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Host: Semyon Skripnitsky, an opposition artist, was killed in Poland. Tell us, were you acquainted with him?
Marat Guelman: No, I was not personally acquainted with him. However, I know the exact "bush" from which they grow—meaning the widely known Vasya Lozhkin and the Svinoye Rylo (Pig's Snout) gallery in St. Petersburg. This is an entire movement of artists in Russia who create caricature, but not for publication—meaning it is executed as a painting rather than a mere drawing. This is a purely Russian tradition, so to speak. It stems both from the lubok (folk print) and from the historical fact that the comic book failed to establish itself as a printed art form in Russia—it simply wasn't published.
Such artists embody these living comic strips and, at a certain juncture, become characters themselves. As for Skripnitsky, in addition to producing these works, he also staged performances. He portrayed himself as a sort of naive painter who creates these canvases with an open heart, playing the buffoon. It seems to me that this second aspect explicitly set him apart from that entire group and rendered his art highly sharp, because it propelled him into social media reels. This isn't just painting that hangs somewhere unnoticed; it commands immense popularity.
Host: And how is the artistic community reacting to this murder?
Marat Guelman: Well, naturally, it is pure darkness. The murder of an artist is an utterly disproportionate reaction by the authorities to an artistic gesture. We live with this constantly, but murder is an absolute excess. It is beyond the pale. Understandably, the investigation is still ongoing. There is a theory that it was an act of personal vendetta by a Chechen leader whom he had targeted among others. However, the primary hypothesis points to the security services. The reality that the authorities have begun to combat art—imprisoning, searching houses, squeezing people out of the country, and now murdering—is a highly ominous sign for the art community.
Host: If it is definitively proven to be a political assassination, do you think there will be any consequences?
Marat Guelman: No. It is a political assassination. It will be proven that the state is responsible.
Host: Right.
Marat Guelman: The thing is, our state is so bloodthirsty that it occasionally explicitly ensures that everyone knows it was responsible. Look at the Novichok poisonings. Why did they use it? Precisely so that no one would harbor any doubt that the state is extracting vengeance upon those it deems worthy of such punishment. They explicitly want everyone to be terrified. They are completely uninterested in the specific artist; they are interested in all artists, ensuring that every creator, before producing anything, before saying anything, reflects on the reality that this situation could happen to them too. It is a strategy of intimidation. Zhenya Berkovich was imprisoned due to this exact rationale—to demonstrate to everyone that you don't even have to be guilty of anything. Just be afraid, just in case.
Host: You began an interesting overview regarding the genre, but not everyone understands it. Political satire, political caricature. Could you unpack this in greater detail?
Marat Guelman: I think there isn't much to decipher here. Broadly speaking, how is the art world structured? There is the main highway, which we can call the museum path—art history—and it features parallel tracks. For instance, theatrical designers or applied arts. It is clear that caricature, much like comic strips, emerged from magazine publications. But since magazines vanished, that format disappeared, yet the artists did not vanish; graphic artists are seeking their own new forms.
The fundamental distinction, of course, if we look at masters like Vasya Lozhkin—the forefathers of this genre in Russia—is that self-irony acted as a vital element there. The artist laughed and mocked, but also poked fun slightly at himself. This specific artist, however, lacked self-irony. He perceived himself strictly as a chronicler of life on this Panopticon Olympus—the Olympus of Russian political power. And, of course, he heavily laced this with a strange, prison-like mixture of violence and erotica; all of that was present in his work. So, while it might appear to be a very low genre, in the context of totalitarian power in Russia, it proved to be exceptionally striking, highly effective, and triggered a fierce reaction. The harsher and more direct his satire was, the more intense the reaction became. Our authorities demonstrated that they are fundamentally no different from the radical extremists who carried out the attacks against the French cartoonists. Pure Asianism.
Host: Do you believe there is activism involved in this, and what about the impact?
Marat Guelman: It depends on what you define as artistic value. These works were certainly not created for a museum.
Host: I wanted to ask if you would hang his work in your gallery.
Marat Guelman: Yes, they weren't created for a museum. But concurrently, I think precisely due to the war and everything surrounding it, a future museum will absolutely feature such a section. Perhaps they will mark this section: "No entry for minors under sixteen," or something to that effect. He might end up in a different category than he intended—not with his paintings, but with his performances. We have exceptionally bright, compelling performance artists like the Blue Noses group, who implemented the strategy of the yurodivy (holy fool).
In the Russian tradition, there was a conventional holy fool who possessed the right to speak the most unpleasant truth directly to the Tsar. He lived on the street among the destitute; the Tsar passes by, and the holy fool grabs him by the hem of his coat and says something coarse, for instance: "Your wife is cheating on you with the officers." It was believed that holy fools were not to be touched, that they were God's people, allowed to say whatever they wished. Things for which a boyar would have been executed long ago were permitted for a holy fool. Yet, periodically, they vanished anyway. The regime simply couldn't tolerate the criticism. I view it like this: precisely as a performance artist, as a creator who engineered and embodied the persona of a naive artist, he stands every chance of entering the history of Russian art specifically within the actionist section—much like the "Dog-Man" Oleg Kulik. That is how I see it.
Host: And how do you evaluate the safety of anti-war artists in Europe? For instance, the government of Poland stated that it had warned Skripnitsky and offered him security protection.
Marat Guelman: It must be said that we behave as though we reside in absolute safety, but in reality, that is not the case. And this applies not just to artists—it applies to all of us. We met with the Berlin police authorities to inquire how security could be ensured, at least at the venues where we speak publicly. We are part of society, as I see it. Naturally, an artist finds themselves in a far riskier situation than an ordinary citizen. But from my perspective, that is part of the profession. You raised your voice, you speak to the public, the public listens to you, and you pay for that via an elevated level of risk. On one hand, it is wonderful to possess the capability to speak the truth, to say what you think. Words carry a certain price. Naturally, this does not mean it constitutes a norm. It is a highly toxic situation that this price can turn out to be the price of a life.
But it seems to me that on the whole, the responsibility of a public person—an artist, a performer, meaning an individual who raises their voice and claims public attention—exists. Journalists too. A journalist can write a piece. Grigory Nekhoroshev passed away recently; he lost absolutely everything simply because he once wrote an article concerning the affair between Putin and Kabaeva. Such is our life. I believe that the more intensely we desire to replace this regime, the more... Yes, of course, it is risky, but those artists who currently remain inside Russia, even if they stay completely silent, are risking just as much. They face house searches there. It is a feature of the current moment that everyone who has raised their voice against the authorities and Russian state entities is taking a risk.
Host: Skripnitsky drew caricatures not only of the Russian authorities, but of Navalny as well, for instance. Do you think that in this day and age, a political caricaturist can afford not just to avoid choosing a side, but occasionally to draw such caricatures?
Marat Guelman: No, actually, I don’t recall any regarding Navalny. I read about it, but I don’t remember his works. Perhaps he did somewhere, in some manner... The thing is, a caricaturist frequently simply depicts certain events and depicts everyone involved. And whom within that event he depicts positively and whom negatively—that, of course, hinges on his perspective. There is a remarkable creator named Alyosha Stupin who truly produces a highly talented chronicle of our times. Everyone is present in his works. Why? Because it seems to him that he is simply objectively documenting reality, what is transpiring. Naturally, there is zero objectivity there; there is a highly sharp eye of an artist who criticizes. But on the whole, occasionally an artist might explicitly wish to avoid being pigeonholed as an oppositionist, and might explicitly seek out certain alternative methods. Everyone has things worthy of criticism. Consequently, it is possible. So I think it is rather an exception when an artist criticizes strictly one specific side.
Host: In Germany, there is a sculptor named Jacques Tilly, and he frequently presents his works at the Düsseldorf carnival—for example, carnival float effigies of Putin. Do you believe the Russian state will be able to reach European artists as well? He was sentenced in absentia in Russia to 8.5 years in prison. But can they physically reach them?
Marat Guelman: From what I understand regarding what resides in the minds of the people making these decisions: they believe that they hold power over Russians wherever they find themselves, and that when they punish them—even if it violates the laws of sovereign nations—they are maintaining their internal, semi-prison, semi-criminal frame of reference. Attacking a citizen of a foreign nation constitutes a completely different degree of violation, from their perspective. Therefore, I believe that threat is lower. It is precisely Russians, precisely those who left, who face far greater risks, because the authorities believe they still hold sway over us, that we are one way or another their subjects. On the whole, my opinion is this: the current Russian authorities are doing exceptionally poorly. And they are slightly too preoccupied to worry about us. Why do I personally lean toward the version involving Kadyrov? Because it seems to me that the Kremlin has no time for artists right now.
Host: A question from the chat: have there been any non-political major art events or breakthroughs recently?
Marat Guelman: I returned from Basel yesterday. Art Basel is the premier commercial event in the art world. All art dealers and all collectors from around the globe converge there. It is a massive milestone. And yes, you could walk through various fairs for three days and completely forget that a war is ongoing somewhere. A Ukrainian artist, Nina Murashkina, was exhibited there. A beautiful story, relationships between men and women—everything is highly universal, not a word about the war. I think this is tied to the reality that a lot of time has passed. The first two years were different; there were many works connected to the war, but all of that has somehow faded—even this cancel Russian phase has concluded.
My gallery represented Moldovan artists this year. Art Basel is a massive event. Tomorrow, an essential exhibition opens in Brussels called “MetaRussia.” It features 12 artists residing in twelve different cities, from Los Angeles to Budva, Prague, Berlin. Marina Koldobskaya from Berlin is presenting. This is designed to show how Russian art specifically at this moment integrates into an international context. It so happened that precisely now, Russian art is transforming into European art, because thousands of artists are exhibiting in European galleries, because we have become, in a certain sense, a cultural minority. For instance, in Montenegro, Russian speakers account for 15% of the population. That is comparable to Albanians accounting for 20%. This represents a cultural autonomy that is living, and behind it, there are no longer these massive physical territories. So it is a highly fascinating development. Fundamentally, non-political events occur every single day, but for my part, at least, I can state that I do not believe I have the right to forget about the war. As long as the war continues, I always endeavor to do something to accelerate the conclusion of this war, the end of this regime.
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Host: And is anti-war art currently considered activism?
Marat Guelman: Artists possess several methods to express their anti-war stance. There is directly anti-war art. It is executed primarily by young people with spray cans or on the internet, residing inside Russia. For example, Philippenko, who writes "izrasilovanie" (a pun combining "rape" and "Russia")—this is a form of guerrilla resistance, and it can be considered activism. I harbor immense respect for these guys. We usually extract them when things become dangerous, assisting them in leaving Russia and locating opportunities to secure residency documents here in Europe. That is one category.
The second category is producing art here against the war—meaning speaking out loudly. Let’s call it political art; it isn't activism, it constitutes a work of art, an entire movement. These are more frequently famous individuals who command an audience; they create anti-war songs or anti-war visual art, and so forth.
There are artists to whom social engagement is not inherent—for example, those who produce abstract works. Such artists also participate: they transfer a portion of their royalties to anti-war necessities or to support Ukrainian refugees, and some, most radically, to support the Ukrainian army.
There is yet another level—the one occupied by myself or Alla Pugacheva—meaning individuals who, in addition to art, also speak out, operating as public figures. I engage primarily in what is termed advocacy; we operate within the Parliamentary Assembly and the European Parliament, attempting to clarify the situation to European policymakers. Meanwhile, others operate directly with the public, with the audience. All of this functions together. Anti-war art and activism exist as a minor component.
Recently, a magnificent, powerful joint action by Pussy Riot and Femen occurred in Venice, protesting against the participation of the Russian state at the Venice Biennale. It progressed highly successfully worldwide and genuinely managed to erect a barrier. That sits on the edge. Pussy Riot and Femen are precisely the groups over which a continuous debate rages: is it art or activism? There is no clear-cut answer, but within different actions, some display more activism, while others display more art.
Usually, if I am asked, I say: there is the space of an act and the space of a gesture. As an example for the listeners and viewers: there was a group called Voina (War). They painted a phallus on a St. Petersburg drawbridge. That is a famous work. The bridge lifted, and clearly, that constitutes an artistic gesture, powerful worldwide—this raised bridge with the drawing on it. And there was a minor activist infraction—they ran onto this bridge with a bucket of paint to execute it. Yet that exact same group, for instance, set fire to a police car. There, the artistic gesture isn't very clear, but the criminal event is distinct—they incinerated a vehicle of the authorities. There, it is activism. Meaning, the exact same people execute different gestures, different acts, and it is we, the viewers, who determine whether it constitutes activism or art in a given specific instance.
Host: And does political art or activism command weight right now? We comprehended that the Pussy Riot action commanded weight, but on the whole, are anti-war artists listened to at a political level?
Marat Guelman: That is a fine question. I repeat, judging by the Basel fair from which I just returned, they have dissolved; it’s as though they aren't there. Inertia is a powerful thing. At the very beginning, when the war started, Banksy offers support, Pussy Riot is right adjacent, Madonna is right next to them. Time passes. You cannot remain continuously elevated in a state of protest. Normal life resumes, and gradually this normalization erodes the signal. Some political artists remain. This, of course, as is typical in art, is a measure of talent, because political art, much like conventional art, can be talented or untalented—more frequently untalented than talented. But we can point to Barbara Kruger—an artist, feminist, and activist who has entered art history and mounts major exhibitions.
There are examples of political artists... Look, the most famous in the world, the number one most essential artist is Ai Weiwei. He is an artist who executes diverse projects, not exclusively political ones, but he achieved global renown when a massive conflict erupted between him and the Chinese authorities, who effectively imprisoned him. Subsequently, he left. So one can observe how a brilliant artistic career began as the career of a political artist.
Host: You mentioned that for yourself personally, you consider it vital to constantly speak about the war being waged by the Russian state. Yet concurrently, we know there are major artists who are currently mounting exhibitions inside Russia and remaining completely silent. How do you relate to that?
Marat Guelman: On the whole, I relate to it normally, in the sense that I am no one’s judge. Everyone faces their own situation. My situation is bound to the reality that I was a part of that system for a time and, perhaps more than other artists, I bear responsibility for what is transpiring. At least, I feel it. But, for example, artists of the older generation, like Grisha Bruskin—he recently held an exhibition at a private museum in Moscow, though admittedly not a state-run one. They possess a alternative tradition—a dissident tradition. For dissidents, when they managed to mount an exhibition in the Soviet Union, it was considered a victory in their specific war against that Soviet Union, because they were barred from exhibiting. The objective of the authorities was to flatten them so they wouldn't be visible, yet they appeared nonetheless.
Therefore, it’s a alternative culture, so to speak, a dissident one: not leaving to speak at the top of one's lungs, but remaining and quietly, silently resisting. I think this needs to be treated with respect. This term "the new quiets," which is currently applied to these artists, presupposes that the artists are resisting—meaning it is sabotage. They are pushed toward a certain public activity, and they sabotage that activity silently. That is completely... I believe everyone chooses for themselves; everyone lives within their own circumstances. I relate well to these "new quiets"; many of my friends are among them. People who begin to cooperate or actively collaborate with the authorities—yes, that is certainly melancholy to observe. And I am exceptionally glad that such individuals practically do not exist. Look at the Venice Biennale: when the Russian authorities resolved to participate, they failed to find a single significant artist ready to step forward on an international stage on behalf of the Russian Federation today. They brought some absolute zilch. That is highly gratifying.
Host: I'm interested—we say that art possesses great influence, but can we say that it is less humane precisely to leave Russians in such a situation without art now?
Marat Guelman: Look, an artist must comprehend. People tell me too: I was a museum director, and a situation arose back then when they began to imprison Pussy Riot, and I raised my voice in their defense. And, of course, someone said: "Listen, Marat, you will be fired, but if you remain, if you keep quiet, you will preserve the museum." Meaning for the common good. One can always locate certain arguments to soothe oneself, but you must first and foremost operate as an individual. What is the ultimate meaning of Christ's commandments? Circumstances may vary, but whatever the circumstances, follow the commandments: do not kill, do not steal, do not lie. That's all. Even if someone arrives and says that in this specific situation it is necessary to kill because the person is bad and so forth, you say: "I know nothing of that; I am a Christian, I am not a killer." That is the correct position.
The same applies here. You can ask yourself what is necessary to preserve your own integrity. Broadly speaking, the primary objective during wartime is to safeguard yourself—both in a physical sense: not going to war, not killing and not being killed—and in a moral sense: so that you can respect yourself, so that you can explain your actions. For example, Nadya Tolokonnikova, when explaining why she executed this action in Venice, was asked: "Do you truly think you can stop a war via an action in Venice?" She responded: "No, of course not, but at least I will be able to explain to my children and grandchildren what I was doing at the moment when I was opposed, and I was opposed loudly." That is highly vital. Therefore, if a person in Russia remains silent, preserves their integrity, and refrains from participating in state affairs, I think that is normal.
Host: Let's talk about the other side of the barricades. We are asked in the chat: "Will the art of the wartime era enter history? Is there even such a thing as Z-painting?"
Marat Guelman: How is this entire apparatus structured? There exists a mainstream, a primary highway, and there exist various side branches. I must state that unquestionably, the mainstream of current art will be the art of emigrant artists—meaning artists who have left the borders. This has already occurred. Look, Russia is a literature-centric country. The writers: number one, Sorokin lives in Berlin; Ulitskaya lives in Berlin; Shishkin is in Switzerland; Akunin is in London; Glukhovsky is in Paris. The essential writers have left and reside here. The exact same applies to musicians. It doesn't matter that Monetochka occupies the top slots in the charts inside Russia; she lives here, and her stance is clear. Unquestionably, the primary mainstream in art history within the temporality of this era will be the art of artists, writers, and musicians who left.
But there will absolutely be a "cabinet of curiosities," a distinct minor box displaying, as a historical fact, the attempts. It is exceptionally difficult to preserve talent while serving power. This applies not only to our specific situation, but on the whole: even while serving a good government, the natural position of an artist is to distance themselves from power. Therefore, people will analyze how Prilepin transformed from a good writer, the author of Sankya, into merely a cop with a computer. They will analyze certain individuals who attempted to merge in.
There is a reality that because the authorities failed to find artists ready to cooperate with them in a broad sense—whereas during the Soviet era they persuaded, attempting to turn an artist into a propagandist—now they are attempting to turn propagandists into artists. Who is our chairman of the Writers' Union? Medinsky—meaning a thoroughbred PR man who has absolutely nothing to do with culture is the chairman of the Writers' Union. That means they have no writers. They are attempting this with artists, with everyone. PR men will fulfill the role of art.
Host: And are there no talents there?
Marat Guelman: Yes, there are, of course, but as I said, they are either these "new quiets" working "for the desk drawer"—and what they are producing now we will uncover after the dark spell concludes—or they are individuals who will sooner or later leave, because the repressions are intensifying. After all, a vast number of people—myself included—incorrectly evaluated what this would look like at the very beginning. It seemed to us it would conclude rapidly. A lot of people made the decision to wait it out. A segment of them, at a certain juncture—perhaps right now, in connection with these drones and other developments—is making the decision to pack their bags and bail.
Host: That is regarding whether there are talents specifically within Z-art?
Marat Guelman: Look, talent is like—what was sown is what was born. Next, you must water it, display it to the sun. A work of art is born when a talented seed finds itself in good, natural conditions. Today, these conditions within this context of power are toxic. There will be flowers, but they will be flowers of evil. For example, Prokhanov—initially, probably naturally a talented person with a unique sense of language, but gradually he transformed into someone who writes novel after novel, empty kilometers of lines. Therefore, talent is a mandatory—meaning a necessary but insufficient—condition for bright, compelling works claiming a slot in art history to emerge.
Host: It won't mean that in 50 years, a Z-poster will hang alongside a Soviet propaganda poster?
Marat Guelman: They don't even have them anymore. That is a fine thing, by the way. The revolutionary era—there was a serious charge of idealism there, meaning a goal-setting, a gaze into the future. What is transpiring today is revanchism, a gaze into the past. When Putin speaks about the future, he is actually describing the 19th century. He believes that was Russia's golden age, that we need to move backward rather than forward. And within this atmosphere of moving backward, why would you need new artists anyway? They already existed in the past. Why bother? Better we re-issue Sholokhov yet again, or Mayakovsky’s poetry. Why do we require new ones? Everything is in the past.
Host: I want to ask you more about politics. About the "Peaceful Russia" party. Do you believe in it?
Marat Guelman: I would put it like this: do I believe that they believe they will soon return to Russia on the first train? Naturally, no. But at the same time, it seems to me a highly vital event has transpired, because a vast number of those who left Russia, who disagree with what is transpiring, perceive their departure as temporary. They do not wish or are unable—it doesn't matter—to adapt to this life. They want to return to Russia, but a different Russia. And these individuals command a certain potential—political and creative. This potential manifests once a year, when the anniversary of Navalny's murder occurs, gathering in various cities, but fundamentally it wasn't being utilized.
For example, I am a member of the Anti-War Committee; we do not have a membership expansion mechanism. We have 24 individuals, plus we have diasporas. Not a single one of the currently existing political structures presupposes open membership. There was one experiment, a highly successful one—the Berlin Declaration. Those who were opposed signed the Berlin Declaration. Well, fine. They signed it and walked away. So in this sense, as the emergence of a new opposition structure with open membership, I believe it is highly vital.
The second aspect is that they keep Russia in focus, because for our part—take my “MetaRussia” project—we have already said goodbye in a certain sense, and we are constructing our lives here. We are not dissolving; we are formulating certain traits of this new European Russian-language culture. But we don't look back there, by and large. They look; they will be the first, I think, to discern the signs of, say, Putin's collapse, and that is also a fine thing.
And third, it’s simply the people. What kind of people joined? Perhaps you and I, say, look at this superficially, whereas those who signed indicating their participation scrutinized it more closely. And I want to say that there are many pleasant, responsible, intelligent individuals there. They discovered a certain meaning in it for themselves. I was even surprised when I arrived and saw a fairly large number of interesting people. Therefore, it isn't that I believe—meaning I don't believe, perhaps, in its immediate effectiveness—but I comprehend that such an organization is vital, and it will assist, perhaps, in alternative spheres, even those un-declared by the party.
Let me clarify my position. The primary grievance leveled against Yashin’s party and against the Russian opposition as a whole is not the grievance of opponents, but the grievance of skeptics. Meaning these are individuals who are not against Yashin or Khodorkovsky, but who say: "We are skeptical regarding your capabilities to influence the situation." And this skepticism is the primary challenge.
I believe that a triad—meaning three forces—will cope with Putin. The first force is European policymakers or policy. The second force is the Ukrainian army, and the third force is the Russian opposition. Together, the three are effective. And within this combination, the Russian opposition occupies its specific slot: expertise, direct communication with people inside Russia, which has been preserved at the level of relatives. Therefore, this skepticism is natural when you examine the Russian opposition as an independent force, but if you examine it within this triad, it is clear that it is entirely effective.
And then it becomes clear that yes, there is Yashin’s party. Meanwhile, for example—little is said about it now—but in four days, on the 26th, Ilya Ponomarev’s Congress of People's Deputies will gather in Warsaw. These are, conventionally speaking, left-wingers, almost our local communists, but not Zyuganov’s communists—rather young communists who speak out against Putin. They will gather in Warsaw. Meaning all of these are certain... And tomorrow the liberals, conventionally speaking, will gather in Brussels. All of this together, interacting with European policy and with the Ukrainian army, stands a chance of defeating Putin, I believe.
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Host: That is exactly what our question is about. Can these three forces interact, specifically the Ukrainian army and the Russian opposition?
Marat Guelman: They are interacting already.
Host: Well, how?
Marat Guelman: First of all, not everything should be widely known. Second, Zelensky recently decorated certain representatives of the Russian opposition and journalism. Meaning, they value this. Third, there exist, for example, representatives of the Freedom of Russia Legion. These are Russian citizens fighting on Ukraine's side. Their representatives were present both at the Kasparov forum and at Khodorkovsky's anti-war forum, and they even spoke. So coordination exists. We can say that, say, it could be better, as it appears to us, but it exists. And, of course, within this triad, our role may not be the primary one, that must be conceded, but it exists. And the work is being conducted.
Host: Mysteriously, as though it’s a secret.
Marat Guelman: I simply comprehend that indeed, not all information should be public. A war is ongoing, after all. This isn't the Olympic Games, where there is a camera tracking everything, who maneuvers how, who cheats how. In this war, unquestionably, diplomacy, ruses of war, and so forth exist.
Host: Further questions. Some individuals, for example, the actress Irina Volkova, publicly resigned from the party following the congress. What do you think could have disillusioned them so heavily?
Marat Guelman: I am not aware of the details. I know that when the party was being established, a discussion arose regarding how the party should be governed. Second, perhaps what is more... very diverse individuals gathered there. From what I observed, someone was outraged by Leonid Volkov's arrival. Perhaps—I don't know, this is my assumption—someone resigned due to that, because a public accusation was leveled. Say, a segment of people faced persecution due to donations to the FBK. In short, some incorrect situation occurred with the FBK there. But I am not certain about this. It is a live process.
Understandably, if you are, say, a pacifist and you traveled to the congress hosted by that same Ponomarev, and a representative of the Freedom of Russia Legion spoke there—that was a real scenario—wearing a military uniform with Ukrainian identification marks, for you, that is impossible. You picked up and walked away. That is normal. Take the Anti-War Committee, for example. We consciously monitor things to ensure that all of our activity remains strictly within the framework of such an anti-war discourse—meaning refraining from interacting with the military. At the same time, a specific member in their personal capacity can perfectly well interact.
Host: Correct me if I misunderstood. You stated previously that the role of the Russian opposition is rather that it provides expertise and is perhaps symbolic.
Marat Guelman: No, and communication. Communication, yes.
Host: Communication, yes. But concurrently, you also stated that cultural figures have rather turned inward toward art, inward toward Europe, and inward toward a comprehension of themselves within this art society.
Marat Guelman: Well, that was regarding global art.
Host: Regarding global art, yes. But I simply think that perhaps it would be more effective if art turned outward too.
Marat Guelman: The answer is yes. It's just that for this... The thing is, for example, the Anti-War Committee in Brussels, instead of opening an office, opened an gallery. We will host our second exhibition in the gallery already. By the way, it is called the "Perm" gallery. It was necessary to send a signal that these are Russian citizens, but this is not Moscow, not the Kremlin. "Perm" is not Moscow. This signifies the acknowledgement by politicians of the importance of art.
The thing is, within the relations between culture and politics, it was always the case that politicians are big and important, they deal with business, they somehow strike deals: "Deposit the capital over there and leave." Meanwhile, culture is somewhere out there. Yet here it suddenly turned out, for example, that Alla Pugacheva’s interview influenced anti-war sentiments more than all the congresses our politicians conducted this year combined. This means the Anti-War Committee acknowledged the importance of culture. And that is highly vital. Culture as a whole is an open space. It is vital for politics to provide culture with the correct slot, a dignified slot.
As for this universal global exhaustion with the war and such alienation—well, it is melancholy. I recorded this not as a joyous event, but as a melancholy one. Yes, unfortunately, time... This concerns, it appears to me, not only art. I observe it in many people: that's it, they have burned out, they are tired. Two and a half years. During this time, alternative wars have emerged—Iran, for instance. A certain sensation has arisen that, like, there are always some wars going on somewhere.
And here I possess a clear comprehension: this is my war, and that is not my war. This is a war in which I am obligated to participate. Out there, I can simply observe. But on the whole, Putin has in a certain sense weaponized this exhaustion of the populace. He knows that people cannot remain elevated in an ecstatic state for long. Gradually, they must sleep anyway; they must find joy in something. Four years of war—was there not a single joyous day? That is untrue; everyone experienced them, everyone can find them. With this extension of time, it appears to me that Putin understands something. Everyone argued that, look, he waited out Biden, for instance—endured, endured, oh, Trump appeared, certain hopes emerged. One must not underestimate this Putin grip.
Host: Little time is left, but I still want to ask at least a final question. Is Nikas Safronov considered art?
Marat Guelman: Look, the very question of what constitutes art and what does not is highly ambiguous, I would put it that way. It is art, but bad art—art of a very low quality, decorative-applied art. There isn't an element of innovation there, there isn't an element of talent there—there isn't even basic plastic talent there. But simply what is art and what is non-art is an infinite conversation. Usually, I endeavor to evade this and state: anything that a person calling themselves an artist labels as their work constitutes art. And subsequently, we say: "Well, this is trash." This doesn't mean that trash isn't art. No, it is art—it's just bad art.
