In the beginning of 2022, Russia entered a new period of its historical existence.
We remember well the conversations at get-togethers, in messengers, and on the streets those days. These discussions weren’t just focused on politics and what to do—they rather took form of fortune-telling: when will this end? It inevitably seemed that everything would drop into place, returning to how it was before. Familiar images flashed: scales falling from eyes, the sun emerging from behind clouds. Today, as this text is being written, such memories not only discourage predictions but also make us cautious about something else, namely not “when will it end”, but “will it end at all?”, or rather, what exactly must come to an end, and will the new ‘after’ be anything like what we once knew?
We rarely talk about meaningful matters. This is true both for ordinary life and the cultural field. Precisely for this purpose—to discuss the important, to expose untruths, to harness the forces of joy—the exhibition of liberated Russian art was conceived. This is an opportunity to meet with those who are now forced into silence or, worse, into hiding, to create a program of public talks, lectures, and vernissages.
Yet what is ‘liberated Russian art’ after all, where did it come from, what are its aims? First, we are confident that the new liberated Russian art does exist. Maybe under a different name or without any label at all, but it exists. Its essence seems plain to us as it doesn’t develop in empty space, but grows out of the zeitgeist and interprets reality creatively. Even in times of cruelty and terror, it finds ways to a coherent worldview. These ways lie far from the realms of emigrant messianism, empty verbalism, heroic mood and blatant aesthetic snobbery. Its weapons are humour, common sense, experiment—everything an ideocracy would consider as ‘soul-poisoning’ reactionism. Within the exhibition’s framework, we set ourselves the task of better defining the content of the liberated Russian art, to identify the plurality of its forms.
Biological cycles of history and culture turn humanity into very strange realities sometimes. Feeling ourselves as contemporary conspirators, it hardly needs explaining that only outside Russia—far from the rustle of oak forests [shelest dubrav], more similar to radio chatters of field commanders, or the paths of vampiric agents of censorship—liberated Russian art can be safe. This safety, however, does not imply anonymity or heads down; on the contrary, we are pleased to announce that we perform under the manifesto of liberated Russian art. And we are even more excited to do it with you.
In P.S. we remove the official tone from the agenda:
Why are you blowing the trumpet, old man,
Would you rather lie in a coffin, old man?
