Марат Гельман: ИИ-искусство, бои в Курске и последствия насилия
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Host: I'd like to begin our conversation with artificial intelligence. I’ve watched the recent debates with interest, particularly your ongoing experiments with AI on social media. Could you briefly explain to our audience the essence of the scandal that erupted around your recent Vladimir Sorokin exhibition, and what grievances people have regarding artificial intelligence in art?
Marat Guelman: It is indeed an unpleasant scandal, especially because it stems from my own administrative negligence.
For Vladimir Sorokin's first AI-assisted exhibition in Berlin, we employed a "prompt engineer" to help generate the images. Normally, my Berlin gallery doesn't represent Russian artists, so all exhibition texts are prepared in English. However, because Sorokin sent the artwork titles and details in Russian, my staff printed the wall labels in Russian. I saw this an hour before the opening and ordered all Russian-language labels removed, as it was inappropriate for our standard gallery format. Consequently, on opening day, the name of the prompt engineer was absent from the exhibition walls.
Host: To clarify, a prompt engineer is a person who communicates with the artificial intelligence model and feeds it instructions?
Guelman: Exactly. That omission sparked the initial complaint. But it quickly expanded into a much broader debate: who is the true author of an artwork when an artist collaborates with artificial intelligence?
This specific debate is actually somewhat outdated. Today, we possess specialized AI models with highly intuitive interfaces, meaning artists no longer require a technical intermediary—they interact directly with the model. But in this case, the prompt engineer was viewed by many as a sympathetic figure—a poor, marginalized worker seemingly exploited by a powerful gallery and a literary titan like Sorokin.
Fundamentally, this echoes historical debates that arise whenever new technology emerges: Who is the author of a photograph—the camera mechanism or the photographer? Who is the author of a theatrical production? When multiple actors contribute to a final product, disputes over "collective authorship" become acute.
Host: Do you believe the prompt engineer is not a co-author?
Guelman: No, of course not.
Host: Why? They are the human communicating with the neural network, helping it generate the final image.
Guelman: Authorship belongs to the person who defines the final product. A film director is recognized as the author of a film, even though the cinematographer physically captures the footage. The director selects the script, establishes the vision, directs the actors, and crucially, oversees the final edit. The director concludes the creative process by making the ultimate decisions.
To make AI generate something, it requires instructions. The AI produces a result; the artist reviews it and says, "No, this element must change," and adjusts the parameters. At a certain point, the artist declares: "This is the final result." The individual who makes that final declarative selection is the author.
I don't exclude the possibility that in certain contexts, the person operating the computer could be considered a co-author. But in this specific exhibition, the conceptual framework was rigidly defined by Sorokin's novel, and Sorokin himself made every final selection.
Host: But when a film is made, the cinematographer is still credited. Why didn't you credit the prompt engineer as a participant in the project?
Guelman: As I explained, the scandal arose from my administrative oversight. When we pulled the Russian-language labels right before the opening, we inadvertently removed the credit listing Yevgeny Nikitin as the prompt engineer.
However, participants driving this scandal online hadn't actually visited the exhibition; they only saw the promotional posters. You don't list technical assistants on an event poster. A promotional poster lists the author, time, location, gallery, and exhibition title. Full credits are provided in the exhibition text inside the gallery. Furthermore, he wasn't our only prompt engineer. Our subsequent London exhibition didn't use him at all, and for our American show, only five out of thirty works utilized his input.
Host: Can you explain the artistic merit of hosting an exhibition composed entirely of AI-generated works?
Guelman: AI is a new medium for artists. Just as the invention of the computer birthed media art, artificial intelligence provides a new creative instrument. Artists immediately begin experimenting with it, producing a novel category of art.
It is fascinating because the primary method of AI creation—Text-to-Image—transforms written language directly into visual reality. A description materializes into an image. In a sense, human language assumes a divine, genesis-like quality: "Let there be light," and light appears. This draws entirely new demographics into the art world, much as the invention of the camera did in its era.
Additionally, artists are drawn to the concept of "losing control." Critics often complain that an AI prompt doesn't yield an exact replication of the artist's request. That is true, but some artists desire that unpredictability. Following movements like Suprematism, which were rigidly structured, Tachisme emerged—artists threw cans of liquid paint onto canvases, allowing it to drip and pool naturally. Jackson Pollock is the most famous example. The artist didn't control every single drip; they appreciated the holistic result precisely because the paint flowed outside their direct control.
I believe that over the next few years, this medium will produce a new generation of major artists.
Host: Don't you perceive this as a threat to traditional, human-crafted art?
Guelman: It is certainly a threat to commercial illustration as a trade; that reality has already materialized. Most commercial designers now utilize AI platforms for standard illustration work.
But AI poses a far greater threat to bureaucrats, drivers, and administrative clerks, as it can automate their core functions. While it threatens routine copywriting and sound engineering, I don't view it as an existential threat to profound poets, musicians, or fine artists.
There is a popular new meme: "AI won't replace humans; humans who know how to use AI will replace humans who don't." Generating a meaningful result still requires a human operator; that human simply becomes exponentially more efficient.
We faced similar fears during the Industrial Revolution regarding mass unemployment, which eventually gave rise to the service economy. I hope this technological shift will spark an explosive proliferation of new artists, writers, and musicians.
Host: You recently posted AI-generated poetry, and it is undeniably good at mimicking established poets. It seems someone entirely devoid of poetic talent could use AI to generate works, pass them off as their own, and achieve success.
Guelman: Let's observe how this develops. Historically, existential threats to older media—such as the fear that cinema would kill theater—never fully materialized. Cinema evolved as a distinct art form, and theater survived alongside it.
What AI does change is our relationship with poetry. No one needs imitators anymore. Do you know how many poets spend their lives mimicking Joseph Brodsky? Tens of thousands. Those imitators are now obsolete because AI can replicate that style instantly.
However, poets possessing a unique, original voice and deep personal meaning remain vital. We still value them and envy their talent. It comes down to original talent, not the sheer volume of verses AI can churn out. Regarding raw production speed, AI will outpace humans a hundredfold—that much is certain.
Host: Will your Berlin gallery focus actively on presenting AI art?
Guelman: There are currently only two established galleries globally dedicated exclusively to AI-assisted art: one in California, and mine in Berlin. We represent around twenty artists. Thus far, only two Russian creators have participated: Vladimir Sorokin and theater director Dmitry Krymov.
Host: Let's transition to the current situation in the Kursk region. The front lines remain active on Russian territory, while the Russian authorities react somewhat passively. Public debate has largely centered on moral questions: Should one assist the residents of the Kursk region? I understand you advocate for providing aid, but specifically through international organizations.
Guelman: I believe that civilians caught in an active combat zone—whether they reside in Kharkiv or Kursk—deserve our empathy and assistance.
The issue is that we cannot trust the state-run Sberbank accounts or official funds established by the Russian government for this purpose. Therefore, our goal is to provide aid without interacting with the Russian state apparatus, ensuring our assistance reaches civilians directly. We particularly want to support those fleeing the conflict who wish to relocate to Europe to escape participation in the war entirely.
Host: Are there international organizations currently operating in the Kursk region assisting civilians?
Guelman: Under the Geneva Conventions, territorial assistance should be managed by entities like the Red Cross.
However, we operate through an organization called The Ark (Kovcheg), which assists Russian refugees and emigrants. We established a dedicated track within The Ark for residents of the Kursk region, mirroring a similar track previously created for the Belgorod region. Civilians facing critical danger who wish to leave those areas are expedited through our relocation assistance channels.
Host: I suspect the number of Kursk residents seeking to emigrate to Europe is far smaller than the number requiring immediate financial or housing assistance domestically.
Guelman: I agree. I am simply identifying what we are practically capable of doing without engaging with the Russian state or sanctioned state corporations. We must focus on where we can be effective. We maintain networks of trusted individuals—such as those who participated in the "Noon Against Putin" protests—through whom we can route direct civilian aid. Secondly, we assist those who make the definitive choice to leave for Europe.
Host: Why do you think a debate even emerged among opposition circles regarding whether assisting Kursk civilians is morally acceptable?
Guelman: It emerged from a false equivalence. Many people conflate the concept of collective political responsibility for the war with the right to humanitarian aid.
Some argue that because Russian citizens bear a degree of collective responsibility for their government's war, they are unworthy of humanitarian assistance. This is a flawed premise. Yes, responsibility exists on various levels—one could even argue Angela Merkel bears a microscopic degree of responsibility for signing energy deals that enriched Putin.
But political responsibility does not negate the need to help a civilian grandmother caught in crossfire. She is not a combatant, and she is in acute danger.
Host: Does it matter if that same grandmother previously donated money to buy drones for the Russian army?
Guelman: While that would be unfortunate, we cannot conduct ideological audits during an emergency. During an active war, when a civilian requires immediate rescue, you provide aid. After the war concludes, society can investigate individual complicity or financial support for the military. During a crisis, you do not demand ideological purity tests from those seeking humanitarian survival.
Host: This raises a separate question: why is the Russian state relying on such unorthodox methods to aid its own citizens? I received two emails via the state portal Gosuslugi: one soliciting donations through the e-commerce platform Ozon to buy aid certificates for Kursk residents, and another asking citizens to offer their private apartments to refugees via the classifieds site Avito. It is bizarre that the state relies on corporate collaborations and private citizens rather than utilizing federal resources.
Guelman: It suggests that state planners are desperately trying to squeeze every last ruble out of the civilian population. They constantly shift the economic burden of the war onto ordinary citizens—through inflation, taxation, and now by crowdsourcing refugee housing via Avito.
It confirms that the state's economic reality is far less rosy than official propaganda claims. The state simply lacks the institutional mechanisms to deliver targeted domestic humanitarian aid. The Russian bureaucratic apparatus is built strictly for fiscal extraction and repression, not social welfare. Consequently, they resort to improvising tools through private tech platforms.
Host: What is your assessment of the Russian government's behavior since Ukrainian forces entered Russian territory?
Guelman: I observe several conflicting strategic lines:
Host: Returning to the Kursk offensive: does it accelerate the prospect of negotiations, or delay them?
Guelman: The Kursk offensive made negotiations fundamentally possible.
Previously, there was nothing to negotiate. Zelenskyy had nothing tangible to offer Putin in exchange for the withdrawal of Russian forces from Ukrainian territory. Now, a baseline for exchange exists. Zelenskyy no longer avoids negotiations because he holds leverage: "We return Kursk; you return Donetsk and Luhansk." The offensive transformed abstract diplomatic appeals into substantive geopolitical leverage.
Host: Assuming Putin is willing to negotiate.
Guelman: I predict this specific operational crisis will conclude via diplomatic agreement rather than military force.
Putin currently lacks the immediate military reserves required to expel Ukrainian forces from the Kursk region. If he redeploys front-line units from the Donbas to Kursk, the Russian offensive in eastern Ukraine collapses, which constitutes a political defeat.
His only alternative to a negotiated exchange is a massive new wave of domestic mobilization. To secure the troops necessary to reclaim Kursk and fortify the entire thousand-kilometer border against future incursions, he requires a massive influx of manpower. A new mobilization carries severe domestic political risks.
Host: Which risk is greater for Putin: another wave of mobilization, or conceding the temporary loss of the Kursk region?
Guelman: A new mobilization poses a far greater threat to his domestic power. He can easily afford to trade Kursk later using occupied Ukrainian territory as a bargaining chip. While he might risk mobilization, I hope that such a move would precipitate his political collapse.
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Host: We have seen a resurgence of domestic terrorism in Russia. Today, inmates took prison guards hostage in the Volgograd region. A few months ago, a similar incident occurred in a different colony, preceded by the massive Crocus City Hall attack and mob violence in Dagestan. Why is this happening?
Guelman: It is the direct consequence of the state relinquishing its monopoly on violence.
A functioning state must be the sole entity authorized to use legal force. However, when the Russian state passed laws decreeing that crimes committed in Ukraine in the "interest of the state" are exempt from prosecution, and when it released violent felons from prison on the condition they fight in the military, it shattered that monopoly.
Yevgeny Prigozhin demonstrated that violence is no longer the exclusive domain of the state. When a veteran returns from the war, having exercised unrestrained violence in Ukraine, he feels entitled to exercise that same violence domestically.
If a prison inmate knows that the worst possible punishment for rioting is being sent to the front lines—where he will fight alongside regular officers—the deterrent effect of the justice system collapses.
This is an incredibly dangerous dynamic. The true consequences will materialize when the war ends and hundreds of thousands of veterans return home, carrying untreated trauma and an internalized belief that they possess a personal license to commit violence.
Host: Why are Russian security services failing to prevent these terrorist attacks, given their massive surveillance capabilities?
Guelman: The security apparatus is entirely redirected toward the war effort and crushing domestic political dissent. Tracking actual terrorist networks requires immense resources that are currently diverted.
Furthermore, Putin's obsession with fabricating internal political enemies—such as targeting "Ukrainian Nazis" or LGBT individuals—creates a strategic blind spot. Radical Islamic terrorist networks sense that the state's security grip has loosened because its focus is elsewhere, presenting an ideal window to strike.
I initially assumed the Crocus City Hall attack would force the Kremlin to recognize that its primary security threat is radical Islamic terrorism, not imaginary Ukrainian plots. That pivot never happened. It reflects the deep institutional schizophrenia of the regime—it is simultaneously brutally repressive against unarmed dissidents and entirely impotent against armed terrorists.
Host: Finally, you mentioned a positive development earlier regarding the establishment of a new university in Europe.
Guelman: Yes, one of the unexpected byproducts of the current crisis has been the massive relocation of Russian intellectual and cultural capital to Europe.
Just an hour and a half before this broadcast, we formally received the state license to open a new university in Montenegro. It is a genuine Liberal Arts university, with degrees recognized globally. We secured educational accreditation from the Ministry of Education six months ago, and today we finalized the operational license.
Host: What academic disciplines will you offer?
Guelman: We offer Sociology, Political Science, Art History, Media Studies, and Digital Culture.
The core faculty consists almost entirely of professors from the Moscow School of Social and Economic Sciences (Shaninka), which was effectively dismantled in Russia. They relocated and now form the academic foundation of our new institution.
The Academic Council includes political scientist Ekaterina Schulmann and historian Andrei Zorin. Enrollment is currently open.
Host: Are you targeting emigrants or local students?
Guelman: Both. We already have 84 students enrolled—81 are relocated students, including former Shaninka students, and we offer dedicated scholarships for local Montenegrin students. Instruction is provided in English, Montenegrin (Serbian), and Russian, and applicants can complete entrance exams in any of those three languages.
This university operates alongside our broader initiative in Montenegro, where we run an artistic residency. Over 40 exiled artists have worked there so far, and we are building a permanent collection of Russian art in exile, with the goal of representing 200 key artists. It is a crucial effort to preserve independent Russian culture outside the reach of state repression.
Host: Thank you, Marat. That is a truly positive note to end on.
