, you won’t reach the sky.”

“I’ll climb the ladder!”

“…What an idea! A ladder to the sky? How do you like that: a ladder to the sky, ha-ha!”

“Yes, a ladder to the sky! And what of it? Anyone can get a ladder like that!”

ISBN ISBN — Volume 2

©M. Chemiakin, 2019

©A. Pogonyailo, text, 2019

©Sarah H. de Kay, text, 2019

©R. Saikia, text, 2019

Mikolas Slutskis Ladder to the Sky, 1969

Photo: Ruslan Iskhakov (facing title page,

Chemiakin, M.

Ludmilla Volkova, 2010, photograph

THE IMMORTAL

There were corridors that led nowhere, unreachably high windows, grandly dramatic doors that opened onto monklike cells or empty shafts, incredible upsidedown staircases with upside-down treads and balustrades. Other staircases, clinging airily to the side of a monumental wall, petered out after two or three landings, in the high gloom of the cupolas, arriving nowhere.

FLIGHTS OF STAIRS

Why do we speak of “ ights” of stairs, not “runs” or “dashes”? Why are stairwells also called “ ights” in Russian? Can it be because some feel an irresistible urge to “ y” head rst past these many ights, so that the tortured soul, escaping from the body lying in a pool of blood, might utter back up these same ights and depart for the heavenly heights?

As a guard led me up the stairs of the Leningrad KGB headquarters to an interrogation, I glanced down and saw that steel grating was stretched across the stairwell on every oor. “That’s so that the people we arrest can’t throw themselves down the stairs,” explained the guard.

GARSHIN’S HOUSE

…The chill of the steps, the dust on the railing, A wall, a grate, a ight…

Death spilled nocturnal ink, — Quietly summoning to the abyss…

Roald Mandelshtam February 19, 1953

Mihail Chemiakin, 2019

Alexander Khodiuk. The Call of the Stairwell, 2019, graphite on paper, 30 × 21 cm

Jorge Luis Borges, The immortal, 1947,

Translated by Andrew Hurley

REGARDING STAIRS, IN ART AND ELSEWHERE

The Mexican poet, Nobel laureate, essayist and diplomat Octavio Paz once said: stone is humiliated in a stairway and ennobled in sculpture. He meant that in a stairway the stone’s position is one of service, its natural qualities are used to create an object, for example, a stairway on which the steps are easy to ascend, or sit upon, etc. The stone obediently serves the function assigned by an architect or builder. It is simply material “out of which” the stairs are made; here the multifaceted significance of its natural “stoniness” is sacrificed to the purpose of making a stairway, and all that remains of the stoniness is that which serves the builder’s calculations and the user’s comfort: the blocks must be a specific size, their surfaces smooth, etc. Someone walking on the stone or wooden stairs, using them, might notice the usefulness of the stone or wood for these particular purposes — although we must admit that more often than not, a person ascending a stairway will notice the structure only if he trips on it.

In another context, St. Augustine pointed out the semantic difference between two Latin verbs — utor and furor . Both mean “to make use of something.” But in the case of utor an object’s usefulness is as a means for some purpose A Russian term derived from the Latin verb, utilseryo , or scrap metal derived from pots and pans, pipes and beams, demonstrates the concept of “usefulness for something.” Furor , on the other hand, implies enjoyment of the object used, thus the object is not a means but an end. The fathers of the Church taught that earthly things, passing things, should be used ( utor ), in such a way that the reward would be fruito ( furor ), the enjoyment of the eternal. Stone in sculpture, like words in a poem, is partly a means, but also an end in itself; when stone is used for a stairway, it, like the stairway itself, is reduced to a means and thus humiliated.

But when the stairway is “framed” by an artist and turned into an independent aesthetic object, the stone or wood “blossoms.” Contemporary art has seized on this simplistic approach, reinforced by a long history of educating the new European “person of good taste.” This simple approach enables the artist to remove anything, any object at all, from its position in ordinary space and transform it into an artifact by “framing.” The “frame” can be nothing more than a label at an exhibition, a signature, a catalogue number, or other indicator ... What used to be impossible — until recently, a thing had to be created in some other material (paint, stone, words) in order to be considered a work of art — is done now in a moment; an object is transformed into an artifact “by decree.” And what is this if not the “liberation” of ordinary things?

Lourmarin castle staircase, 15th century

The great Spanish philosopher Jose Ortega-y-Gasset explained in the early 20th Century that “liberation of things” is the elevation of any phenomenon encountered into the fullness of its meaning. We, ultra-serious people, busy with important thoughts about the organization of our private and public life, generally look with indi erence at the material objects that surround us, from time to time evaluating them from a purely utilitarian point of view; while these objects “raise their wordless faces to us with an expression of humility and prayer, as if begging us to accept their o ers, at the same time ashamed of the obvious humbleness of their gift,” as Ortega said. These objects that surround us are in essence circumstances, which we have inherited and we need to “liberate” them in order to redeem ourselves — to return to our own and to the objects’ existence the fullness of meaning lost in their use, rashly termed “appropriate.” In the matter of liberating circumstances, the thing-ness of things and the human-ness of people, art and philosophy go hand in hand.

The Musee Imaginaire’s study of stairs includes more than just “stairs in art.” All the more so as what we are accustomed to call “art” has a short history, only three or four centuries. Here we see “stairs in life” and “stairs in consciousness” as well. The latter category includes “stairs in the subconscious”: as Vladimir Ivanov details in his article, stairs are one of the most signi cant archetypes of our collective subconscious. Archetypes or “ rst images” exist exclusively “below” consciousness in the sense that they are hidden from us, obscured by the great variety of physical objects produced in their image. Wrapped into the in nite multiplicity of physical manifestations, the stairs archetype is a sort of unvisualizable and unverbalizable schema of the link between “high” and “low,” similar to the undepictable “triangle in general.” This is a sort of primitive cosmo-theological-anthropology, long ago rejected but not truly abandoned, for it is impossible to expel and buried deep in our psycho-somatics, in our spiritual and bodily mechanism.

Images of stairs come to us like emissaries from different epochs and cultures, they present themselves to us and at the same time represent us ourselves in images of stairs flying up to nowhere, spiraling, stripped of steps, and so on. For a while now we have been living in a secular world, in a world which has ceased to be spiritually originated . This is important to note because in this secular world art has undergone a revolution beginning in the second half of the 19 th century, a revolution that has turned all assumptions about art on their head: “art” shifted from the creation of artifacts to “artistic creation,” an activity independent from and separate from craft. The endless proliferation of “isms,” one replacing another, can be annoying, as many of these “isms” are passing fashions or represent nothing more than a desire to be different; but only art that “grasps” its own time survives and becomes classic . It’s a simple and easily understandable thing: we can constantly draw from the treasures of the past, but we cannot live on them. One must think, write, sculpt, invent only as oneself, as a contemporary person. Non-contemporary art is not art; the art of the past is contemporary as art of the past.

In this connection I would like to leave the subject of stairs and return to a subject much discussed and still under discussion, which means it is

alive — conversations about art, we all know, are unending. I am thinking about Chemiakin’s monument to Peter the Great in the Peter and Paul Fortress. Some smirk, “What kind of Peter is this? An ugly monster!” In the end, tourists are awed by names anointed by the centuries. But the judgments of highly educated people are eloquent, as exemplified by the great philologist and sensitive judge of word and image, Boris Valentinovich Averin (to my great regret recently deceased). He admired the monument, which, he maintained, desacralizes the image of Peter manifested in Falconet’s Bronze Horseman . I happened to see correspondence on this subject between a writer and translator I know and her former student, who was working as a guide at the time. With permission of the author, I quote from it here:

Dear Katya, I listened in general terms to Averin’s ideas, he is a wonderful and highly imaginative writer. I will watch the video again later. For now, I can say that I do not agree at all with his thesis about Chemiakin’s sculpture as an attempt to desacralize the figure of Peter. This is nothing more than imagining with one’s eyes closed. Chemiakin’s Peter is no less magnificent and sacred than Falconet’s. Look carefully. The difference is something else. Falconet’s Peter is a great monument which has taken root in Petersburg and has become its symbol — a traditional official portrait (compare it to the Hermitage’s military gallery) of a commander and emperor, while Chemiakin’s Peter, exuding no less strength and will, does not pretend to the status of an official portrait. This tsar, by chance observed by another person, is also the apotheosis of strength and will, but seen more profoundly and, most importantly, by an artist of a different time and thus more psychologically astute . This is a daring and successful challenge to the Bronze Horseman, installed in the very place, where it was destined to be. This is why it is not lost, as sometimes happens with sculptures. With time it will take root in Petersburg, as did the Bronze Horseman, and even if Chemiakin sculpted nothing but that monument, he would still become part of the history of the city and of world sculpture. Of course, one can see the influence of E.T.A. Hoffman and even Henry Moore, but in the 20 th century there were no unschooled artists.

I would like to agree with these words.

Alexander Pogonyailo Doctor of philosophy, professor, St. Petersburg State University

PHYSICAL AND METAPHYSICAL

STAIRS

IN DOSTOEVSKY’S CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

“(It) is hard to avoid the feeling that there were two Petersburgs: formal, magni cent, elegant, European Petersburg — the Petersburg of Pushkin and Akhmatova; and bureaucratic, mercantile, ‘backstairs’ Petersburg — the Petersburg of Dostoevsky and Nekrasov.”

Alexander Kushner1

Dostoevsky’s novel Crime and Punishment begins with Raskolnikov descending the stairs from his attic room on the way for a trial run of the murder he has planned; it ends as he ascends the stairs of the police station to confess to the crime and accept his punishment. In between Raskolnikov inexorably, restlessly, ceaselessly goes up and down the stairs to his fth- oor garret, the pawnbroker’s fourth- oor apartment, Marmeladov’s quarters (also on the fourth oor), the police station ( rst described as being on the fourth oor, then on the third), and Sonya’s room ( rst described as being on the third oor, then on the second).

In fact, Raskolnikov takes the stairs 51 times in the novel; of these, 35 trips are described in greater or lesser detail. The reader cannot help wondering — what is happening on those stairways? And what is the stairways’ role in the novel?

By design, stairways in St. Petersburg apartment buildings such as those in the novel served to separate the disparate classes that were living in close proximity. Poorer tenants often had access to their lodgings only from back stairs entered from the service courtyard. In Russian, the terms used to describe the stairways are far from neutral: front stairs are called “paradnyie” — “formal,” “o cial,” “ceremonial”; back stairs are called “chernyie” — “black” stairs. The former term suggests grandeur, publicity, and pomp; the latter squalor, lth, and obscurity.

On the surface, of course, these back stairways, consistently described as smoky, stinking, stu y, noisy, dark and dirty, are simply one more indignity in the miserable lives of poor Petersburgers. The darkness, stu ness and stench on the stairways are a fact of life for the characters in the novel and relevant to Dostoevsky’s social commentary. But for Raskolnikov, the stairs clearly represent more than just a nuisance in his day-to-day life. Much of his agonizing over his act — planned and executed — takes place as he is ascending or descending the stairs. He encounters people on his way; he threatens to throw Luzhin down the stairs; he “catapults” down the stairs himself. Stairs gure prominently in his dreams and visions, and he repeatedly yearns to “get o the stairs.”

Raskolnikov’s descent from his garret is a gauntlet he must run. He dreads encountering his landlady and being drawn into mundane matters, such as his overdue rent. His debt doesn’t weigh on him, rather it annoys him. Here he is about to commit an act that will prove that he is a superior being like Napoleon, with the right to kill for the greater good, and such petty matters as rent are beneath his dignity, unworthy of his attention.

“To stop on the stairs and listen to all sorts of nonsense about all this day-to-day rubbish for which he has no time, all these demands for payment, threats, complaints, and to nd himself wriggling out of it, asking to be excused, lying — no, no, better to slip by like a cat on the stairway and disappear...”2 In fact, he is disgusted with himself for even thinking about his debt and about avoiding his landlady; it seems to be dragging him down. He just wants to get down the stairs, and their imposition of petty earthly concerns, unimpeded.

As he leaves the pawnbroker’s after his rehearsal of the murder, Raskolnikov stops several times on his descent by the stairs, and cries out “Oh God, how repulsive this all is! (…) Most importantly, it’s dirty, noxious, loathsome, loathsome!” 3 A few hours later, Raskolnikov dreams that muzhiki beat an old horse to death as they cry that they have the right since one of them owns the horse. On awakening, Raskolnikov says to himself that he cannot go through with the murder. He recalls that “’just yesterday, as I was going down/getting o the stairway, I myself said that it was evil, ugly, low, low…’” and yearns for salvation: “’Lord!’ he prayed,

Ludmilla Volkova, 2010, Stairs, Sadovaya street, St. Petersburg, photograph

2

Lenizdat, 1970, Leningrad, Part 1, Chapter 1, p. 4. (Citations from Crime and Punishment are quoted here in the author’s translation.)

3 Ibid. Part 1, Chapter 1, p. 10.

1 Alexander Kushner, In Petersburg We’ll Meet Again published in Frank Althaus and Mark Sutcli e, eds., 3 Petersburg Perspectives, 2003, London (Fontanka), p. 20.

‘show me my path, and I will forsake this damned dream of mine!’”4 Raskolnikov is on a path, on a stairway, that is leading him inexorably to his crime; he is desperate to get o it and free himself from his own plan.

The stairs in the novel, like the daily lives of the characters, are dark, so dark that even the light of Petersburg’s White Nights cannot penetrate the darkness. As Raskolnikov climbs the stairs to the pawnbroker’s apartment on his trial run, “The stairway was dark and narrow, ‘black’, but he already knew all this and had studied it: in this darkness even a curious gaze was harmless.” 5 The next stairs he climbs lead to Marmeladov’s apartment: “The further up, the darker the stairs became. It was already almost 11:00, and even though in this season in Petersburg there is no true night, nonetheless at the top of the stairs it was very dark.”6

Returning to the pawnbroker’s apartment after the murders, Raskolnikov notices a new window frame, indicating that there is at least one window on the stairway, but “It was very dark on the narrow, steep stairway.”7

Arriving at the house where Sonya lodged, “In the courtyard he sought out the entrance to a narrow, dark staircase and nally took it to the second oor, where he found himself in a passage that ran the length of the oor on the courtyard side of the house. As he wandered, confused, in the dark…”8

In a delirious dream Raskolnikov returns to the pawnbroker’s stairway. Moonlight seeps through a window on the second- oor landing, but, as on the stairs to Marmeladov’s apartment, Raskolnikov remarks as he climbs higher, “My God, how dark it is!”9

Darkness at the top of the stairs runs counter to the archetypal association of stairs and steps with spiritual growth and enlightenment. Russian Orthodox Christian icons in the tradition of St. John Climacus point to light at the top of the stairs or ladder. As the same word (лестница) is used in Russian for stairways and ladders, the association of the stairs in the novel with Jacob’s ladder and Climacus’ “Ladder of Divine Ascent” is strong. Raskolnikov, in his constant maniacal climbing and descending, senses that he is on a path he wants to avoid. He strives to be “above” morality, religion, and the human condition; again and again he wishes to “get o ” the stairs, which he sees as an annoyance, an impediment to his ambitions.

Does Raskolnikov’s repeated desire to “get down/o the stairs” mirror his attitude towards the murders? Towards life? He has doubts as he goes down stairs: on his way down the stairs from his garret, he doubts his plan to commit the murder; on his way downstairs from Sonya’s room to confess to the crime, he thinks about abandoning the plan. Getting down/o the stairs promises to free him of mundane concerns, and also from his own plan to commit murder. At no point in the novel does he strive to get onto or UP the stairs, and he clearly does

4 Ibid. Part 1, Chapter 5, p. 60.

5 Ibid. Part 1, Chapter 1, p. 6.

6 Ibid. Part 1, Chapter 2, p. 24.

7 Ibid. Part 2, Chapter 6, p. 167.

8 Ibid. Part 4, Chapter 4, p. 308.

9 Ibid. Part 3, Chapter 6, p. 270.

not expect or wish to nd light at the summit.

This is hardly surprising as Raskolnikov already lives at the top of the stairs. His room is 13 steps above the nearest apartment. And the room, far from representing a shining summit, “resembles a co n.” In this room Raskolnikov formulated the benighted theory of his own — possible — superiority to the mass of humankind that bustles below him. The room is physically “above the fray,” already on a higher plane than the rest of mankind. But this higher plane is not in the light, it is the darkness at the top of the stairs.

When light appears in his room, Raskolnikov’s rst thought is that an earthly reckoning is at hand in the form of police searching his lodging. In fact, the light is due to the presence of his mother and sister, whose love for Raskolnikov is unconditional, like the love of God. The “reckoning” o ered is a spiritual one. Raskolnikov, still trapped in the stairway, trying to determine whether he is in fact a superior being, or a louse, is not ready for either. His potential (earthly) arrest or (spiritual) salvation worry him in the same way as his potential encounter with his landlady at the start of the novel: either one threatens to distract him from his thoughts, plans, his own resolution of the philosophical question that torments him.

Mihail Chemiakin, illustration to Crime and punishment by Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky, Hostess beating scene, 2021, pencil on paper

Perhaps for the same reason, Raskolnikov avoids contact with everyone he meets on the stairs — the priest at Marmeladov’s apartment, the sexton at Sonya’s rooms, the housepainters and clients at the pawnbrokers, the yardmen from apartment buildings hurrying up and down the stairs to the police station.

After committing the murders Raskolnikov considers hiding on “an unfamiliar stairway.”10 This urge stems not only from the desire to escape arrest for his crime but also from his tormented wish to escape from himself. Por ry’s investigation of the murders focuses on what happened on the stairs to the pawnbroker’s apartment more than what happened in the apartment itself, where the murders took place.

Raskolnikov vacillates between to paths forward: ight or redemption. Waking up from a delirious state following the murders, Raskolnikov thinks, “It would

10 Ibid. Part 1, Chapter 7, p. 85.

be better to run away altogether. Far away… to America. (…) If I can only get down/get o the stairs!”11 The path of redemption rst occurs to him as he leaves the Marmeladovs’ apartment: for the only time in the novel someone manages to stop him on the stairs. It is Sonya’s sister Polechka, whom Raskolnikov asks to pray for him. Razumikhin, Raskolnikov’s “reasonable” friend, is perpetually mid-stairway, dashing halfway up and down stairs, engaging with others on the stairs and landings. He is fully of this world, living on an entirely realistic plane, o ering Raskolnikov work, buying clothes, courting Dunya, and aiding and protecting Dunya and Pulkheria Ivanovna. He moves the ladies from the sordid backstairs lodgings Luzhin had secured for them to new rooms, whose stairs were “entered from the street,” that is, rooms on the front stairs.

Svidrigailov and Sonya, who offer to accompany Raskolnikov on these respective paths, live in adjacent apartments and thus share a stairway. Svidrigailov discovers this as he follows Sonya into the courtyard and sees her take his stairway. “’Bah!’ murmured the unknown gentleman, who then started up the steps right behind her.”12 Later Svidrigailov meets Raskolnikov at the foot of the stairs to Sonya’s and mutters, “’…all persons must have air, air, air…First and foremost!’ He stepped aside abruptly to make way for the priest and sexton who were starting up the stairs (…) Svidrigailov went on his way. Raskolnikov stood and thought for a moment, then followed the priest into Sonya’s apartment.”13 The last time Svidrigailov sees Raskolnikov, he escorts him out of his apartment: “’So are you satis ed? I have no more time to lose. I’m locking the desk drawer, I’m locking the apartment, and once

11 Ibid. Part 2, Chapter 3, p. 125.

12 Ibid. Part 3, Chapter 4, p. 238.

13 Ibid. Part 6, Chapter 1, p. 432.

again we nd ourselves on the stairs.’”14 None of Svidrigailov’s trips up and down stairs — or those of Sonya, for that matter — are described in any detail; at no point does Svidrigailov or Sonya agonize over decisions while on the stairs. Unlike most of the other characters, they live in rooms not accessed directly from the staircase, their route free of kitchen doors and the attendant odors. Their respective social and moral positions are already established: Svidrigailov, outwardly a gentleman but utterly corrupt, and Sonya, outwardly a prostitute but utterly pure.

The stairways to Marmeladov’s rooms and to the police station are lthy, strewn with garbage and speci cally eggshells, and are foul-smelling. This litter along with the darkness make the stairs di cult and hazardous to negotiate. On each oor, kitchen doors on the landings are open, releasing strong smells. The Marmeladovs keep their windows shut but not the door to the stairway, despite the stench that comes from the stairs; and a strong tobacco odor from inside their apartment contributes to the olfactory mix. The police station is also located on the back stairs of an apartment building, and as he ascends to the station Raskolnikov passes the same “kitchens, emitting smoke and stench” and sordid dwellings that he does on his way to Marmeladov’s rooms.

In contrast, the stairs to the pawnbroker’s apartment, although also “black”, and dark, are described not in terms of smell and lth, but in terms of sounds: voices and steps. Ascending the stairs to commit the murder, Raskolnikov listens carefully. Here the doors to all the apartments are closed and no kitchen smells or litter are described. Raskolnikov doesn’t notice the smell of fresh paint from the apartment Mikola and Dmitri are preparing for a new tenant. Leaving the 4th oor apartment after the murders, he once again listens carefully. He hears someone singing “some melody” while descending from the second oor.

When Raskolnikov lies sick and feverish after the murders, he dreams of a terrible scene on the stairway outside his room — a scene that he hears, rather than sees (or smells): “Such unnatural noises, such wailing, howling, scratching, tears, beating and swearing he had never before heard or seen. He couldn’t imagine such savagery, such frenzy (…) (The) ghting and swearing got louder and louder. (…) What is going on, has the world gone mad? He could hear how, on all the oors, on the whole stairway a crowd had gathered, he could hear voices, cries, people arrived, knocked on doors, slammed doors, ran to the scene…”15 Later, after his encounter with a stranger who accuses him of the murders, he again falls into a delirious state, and this time has visions accompanied by smells but not sounds, at the end of which he sees “a dark stairway, totally dark, covered with garbage and strewn with eggshells.” It is on the imagined stairway that sound rst comes into play: “and from a distance he could hear Sunday church bells ringing.”16

In the novel’s denouement, Svidrigailov, having announced that he is leaving for America, and o ering to take Raskolnikov along with him, stops in a sordid

14 Ibid. Part 6, Chapter 5, p. 477.

15 Ibid. Part 2, Chapter 3, p. 113.

16 Ibid. Part 3, Chapter 6, p. 267.

Ludmilla Volkova, 2008, Stairs, Sadovaya street, St. Petersburg, photograph

inn at the edge of town. He spends the night in a room located under a stairway, where he worries that “ lth” will enter the room with the rising oodwaters. He dreams of the only front stairway described in the novel. This dream stairway is in a garden outside the city’s squalor; it is white marble, clean, strewn with owers… and leads to the body of a girl who drowned herself after being seduced by Svidrigailov. A few hours after this dream, Svidrigailov carries out his plan to kill himself — a step that in Christianity precludes salvation.

On this same morning, Raskolnikov climbs the stairs to the police station, on Sonya’s urging, to confess. “’For now, all I’m doing is climbing the stairs,’ he thought. And in general, it seemed to him that the fatal moment was still a long way o , there was still lots of time, still time to reconsider numerous things. And again, the same lth, the same eggshells on the winding staircase, again the doors to apartments wide open, again the kitchens emitting smoke and stench.”17 He is still on the physical stairway, still in transit, nothing is irreversible. At the station he learns of Svidrigailov’s suicide and feels as if “something had fallen on him and crushed him.”18 He goes back downstairs without confessing. When he returns to the police station a few minutes later, his ascent is not described. This ascent is the start of his path to redemption, rebirth, the path to which Sonya has led him.

Sarah H. de Kay, Writer, translator, editor at Museum of the Imagination, France

THE ENDURING APPEAL OF SNAKES

AND LADDERS

17 Ibid. Part 6, Chapter 6, p. 518.

18 Ibid. Part 6, Chapter 6, p. 522.

The popular dice-game Snakes and Ladders originated in India in the late 17th century in three sectarian variants: Jain, Hindu and, more rarely, Muslim.1 Players of all three versions competed to ascend to the highest level of spiritual enlightenment via ladders representing virtue, or righteous action as prescribed by scripture They could be cast down at any time if they landed on snakes, representing vice and folly. The game is notable for its balanced combination of devotional, didactic and recreational qualities, a rarity in games of chance. Some early versions of the game board were designed for display rather than use, thus serving a devotional purpose. Many are of considerable beauty, such as the Maharashtra gouache presented to the Royal Asiatic Society in 1831 by Major Henry Dundas Robertson.2 The widespread Hindu variant of Snakes and Ladders eventually found its way to the West from British India in the late 19th century. It was successfully marketed in Britain by Spears Games Ltd and in the USA by the Milton Bradley Company. In these Western versions, Christian values replaced Hindu ones, though the snakes and ladders, universal and instantly legible symbols, were retained. This is unsurprising: both ladder and snake gure as archetypes in the symbolism of a wide variety of cultures and belief systems3, including Christianity and Hinduism4. In his novel Midnight’s Children, Salman Rushdie interprets the game as a telling representation of the human condition.

All games have morals; and the game of Snakes and Ladders captures, as no other activity can hope to do, the eternal truth that for every ladder you hope to climb, a snake is waiting just around the corner, and for every snake a ladder will compensate. But it’s more than that; no mere carrot-and-stick a air; because implicit in the

1 Tops eld, Andrew (1985) “The Indian Game of Snakes and Ladders” in Artibus Asiae 46:3, pp. 203–26; pp. 85–86 and Tops eld, Andrew (2006) “Snakes and Ladders in India: Some Further Discoveries” in Artibus Asiae 66:1, pp. 143–79.

2 https://royalasiaticcollections.org/ras-051-001-snakes-and-ladders/

3 Eliade, Mircea. Patterns in Comparative Religion. London; New York: Sheed & Ward, 1958. pp. 102–108 ladders) and ibid. pp. 164–169 (snakes).

4 Judaeao-Christian examples are the Nachash the cunning serpent that tempts Eve (Genesis 3:1), and the Saraph, the ery serpents inhabiting the desert wilderness (Numbers 21:4-9) whose venom and its e ects represent the burning wrath of God. Notable Hindu serpents include Kāliya, a gigantic poisonous snake eventually subdued by Lord Krishna (Bhagavata Purana 10:16).

game is the unchanging twoness of things, the duality of up against down, good against evil; the solid rationality of ladders balances the occult sinuosities of the serpent; in the opposition of staircase and cobra we can see, metaphorically, all conceivable oppositions, Alpha against Omega, father against mother.5

The example shown here is a mid-20th century Indian version [Fig. 1], still in production by the Kreeda6 games company. It o ers a compelling Anglo-Indian fusion of Eastern and Western values and imagery, a departure from the Spears and Bradley editions, which had fully replaced Hindu with Judaeo-Christian concepts. The name, Paramapada Sopanam, literally means “Steps [sopanam] to the Highest Place [paramapada].7 This is often translated as the “Ladder to Salvation”, strikingly reminiscent of the Christian “Ladder of Divine Ascent”. In fact a more appropriate translation of sopanam would be not “ladder” but “staircase”. It is helpful to visualize the 134 squares on the board as steps, and the ladders as potential shortcuts from lower to higher steps. The ten ladders in this version are given English names, representing Christian virtues — honesty, concentration, hard work, courtesy, helpfulness, determination, dedication, compassion, wisdom and contentment. The thirteen snakes bear the Sanskrit names of demons, each embodying a fatal vice: lust, tyranny, cruelty, greed, ambition, sloth, jealousy, overcon dence, anger, pride, vengefulness and arrogance. It is easy to see how the game in this format might provide a useful point of departure for illuminating discussion between parents and children, or serve as an educational tool at a higher level, as well as being an enjoyable pastime.

In recent years the game has been adapted to accommodatea broad spectrum of secular aspiration — no surprise, given the archetypal appeal of its imagery, which isas adaptable to the material world as it is to the moral and spiritual. In these modern adaptations, the didactic quality of the game is retained, though reward and punishment are to be had in the here-and-now rather in the hereafter. However, despite the dramatic shift of emphasis, the symbolic potency of the snake and the ladder are undiminished. “Move Up In Life With Healthy Habits” features a ladder of Fruit and Vegetables and a snake of Fried Snacks and Bakery Products. “Corporate Snakes & Ladders” features a Work on Sunday ladder and a Lied on CV snake. The Mahila Housing Trust in Ahmedabad has developed a version designed to teach the urban poor how to combat unsanitary living conditions. Snakes include Drinking Contaminated Water, along with a ladder of Investment in Children’s Education. The University of Cape Town has devised a “Coming Out” Snakes and Ladders, designed to help gay men and women come to terms with their sexuality.

5 Rushdie, Salman. Midnight’s Children. London: Random House, 2006. p. 160.

6 https://www.amazon.in/Kreeda-Parama-Pada-Sopanam-Traditional/dp/B07XKCJ2XM

7 The game was known by various names in India. The Jain variant was known as Gyan Chauper (the game of wisdom), the Hindu variant Moksha Patam (the ascent to salvation), the Muslim variant Shatranj-al-Ari n (the chess of gnostics). See Tops eld op. cit. (1985 and 2006) for further elaboration.

Regardless of how purists might view these innovations, their existence certainly bears witness to the enduring power of the snake and ladder archetypes. The very orderliness of the game — its reassuring compartmentalization of good and evil, rise and fall, light and dark — lends itself to all manner of persuasive modi cation. On this seductive orderliness, Rushdie sounds a note of warning: “I found, very early in my life, that the game lacked one crucial dimension, that of ambiguity — because, as events are about to show, it is also possible to slither down a ladder and climb to triumph on the venom of a snake.”8 Dark though it is, one could argue that this remark enhances rather than diminishes the appeal and utility of the game, leading players to question the complexitiesof ascent or descent, whether spiritual, moral or material, embodied in the deceptively simple imagery.

Robin Saikia Historian, writer, author of “The Red Book” (Foxley Books)

Kismet. Historian, writer, author of “The Red Book” (Foxley Books) “Snakes and Ladders”. c. 1985, chromolithograph board game

8 Rushdie. p. 160 op. cit.

Co ee Plantations, Yemen

Ritual cleansing pools, Jami' al-Mansur Complex, Amran, Yemen, XIII century

Jami' al-Mansur Complex, Amran, Yemen, XIII century

Jami' al-Mansur Complex, Amran, Yemen, XIII century

Jami' al-Mansur Complex, Amran, Yemen, XIII century

Jami' al-Mansur Complex, Amran, Yemen, XIII century

Paul Strand , The Entrance from the book Un Paese: Portrait of an Italian Village, 1955, photograph

Etruscan stairs cut from the ground, Northern Italy, c. 500 BC, photograph

Steps, Malaysia, photograph

Sophie Walraven, Stairs, oil on canvas, 115 × 74 cm

Giuseppe Penone, Contour lines, 1989, cast iron, 50 × 150 × 200 cm

Bennett Greig, The summit of the Intihuatana Rock, Machu Picchu, 1938, photograph, 23.7 × 17.6 cm

Antoni Tapies, Ladder, 1988, chamotte clay, 57 × 77 × 81 cm

Susana Solano, Fontana № 3, 1985, iron, 88 × 208 × 196 сm

David Ireland, Smithsonian Falls, Descending a staircase for P.K. 1987, installation

Mihail Chemiakin, 2011, photograph

Jami' al-Mansur Complex, Amran, Yemen, XIII century

Jean-Marc Gourdon, 2007, photograph

Alma Lavenson, Calaveras Dam II, 1932, printed 1983, photograph, 25.4 × 20.3 cm

Imogen Cunningham, Mills College Amphitheatre, c. 1920, photograph, 21.5 × 19.6 cm

Julia Szilagyi, Up or down? 1999, photograph, 28 × 32 cm

Mihail Сhemiakin, photograph

Jantar Mantar sundial, 1734, stone

Anselm Kiefer, H2O, 2005, oil, crayon and photo-collage on paper, 101.5 × 140 cm

Hans Vredeman de Vries, Stairs in perspective, 1605, copper engraving on paper, 28.6 × 19.2 cm

Rachel Whiteread, Untitled (Stairs), 2001, plaster, berglass, wood, 375 × 220 × 580 cm

Magdalena Jetelova, Stairs, 1982–1983, wood, metal, 510 × 310 cm1*

Erik Johansson, Perspective Squarecase, 2009, photomontage

Martina Casey, Escher inspired scenography, 2017, paper, cardboard, scotch tape, sponge, brushes, scissors2

Maurits Cornelis Escher, Relativity, 1953, lithograph, 39.3 × 39.5 cm

Madalina Zaharia, Artist Talk I (twenty slides and two words), 2018, digitally printed canvas, metal shapes and curtain pole, 240 × 180 cm

Carlo Scarpa, Brion Cemetery, San Vito, Italy, 1968–1978, concrete

Adam McEwan, Staircase 2016, wood, steel, 570 × 390 × 120 cm

Rachel Whiteread, Untitled (Basement), 2001, plasticized plaster, 325.1 × 657.9 × 368.3 cm

David Umemoto, Stairway to Nowhere, 2017, concrete, 22.9 × 7.6 × 30.5 cm

Rachel Whiteread, Untitled (Stairs), 2001, plaster, berglass, wood, 375 × 220 × 580 cm

Hubert Kiecol, Ways 1992, wood, paint, each 33 × 25 × 33 cm

Mimmo Paladino, Souvenirs, 1990, mixed media on wood, 63 × 62 cm

Edward Weston, MGM Storage lot (Stairs), 1939, photograph

Edward Weston, MGM Storage lot (Stairs), 1939, photograph

Charles Demuth, Stairs. Provincetown, 1920, watercolor and pencil on board, 59.7 × 49.5 cm

Walid Siti, Joined Ladder, 2016, twigs, acrylic, 280 × 100 × 100 cm

Francesco Carone, Totem, 2010, old wooden ladders, 410 × 120 × 120 cm

Charlie Brouwer, Rise Up Atlanta, 2011, ladders, heavy duty cable ties, and tags identifying lenders

Jo Coupe, Solid Air 2017, stepladders, colored nylon string, magnetic eld, rare earth magnets

Jo Coupe, Solid Air, 2017, stepladders, colored nylon string, magnetic field, rare earth magnets3

Yoko Ono, Skywatch Ladders, 2007, installation (wooden ladders various heights, white canvases with the word "Skyladder"), ladders: from 170 to 190 cm; canvases : each 34.5 × 24.5 cm

Peter Böhm, Lanxess Arena (Kölnarena), Cologne, Germany, 1995–1998

Peter Böhm, Lanxess Arena (Kölnarena), Cologne, Germany, 1995–1998

Do Ho Sun, Staircase-V, 2008, silk

Marco Tirelli, 2013

Jimmy Robert, Descendants of naked, 2016, installation detail (wood)

Hubert Kiecol, Bright сarrier, 2012, сoncrete, wood, 40.5 × 23 × 45 cm

Charles Sheeler, Doylestown House — Stairs from Below 1917, photograph, 21 × 15 cm

Charles Sheeler, Doylestown House, Stairwell, 1914–1917, photograph, 24.2 × 16.8 cm

Frederick Henry Evans, Kelmscott Manor: in the Attics (2), 1896, platinum print, 19.9 × 14.9 cm

Theron Taylor, Denver, Colo, 1973, photograph

Xavier Mellery, Staircase, 1889, back and red chalk on paper, 57 × 45 cm

Charles Sheeler, Staircase, Doylestown, 1925, oil on canvas, 63.5 × 53.3 cm

Sam Szafran, Staircase c. 1989, watercolor on silk

Sam Szafran, Untitled, 1990, watercolor on silk, 19 × 13.5 cm4

Sam Szafran, Staircase, 54 rue de Seine, c. 1992, watercolor on silk

Sam Szafran, 1990s

Katie Simon, Jacob’s Ladder, 2000s, pastel on paper, 50 × 40 cm

William Blake, Jacob’s Ladder, 1806, pencil and watercolor on paper, 39.8 × 30.6 cm

Devilliers the Elder, reproduction of Rembrandt’s Philosopher in Meditation, 1814, engraving

Andrea Palladio, Illustration for the book Four books about architecture, 15705

Hans Vredeman de Vries, illustration from book Perspective, 1604–1605, copper engraving on paper

Tom Kirsch, Staircase, Western State Hospital, Washington 2007, photograph

Giovanni Battista Piranesi, The Round Tower, from Imaginary Prisons, plate III, c. 1749–1750, etching, 63 × 49.5 cm

Filippo Juvarra, Scenography with stairs, end of the XVII, black ink on paper

Karl Blechen, Spiral staircase in Meiben, 1823, mixed media

Giovanni Battista Piranesi, View of a dungeon, from Imaginary Prisons, c. 1744–1745, pen in brown over black pencil, brown washed (feather in dark brown), 25.4 × 18.6 cm

Lourmarin castle stairs, XV century

Сastle stairs

Spiral staircase in the Old Royal Naval College Chapel, Maritime Greenwich, London, 1694

The Imperial Stairs — staircase between library and church, Melk Abbey, Austria, XVIII centuryвек

Cyril Edward Power, The Tube Staircase, 1929, color linocut on paper

Martine Rinder, Untitled, 1990s

Vincent Lamouroux, Heliscope 2007, steel construction, paint, 810 × 600 × 600 cm6

Architectural model, XIX century

Mike Fields, Ribbon of life, stainless steel7

Benjamin Shine, Ascension — Twisted Ladder in Wood, 2015, wood

Olafur Eliasson, Rewriting, 2004

Hiroshi Nakamura, Ribbon Chapel, 2013

Isamu Noguchi, Slide Mantra, 1966–1985, marble, 69.2 × 61.6 × 70.5 cm

Isamu Noguchi, Slide Mantra, 1966–1985, marble, 49,8 × 56.2 × 60.3 cm

Tom Carr, The Ladder, 1980s

Robert Smithson, Spiral of Slate or Shale, 1970, graphite on board, 47 × 58.4 cm

< Oscar Tuazon, TBT, 2017, cement, brick, wood, 121.9 × 100.3 × 124.5 cm

Jene Highstein, Cedar Staircase, 1999, cedar, 487.7 × 104.1 cm

Marco Tirelli, Untitled, 2000s, plaster, wood, metal, 58 × 13 × 15 cm

Carmiel Van Breedam, Snow, 2005, 47 × 21.5 × 34.5 cm

Elizabeth Jaeger, Two owers and a Staircase, 2018, ceramics, 30.5 × 17.8 × 10.2 cm

Wolfgang Laib, Staircase 2003, lacquer on wood, 290 × 185 × 62 cm

Jackie Ferrara, Stacked Pyramid, 1972, cotton batting with glue on wood, 61 × 132.1 × 33 cm

Tatsuo Kawaguchi, Relation — Optic Stairway Time, Verdigris and Upwards, Downwards, 2014, wood, paper, copper, varnish, 16 × 34 × 5.1 cm

Wolfgang Laib, Ziggurat, 2003, lacquer on wood, 238.8 × 317.5 × 66 cm

Isa Genzken, Untitled, 2017, concrete, 60.5 × 70 × 20 cm PYRAMIDIC

Vladimir Skoda, Untitled, 1984–1985, forged steel, 110 × 85 × 85 cm

Vladimir Skoda, Pyramid, 1987, forged steel, 80 × 80 × 100 cm

Vladimir Skoda, Untitled, 1984–1985, forged steel, 25 × 25 × 25 cm

Vladimir Skoda, Untitled, 1985, forged steel, 13 × 40 × 40 cm

Dani Karavan, Aliya (Ascent), 2014, Earth sculpture, 160 × 50 × 50 cm

Marco Tirelli, Untitled, 2013

Paul de Monchaux, Uxmal, 2008, bronze

David Umemoto, Cubic Geometry VI–II 2016, concrete, 15.2 × 15.2 × 15.2 cm

Marco Tirelli, Untitled, 2013, installation (plaster and wood)

Tatsuo Kawaguchi, Relation — Optic Stairway Time, 2014, styrene board, lotus seed, gesso, pencil, varnish, 20 × 22.5 × 16.5 cm

Inge Mahn, Balancing Towers, 1989, plaster on metal construction, 260 × 83 × 143 cm

Hubert Kiecol, Three houses with stairs, 1984, concrete, h. — 24 cm

Gao Weigang, Superstructure, 2010, stainless steel, titanium, 180 × 120 × 12.5 cm

Zarina, Ascent, 2014, paper printed with black ink and collaged with gold leaf paper, 46.4 × 43.2 cm

Michael Simpson, Squint 55, 2017, photograph

Hubert Kiecol, Two ladders, 1992, printing ink on cardboard, particle board, glass, 220 × 55 cm

Hubert Kiecol, The way up, 1994, oil on paper, 62 × 46 cm

Yves Guillot, 2001, photograph

Javad Rooein, Ladder, 2016, photograph

Agusti Roque, Impossible, 1985

Hubert Kiecol, Untitled, 1980, concrete, 195 × 28 × 23 cm

Tatsuo Kawaguchi, Vertical Time, or Stairway Time, 2014, wood, paper, copper, varnish

Hubert Kiecol, Ladder, 1994, concrete, 14 × 14 × 11 cm

Concrete Steps and Railings

Yoko Ono, Ceiling Painting, Yes Painting 1966, text on paper, glass, metal frame, metal chain, magnifying glass, painted ladder, ladder: 183 × 49 × 21 cm, framed text: 64.8 × 56.4 cm

Pope L., Around, 2015, installation

Michelangelo Pistoletto, Wooden ladder, 1962–1983, silkscreen on stainless steel, 125 × 90 cm

Sylvie Fleury, Ladder, 2007, 23,5 carat gold layer, bronze, 196 cm

Gerwald Rockenschaub, Ladder Podium, 1993, aluminum, rubber wheels, 284 × 114 × 180 cm

Kirk Amaral Snow, When Transition Becomes Stasis, 2010, ladder, drywall, aluminum studs, adjustable clamps, joint compound and paint

Carmiel Van Breedam, Stair — stairs (Trap-trap), 2012, 47 × 21.5 × 34.5 cm

Robert Whitman, Dante Drawings 1974–1975, colored graphite, pastel, wax crayon and aluminum foil on paper

Zarina, Ascent, 2014, paper printed with black ink and collaged with gold leaf paper, 46.4 × 43.2 cm

Tatsuo Kawaguchi, Vertical Time, or Stairway Time, 2014, wood, paper, copper, varnish

Gordon Matta-Clark, Bingo, 1974, painted wood, metal, plaster, glass, 1.75 × 7.8 × 0.25 m

Sam Szafran, c. 1989–1995, watercolor, silk

Sam Szafran, Staircase, 1991, watercolor, silk, 28.5 × 10 cm

Sam Szafran, c. 1992–1995, watercolor

Sam Szafran, Staircase, c. 1992–1995, watercolor, 13 × 16.5 cm

Sam Szafran, c. 1992–1995, watercolor

Sam Szafran, c. 1989–1995, watercolor, silk

Sam Szafran, Staircase, 1991–1992, watercolor, silk

Sam Szafran, c. 1989–1995, watercolor, silk

Sam Szafran, c. 1989–1995, watercolor, silk

Sam Szafran, c. 1989–1995, watercolor, silk

Sam Szafran, c. 1989–1995, watercolor, silk, 50 × 31.5 cm

Sam Szafran, Untitled, 1997–1998, watercolor, ink, silk

Toblerusse, The Ones of '84 2010s, acrylic on canvas, 91.5 × 61 cm

Toblerusse, Apophenia 85:86 | 87:86, 2010s, acrylic on canvas, 101.6 × 76.2 cm

Toblerusse, Shark, 2010s, acrylic on canvas, 71.1 × 55.9 cm

Toblerusse, Snakes and ladders, 2010s, acrylic on canvas, 61 × 61 cm

Toblerusse, Rollercoasterwater, 2010s, acrylic on canvas, 91.5 × 91.5 cm

Gregory Pototsky, Movie Director Luis Gasia Berlanga, 2009, bronze, 108 × 38 × 45 cm

Viktor Popovic, Untitled, 2008, iron, used motor oil, 92,5 × 150 × 175 cm

Steve Rossi, Reciprocal Ladder, 2012, wood and acrylic latex, 72 × 36 × 22 cm

Jacques Carelman, Vertical adhesive ladder, second half of the XX century, felt on paper, 25 × 15 cm

Alexis Blanc, Dream of 13.11.15, 2016–2018, steel, plywood, 180 × 307 cm

Alexis Blanc, Dream of 13.11.15, 2016–2018, steel, plywood, 180 × 307 cm

Daniel Dezeuze, Piece, 1972, slats of wood

Pablo Reinoso, Loop, 2016, carved wood and slate, 96 × 14.5 × 18 cm

Art Van Triest, Untitled 2010s, drawing

Alessio Albi, 2010s, photograph

Yunhee Min, Circular Ladder, 2018, ash, 134.6 × 134.6 × 43.1 cm

Ilan Averbuch, Steps, 2004, granite and steel, 233,6 × 294,6 × 91,4 cm

Art Van Triest, Mobius band, 2010s, drawing

Steve Rossi, Reciprocal Ladder to Roll, 2018, bronze, 15.2 × 21 × 20.3 cm

David Krynauw, Jeppestown play bench, 2016, wenge, 304.5 × 48 cm

Suzy Lelièvre, Stairs, 2006–2008, painted steel, rubber, 50 × 140 × 160 cm

Peter Co n, Untitled (Spiral Staircase) (detail), 2007, aluminum and steel, 670.6 × 670.6 × 213.4 cm

Peter Co n, Untitled (Rainbow), 2007, color photographs, d. — 4,3 m

Peter Coffin, Untitled (Spiral Staircase), 2007, aluminum and steel, 670.6 × 670.6 × 213.4 cm8

Monika Sosnowksa, Stairway, 2010, metal, PVC, 564 × 249 cm

Anonymous, Staircase from Blandecques tin factory, XIX century, walnut, 39.6 × 54.2 × 39.5 cm

Monika Sosnowksa, 2015

Monika Sosnowksa, exhibition at the Grand Palais, 2015, photograph by Mihail Chemiakin

Tamas Gaal, Body III, 1990, steel sheet, 72 × 150 × 90 cm

Jean-Luc Mouline, Mental Archaeology, 2010, metal

Scott Ball, Ladder rubber

Loris Cecchini, Gaps (ladder), 2004, polyester resin, wall paint, 96 × 50 × 204 cm

Didier Fauguet, Indre, 2011, photograph by Mihail Chemiakin9

Richard Wentworth, 35°9,32°18, 1985, steel and aluminum, 413 × 113 × 127 сm

Martin Puryear, Ladder for Booker T. Washington, 1996, ash, 1112.52 cm

Martin Puryear, Ladder for Booker T. Washington (part of the installation), 1996, ash, 1112.52 cm

François-Xavier Chanioux, Blast, 2013, beech, gloss paint, 284.5 × 38 × 58.5 cm

François-Xavier Chanioux, Blast (detail), 2013, beech, gloss paint, 284.5 × 38 × 58.5 cm

Pier Paolo Calzolari, The air vibrates with the buzzing of insects, 1970, lead plates, copper ladder, motor, neon tube, 287 × 297 × 90 cm

Mihail Chemiakin, Ladder, 2019, fabric, 197 × 37 cm

Vanessa Billy, Flat Ladder II, 2015, aluminum

Piotr Klemensiewicz, Stairs Exhibition view in the chapel of Saint-Martin-du-Mejan, Arles, 2005

Hossein Valamanesh, Snakes and Ladders, 2007, crepe myrtle branches, gold leaf, 108 × 98 × 10 cm

Anselm Kiefer

Antoni Clave, maquette for the second act of Don Perlimplin staging, 1952, fabrics, woods, painted paper, 48 × 65 cm

Beppo Zuccheri, Scylla and Charybdis, 2012, mixed media on jute canvas, wood, iron, cement, rags, plastic, electric cables, acrylic, 150 × 200 cm

Monika Sosnowksa, 1:1 (detail), 2007, steel, 700 × 1400 × 600 cm

Art Van Triest, Ladder, 2010s, wood

Art Van Triest, Ladder, 2010s, wood

Art Van Triest, Ladder, 2010s, wood

Richard Tuttle, Ladder piece, 1967, dyed and cut canvas

Charlie Styrbjörn Nilsson, Ladders, 2014, wood

Clemens Auer, Ladder, 2009–2013, bentwood, lacquer

Bijoy Jain, Light Study, 2014, steel, electroluminescent wire, 55 × 32.5 × 150.5 cm

Leigh Warre, Ladder 2019, photograph

Leigh Warre, Ladder 2019, photograph

Kcho (Alexis Leyva Machado), The Worst of All Traps, 1990, wood, machete, di erent materials

Silvia Groebner, Jacob's Ladder, metal, 68 × 750 × 6 cm

Walter Pichler, Broken Ladder, 1969, plexiglass, aluminum, 248 × 50 cm

Art Van Triest, Ladder, 2010s, wood

Keith Bowler, Ladder Figure Large, 1987, wood, rope

Aniano Areco, Ladder from the Earth, 2013, wood, steel, acrylic paint, 250 × 45 × 7 cm

Valie Export, Ladder III, 1972, 10 black and white photos, 60 × 40 cm (each)

Nancy Fouts, Ladder, 2011, wooden ladder burnt and reformed with resin, 174 × 46 × 9 cm

Ceal Floyer, Taking a Line for a Walk 2008, line making machine and water-based marking paint on oor

Art Van Triest, Ladder, 2010s, drawing

Art Van Triest, Ladder, 2010s, drawing

Mateo Lopez, Ladder for Corner, 2015, oak LADDERS

Brad Downey, The Ladder, 2012, aluminum, galvanized steel, plastic, hex-bolts, 252 × 46 × 10 cm

Art Van Triest, Ladder, 2010s, drawing

Ceal Floyer, Ladder (TBC), 2010, aluminum ladder, 278.5 × 37.5 cm

Maaria Wirkkala, As If TRA — Edge of becoming, 2008, glass ladder10

Michael Elmgreen and Ingar Dragset, The Collectors, 2009, installation

Rob Good, Step II, 2010–2015, wooden stepladder, 120 × 100 × 50 cm LADDERS

Brent Fogt, Get Over It, 2017, found ladder, paint, gesso, wood, 66 × 76.2 × 213.4 cm

Tanguy Tolila, Ladder 3, 2016, wood and metal, 143 × 47 cm

Tanguy Tolila, Ladder 2, 2016, wood and metal, 134 × 46 cm

< Brent Fogt, Forward, 2018, found furniture, found ladder, jute, paint

Kaari Upson, MMDP (PUPILS), 2016, aluminum, stainless steel, 179 × 117 × 13 cm

Kaari Upson, MMDP (PUPILS) (detail), 2016, aluminum, stainless steel, 179 × 117 × 13 cm

Ladder cups, ceramics

Michael Snow, Of A Ladder, 1971, 10 black and white laminated photos, 34 × 50 cm (each)

Art Van Triest, Ladder, 2010s, metal, wood

Art Van Triest, Ladder, 2010s, metal, wood11

Werner Feiersinger, Untitled, 2013, 270 × 300.6 × 53.6 cm

Dmitri Obergfell, In nite Ladder, 2011, ladders, mirrors, 365.8 × 182.9 × 182.9 cm

Steve Rossi, Reciprocal Ladder to Intersect, 2017, cedar, acrylic latex, 72 × 54 × 16 cm

Mark di Suvero, Stairway to the Stars, 2008, steel, h. — 853.5 cm

Steve Rossi, Intersecting Descending Ladders, 2018, graphite on paper, 30.5 × 22.8 cm

Steve Rossi, Reciprocal Ladder for Four, 2014, wood, acrylic latex, 84 × 41 × 120 cm

Steve Rossi, Reciprocal Ladder for Three, 2014, wood, acrylic latex

Steve Rossi, Reciprocal Ladder for Three, 2014, wood, acrylic latex, 72 × 48 × 36 cm

Steve Rossi, Reciprocal Ladder for Four, 2018, bronze, 19.6 × 31.7 × 16.5 cm

Steve Rossi, Six Ladders, Two Flags, 2017, sequined fabric, wood, acrylic latex, 243.8 × 243.8 × 243.8 cm

Armando, The Ladder, 1992, oil on canvas, 70 × 50 cm

Johannes Tavenraat, Wooden ladder and a lying dog, 1839–1872, pencil on paper

Antoni Tapies, The Ladder, 1968, etching and aquatint, 154.9 × 118.1 cm

Clay Ketter, Sketch for Grey wall painting, 1995, gypsum wallboard, spackle, wood, steel edges, 110 × 110 cm

Armando, Ladder, 1993, bronze, 42 × 25 × 12 cm

Armando, Ladder, 1991, bronze

Armando, The Ladder, 1992, oil on canvas, 110 × 110 cm

Armando, Ladder, 1994, bronze, h. — 140 cm

Armando, Ladder, 1994, bronze, h. — 140 cm

Snakes and Ladders board game, England, 1920–1930s, paper, cardboard, 35 × 35 cm

Oxford Circus tube station Central line platform mosaic, based on the game Snakes and Ladders, photograph

Mihail Chemiakin, Pavement in Turin, 2019, photograph

Leigh Warre, Ladder, 2019, photograph

Mihail Chemiakin, Ladder on the Road, 2013, photograph

Leigh Warre, Ladder, 2019, photograph

Emi Ozawa, Tallest Ever, 2017, sculpture, 260.4 × 33 × 25.4 cm

Chema Madoz, Untitled, 1990, photograph, 106 × 103 cm

Mihail Chemiakin, 2017, photograph

John Signer Sargent, Staircase in Capri, 1878, oil on canvas, 80.01 × 44.45 cm

Gertrudes Altschul, Untitled, c. 1952, photograph, 38.3 × 29.2 cm

Mihail Chemiakin, 2017, photograph

Iwao Yamawaki, Stairs and Shadow 1933, photograph, 23.2 × 17.2 cm

Mihail Chemiakin, 2017, photograph

Mihail Chemiakin, 2018, photograph

ChrisMackey, Doorway, 1961, photograph

Chema Madoz, Untitled, 1990, photograph

Shikanosuke Yagaki, Sketch on the Street, 1930s, photograph, 29.2 × 22.5 cm

Tim Head, Elevation I and II, 1980, photographs, paper, 402 × 533 cm

Mel Bochner, Shadow, 1969, aluminum ladder, clamp-on light, tape

Hossein Valamanesh, Home of Mad Butter ies 1996, ladder, persian shoes, acrylic paint

Fabrice Samyn, Vanishing Point of View, 2012, wood

Svetlana Kopystiansky, The Story, 1989, oil, tempera, canvas, paper, tape recording, 330 × 600 x 300 cm

Michael Simpson, Leper Squint 16 2015, oil on canvas, panels, 381.8 × 736.7 cm

Sabine Marcelis, Brit van Nerven, Seeing glass tall iridescent, 2014, glass, mirror, colourfoil, 220 × 20 × 1.9 cm

Java Tarsis, Curves, Straight Lines 2011, photograph

Tim Head, Displacement 1975–1976, projectors, chairs, mirrors, bucket, clock, ladder, tape-measure, 487.7 × 891.5 × 891.5 cm

Andy Feltham, Boiler Room, 2016

Bunny Rogers, Ladder 13 (part of Brig and Ladder installation), 2017, wood and gel-based ink

Maaria Wirkkala, Beyond, 2013

Stephen Dean, Single ladder 2007, aluminum, dichroic glass, 300 × 43 × 5 cm

Mihail Chemiakin, 2018, photograph

Piotr Klemensiewicz, Congestion — Terrace 1998, acrylic on canvas, 162 × 97 cm

Piotr Klemensiewicz, Congestion — Japanese Screen, 1999, acrylic on canvas, 195 × 114 cm

Piotr Klemensiewicz, Ladder — Congestion of Gray 2004, acrylic on canvas, 248 × 142 cm

Piotr Klemensiewicz, Congestion — January, 1998, acrylic on canvas, 203 × 82 cm

Piotr Klemensiewicz, Ladder — Congestion № 2, 2004, acrylic on canvas, 225 × 150 cm

Piotr Klemensiewicz, Ladder — Congestion № 4, 2004, acrylic on canvas, 225 × 150 cm

Steve Rossi, Reciprocal Ladder to Climb 2015, plywood and acrylic latex, 96 × 48 × 12 cm

Ben Jones, Ladders series, 2010s, painted wood

Jim Lambie, Shaved Ice, 2012, wooden ladders, mirrors, household uorescent paint

Anita Bell and Brian Bell, Twig ladders, natural twigs

Nancy OD Wilson, Green Ladder, ladder, stu ed fabric, 60.9 × 22.8 cm

Stephen Dean, 2000s

Stephen Dean, Ladder, 2018, dichroic glass and aluminum, 244 × 44 cm

Stephen Dean, 2000s, glass, metal

Nancy OD Wilson, I'll Build a Stairway to Paradise, ladder, stu ed fabric, 12.7 × 50.8 cm

Nancy OD Wilson, Narrow Climb, ladder, stu ed fabric, 116.8 × 12.7 cm

Ron Haselden, Ladder, 2018, pink ladder ascending to heaven atop St. Martin's in The Fields Church

Massimo Uberti, Untitled, 2014, neon, iron, transformer, 200 × 40 cm

Viktor Popovic, Untitled, 2012, uorescent light tubes, steel ropes, electrical ttings, 350 × 50 × 93 cm

Carmela Gross, Ladders, 2012, industrial ladders and white uorescent lamps

Michael Joo, Simultaneity Biases, 2018, installation

Maaria Wirkkala, TRA — Edge of becoming, As If project (detail), 2008, glass ladder

Gao Weigang, Where 2, 2015, stainless steel, gold, 216 × 53 × 7 cm

Gao Weigang, Where 2015, stainless steel, gold

Alexandra Bircken, De ated bodies (detail), 2014, installation

Nancy OD Wilson, Ascendant, 1980–2000s, crochet and wooden ladder, 193 × 31 × 5 cm

Gao Weigang, Yes, 2013, stainless steel, 236 × 300 × 75 cm

Gao Weigang, Yes, 2016, stainless steel, gold, 240 × 75 × 20 cm

Mateo Lopez, Stairs, 2013, stairs, lacquered metal ladder

Gao Weigang, Yes, 2016, stainless steel, titanium, iron, 380 × 300 × 270 cm

Guillaume Saalburg, design of the private apartment, ladder, 1997, wood, glass

Seon-Ghi Bahk, Panorama (detail), 2007, charcoal, nylon threads, stone, h. — 300 cm

Louisa Chase, Brook, 1980, oil on canvas, 91.5 × 182.8 cm

Basil Beattie, RA, Never Before, 2001, oil and wax on ax

Bijoy Jain, Light Study, 2014, steel, electroluminescent wire, 123 × 62 × 62.5 cm

Monika Sosnowksa, Untitled, 2012, steel and lacquer, 75 × 67 × 39 cm

Nikolai Makarov, Untitled, 1988, acrylic on wood, 200 × 140 cm

Nikolai Makarov, Untitled, 2010, acrylic on wood, 180 × 130 cm

Urs Fischer, Chagall, 2006, polyurethane foam, nails, spray enamel, acrylic paint, expanding polyurethane foam, ller, polyurethane glue, electric motor, aluminum, control unit, battery, cables, 229 × 77 × 142.3 cm

Urs Fischer, Chagall, 2006, polyurethane foam, nails, spray enamel, acrylic paint, expanding polyurethane foam, ller, polyurethane glue, electric motor, aluminum, control unit, battery, cables, 229 × 77 × 142.3 cm

Ei’ichi Matsumoto, Shadow of Solidier and Ladder on a Wooden Wall (Nagasaki — 4,400 m from the hypocenter), 1945, photograph

Mihail Chemiakin, 2006, photograph

Walid Siti, Stairways 2013, acrylic on paper, 73 × 108 cm

Chiharu Shiota, Stairway, 2012, blocks, blackwool

Nikolay Tikhomirov, Snow in March, 2010s, photograph

Marie Lund, Settings, 2012, silk fabric, aluminium frame, found objects

Loris Cecchini, Gaps (ladder), 2004, polyester resin, wall paint, 96 × 50 × 204 cm

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Anonymous, after Aegidius Sadeler, Ladder to heaven / Ostrich feathers, from series Symbola Divina et Humana Ponti cum Imperatorum Regum 1666, engraving, 11.7 × 6.4 cm

Antoni Tàpies, The Ladder, 1974

Rob Good, Far away 2016, stone and oak, 70 × 46 × 30 cm

Rob Good, Far away, 2016, stone and oak, 70 × 46 × 30 cm

Rob Good, Once Upon, 2016, marble and oak, 65 × 25 × 40 cm

Gertrude Abercrombie, Two Ladders, 1947, oil on massonite, 30.5 × 40.6 cm

Leah Cross, Driftwood Ladder, 30.5 × 30.5 cm

Anselm Kiefer, Seraphim, 1983–1984, emulsion, gummillak, synthetic resin on canvas, 330 × 340 cm

Anselm Kiefer, At the beginning, 2008, oil, emulsion, lead and photo paper on canvas

Quint Buchholz, Man on ladder, 1992

Stephen She eld, Ladder 33, 1980s, photograph, 45 × 61 cm

Jean Michel Folon, In space — Equilibrium, 1999–2000, resin and painted iron, controller, electrical system and audio, h. — 245 cm

Steve Rossi, Descending Ladders, 2018, graphite on paper, 30.5 × 22.9 cm

Maaria Wirkkala, A void me (part of the installation), 2001, glass ladder

Georgia O’Kee e, Ladder to the Moon, 1958, oil on canvas, 102.1 × 76.8 × 3.5 cm

David Austen, Cold, 1989, oil on canvas, 40.6 × 35.6 cm

Cai GuoQiang, Sky Ladder, 2015, h. — 500 m

Eugene Terwindt, The sky is the limit, 1997, aluminum, 26 × 1.2 × 0.6 m

Exhibition view “Steps, Ladders, Stairs in Art” , Mihail Chemiakin Centre St. Petersburg, 2019

(photograph by Ruslan Iskhakov)

1 (с. 49). Magdalena Jetelova, Stairs 1982–1983, wood, metal

The stairs of Magadalena Zhetelova — as a solution to the problem that other contemporary sculptors faced — are so fresh, so original and materially relevant that the question of the content and meaning of this sculpture is gradually disappearing. But what is for sure: the steps lead up, and not further, the path ends in non-existence. Stairs: steps that lead to nowhere.

2 (с. 50). Martina Casey, Escher inspired scenography 2017, paper, cardboard, scotch tape, sponge, brushes, scissors MARTINA CASEY: This is scenography in a model of a theater in scale. After seeing the theater representation of Amlet at the LAC, I came up with this idea of a concept of a simple scenography that bridged up the real important thing on the scene, the difference points of view, actor, audience, me and them. I took inspiration from the painting “relativity” from Escher. took the importance of the stairs in my scenography because they are a way of changing things, a medium to get somewhere else.

3 (с. 66). Jo Coupe, Solid Air , 2017, stepladders, coloured nylon string, magnetic field, rare earth magnets

Solid Air is a large-scale installation made from ladders, string and magnets. Activating the space between the gallery wall and ordinary domestic objects, Coupe engages our childlike fascination with magnetism. Anchored to a configuration of stepladders, metal discs tied to the opposite end of the string are pulled magically toward the wall of the gallery, causing them to float weightlessly in attraction. The architectural qualities of the stepladders are enhanced by the linear qualities of the taut string, which combine to map a complex and colourfully trembling matrix between a powerfully charged field beyond the wall, and the commonplace and functional resting on the floor.

4 (с. 80). Sam Szafran, Untitled 1990, watercolor, silk The very device of the ladder is designed to climb: it carries the burden of guilt or the hope of forgiveness. This is death or salvation, burial or flight, it causes rapture or disgust. Some companies will even say that dreaming of climbing the stairs is dreaming of strong power or, conversely, descending it: a nightmare of fading. A series of stairs will put an end to this dizzy theme. At the same time, this is the reason for the descent, which will renew and strengthen the falagella, the whip, the great imperative sign that scratches the page with the determination of Chinese calligraphy.

5 (с. 86). Andrea Palladio, Illustrations for the book “Four books about architecture” , 1570

Right Staircase designs from Book I of Palladio's Quattro libri, taken from the second, 1721 edition of Leoni's The Architecture of A. Palladio of 1715. As Eileen Harris has observed, “This lavish edition of Palladio's works... proved far too fanciful for the didactic perfection demanded by Burlington”. Campbell died after publishing only the first book of a new, more pedantically precise edition in 1728, and it was not until 1737 that an edition of Palladio appeared on which the Palladians could rely.

6 (с. 101). Vincent Lamouroux, Heliscope , 2007, steel construction, paint

Particularly interested in the relationship between sculpture and architecture, the utopias of modernism and their interpretation, Vincent Lamourou has devoted himself over the past ten years to creating objects, installations and settings, operating “machines” that set the viewer in motion. In the architectural context of Ivry, Vincent Lamourou's proposal is a form of reflection for all outdoor terraces designed by the architect Jean Reno (between 1970 and 1975). An exceptionally vertical, rare formula in Lamourou's advanced corpus, Heliscope / Perspective inclined (2007) is another feasible structure. It is a helicoidal staircase more than eight meters long, inclined at 10 degrees, the only work of the same name exhibition in the Chapel of Joan of Arc in Thouares. The user loses their balance under the influence of attraction. Concerned about his point of view, he struggles to find his bearings. A follower of hybrid and anachronistic formulas, which he himself calls the “retro future”, Vincent Lamourou, along with other artists of his generation, participates in the modern presentation of utopian, architectural and cinematic projections aimed at recreating a vision of the future as it could exist, but without nostalgia pointing out that this future is already worn out. Claire Le Resty.

7 (с. 103). Mike Fields, Ribbon of life , stainless steel “Ribbon of Life” is a modern representation of the DNA Double Helix which is at the basis of life. The Ribbon is extremely complex, with near infinite potential, yet is elegant in its design. The coupling of DNA marks a significant creative act. DNA is generative and therefore its ordered and infinitely diverse expression emerges through its cosmic relation.

8 (с. 182). Peter Coffin, Untitled (Spiral Staircase) , 2007, aluminum and steel

Peter Co n's recent exhibition looks like an allegory of iconism, in other words, the connection between sign and meaning, or an allegory of the creation of a sign. In other words, an image may make an impression because it is impressive, but it is at least as likely to be recorded for any other, less ennobled reason. And on the other hand, there is the artist’s latest stab at actually producing an icon. I refer to the in nitely looping, circular spiral staircase of grey-painted metal, nearly eight meters in height and leaned casually against the gallery wall. This is a piece which, if it rises to the cultural height of iconic status, would be the newest in a bevy of Co n’s works to produce astronomical reproduction statistics in the art-circulation machine. Like many of those works before it, the staircase is based on a simple idea, which Co n manifested without the sort of introspection that leads an artist to ask, “is this work invested with meaning? Does it re ect an original view of the world?”. What he asks of the piece is more accurately put as, does in the minds of those viewers themselves. Does it all mean that Co n has become suspicious of the nature of the iconic artwork as such, or rather of the nature of the artist who would make an icon of his or her genius? I would like to say so, but if I read criticality into Co n’s work, I must acknowledge that this is value I myself have generated, for to assume that the work itself is inherently critical is to fall prey to the mistake that this

art would lead us away from, in that criticism marks the return of the artist’s voice and the work’s speci c meaning. Co n’s art must be recognized as less rhetorical than that, more dumb and so more profound; I elsewhere wrote that it is more akin to a question than to a statement, but I see now that this art is closer still to the experience of having a question itself, a thing from no life but one’s own.

Abraham Orden

9 (с. 193). Didier Fauguet, Indre 2011

The work of the sculptor Didier Foge. Monsieur Baudouin, a member of the Endre Public Union, takes part in the creation of the metal part. Sculpture donated to Endra's TELETHON on the occasion of her 25 th birthday. Opened December 3, 2011.

10 (с. 226). Maaria Wirkkala, As If TRA — Edge of becoming 2008, glass ladder

Illusoire — as if. Alteration of moving image and daylight at the interface of exterior and the interior. During the day the landscape comes inside. At night, the work runs outside.

11 (с. 238). Art Van Triest, Ladder 2010s, metal, wood Visual artist Art van Triest confronts the viewer with a powerful visual language. With skilled craftsmanship and quirky humour, the artist transforms these into thought-provoking sculptures and installations. With his works, Van Triest unites a raw industrial style with a poetic manner of questioning social issues: the universal human tendency to strive for control and security in order to subdue our anxieties.

Previously published books in the “Mihail Chemiakin’s Museum of the Imagination” series

Mihail Chemiakin

STEPS, LADDERS, STAIRS in Art volume 2

Signed to printing ______________. Format 60×90 1/8. Offset printing. Chalk paper. Typeface Myriad Pro. Scope 45,00 printing sheets. Circulation items. Order N _____.

Printed __________________________________________________________

Front cover: Anselm Kiefer

Back cover: Zarina, Ascent, 2014, paper printed with black ink and collaged with gold leaf paper

Facing title page: Ruslan Iskhakov. Mihail Chemiakin, photograph