Both admirers of Pieter Breugel the Elder's chaotic peasant scenes and expatriated hipsters pining for Burning Man can find much to admire at the Archstoyanie festival, the latest installment of which took place Feb. 28. Since 2006, the event has been held twice yearly in a tiny, remote village located four-hours drive from Moscow called Nikola-Lenivets, or "Lazy Nick," in pristine surroundings overlooking the Ugra River.
The festival's main attraction, aside from the blinis that Russians scoff the whole week before Lent to celebrate the holiday of Maslenitsa, is the work of land-art pioneer Nikolai Polissky. A village resident since 1989, Polissky has transformed the surroundings with his spectacular wooden constructions and transformed the village into a small but productive artistic colony.
"Most of all, I was struck by the primordial, untouched natural beauty around Nikola-Lenivets," he explained. "When you walk out onto the high bank of the Ugra, it takes your breath away, and you understand that it was just like this a thousand, or 3,000, years ago."
The location is indeed spectacular, with not a single building to be seen on any horizon and an almost spiritual stillness into which the works both of Polissky and his collaborators fit seamlessly. As is the rule with land-art, it's impossible to imagine the structures having the same striking effect anywhere else. Though many of them take modern or industrial forms, such as those of lighthouses or even nuclear reactors, Polissky's technique makes the objects seem wild and positively ancient, as a part of the land as the woods and fields around them.
One of Polissky's main achievements is to have not only integrated his work into the village but also the village into his work. Local peasants benefit from his teaching, actively take part in the building of the objects he designs and often go on to build their own pieces of land-art beside them.
"It's a classical art," Polissky explained, "and everything's already been catalogued and canonized. The only way you can add to it is through a very strong intonation, a very bright take by an artist supported by several assistants, co-authors from the people."
The most recent installment of the festival featured no new works by Polissky himself -- he is busy working on a wooden particle collider to go on show in Luxembourg in May -- but centered instead around a work by longtime village resident Vasili Shchetinin titled "Gilded Calf," a wooden structure that is half-bull and half-boat in form and functions as a performance space for Russian folk music groups with space beside it for a muddy discotheque, which started up later in the evening. In the other half of the field, Konstantin Larin's giant, red "Flame Lady" hosted a slide for children to play on before being lit on fire as the sun set.
At times, Archstoyanie recalls the medieval carnivals described by philosopher Mikhail Bakhtin as little one-day rebellions against authority, with its raucous atmosphere, bizarre rituals and modest spirit of anarchy. Polissky's work, in particular, is sometimes held up by liberal admirers in Moscow as a blow against both the prevalence of art as a commodity and the increasing central authority that have marked Russian art in the Putin years.
One Polissky piece that contributed to that reputation debuted at last year's winter event, held just two days before the presidential elections: the massive metal "Fire-Bird," a reproduction of Russia's two-headed imperial eagle belching out flames and dark, billowing clouds that descended over the village. But as quick as some were to see Medvedev in the second head, Polissky claims to have no interest in politics or political actions, even though his co-authors have included the notorious "most-banned artists in Russia," the Blue Noses.
"But certainly there's irony or self-deprecation in all my works," he admitted. "All empires are bound to conquer territories and threaten their enemies -- we're just directing people's attention to that. [Different] people could interpret [my work] in different ways, though."
The festival's main attraction, aside from the blinis that Russians scoff the whole week before Lent to celebrate the holiday of Maslenitsa, is the work of land-art pioneer Nikolai Polissky. A village resident since 1989, Polissky has transformed the surroundings with his spectacular wooden constructions and transformed the village into a small but productive artistic colony.
"Most of all, I was struck by the primordial, untouched natural beauty around Nikola-Lenivets," he explained. "When you walk out onto the high bank of the Ugra, it takes your breath away, and you understand that it was just like this a thousand, or 3,000, years ago."
The location is indeed spectacular, with not a single building to be seen on any horizon and an almost spiritual stillness into which the works both of Polissky and his collaborators fit seamlessly. As is the rule with land-art, it's impossible to imagine the structures having the same striking effect anywhere else. Though many of them take modern or industrial forms, such as those of lighthouses or even nuclear reactors, Polissky's technique makes the objects seem wild and positively ancient, as a part of the land as the woods and fields around them.
One of Polissky's main achievements is to have not only integrated his work into the village but also the village into his work. Local peasants benefit from his teaching, actively take part in the building of the objects he designs and often go on to build their own pieces of land-art beside them.
"It's a classical art," Polissky explained, "and everything's already been catalogued and canonized. The only way you can add to it is through a very strong intonation, a very bright take by an artist supported by several assistants, co-authors from the people."
The most recent installment of the festival featured no new works by Polissky himself -- he is busy working on a wooden particle collider to go on show in Luxembourg in May -- but centered instead around a work by longtime village resident Vasili Shchetinin titled "Gilded Calf," a wooden structure that is half-bull and half-boat in form and functions as a performance space for Russian folk music groups with space beside it for a muddy discotheque, which started up later in the evening. In the other half of the field, Konstantin Larin's giant, red "Flame Lady" hosted a slide for children to play on before being lit on fire as the sun set.
At times, Archstoyanie recalls the medieval carnivals described by philosopher Mikhail Bakhtin as little one-day rebellions against authority, with its raucous atmosphere, bizarre rituals and modest spirit of anarchy. Polissky's work, in particular, is sometimes held up by liberal admirers in Moscow as a blow against both the prevalence of art as a commodity and the increasing central authority that have marked Russian art in the Putin years.
One Polissky piece that contributed to that reputation debuted at last year's winter event, held just two days before the presidential elections: the massive metal "Fire-Bird," a reproduction of Russia's two-headed imperial eagle belching out flames and dark, billowing clouds that descended over the village. But as quick as some were to see Medvedev in the second head, Polissky claims to have no interest in politics or political actions, even though his co-authors have included the notorious "most-banned artists in Russia," the Blue Noses.
"But certainly there's irony or self-deprecation in all my works," he admitted. "All empires are bound to conquer territories and threaten their enemies -- we're just directing people's attention to that. [Different] people could interpret [my work] in different ways, though."
A Message from The Moscow Times:
Dear readers,
We are facing unprecedented challenges. Russia's Prosecutor General's Office has designated The Moscow Times as an "undesirable" organization, criminalizing our work and putting our staff at risk of prosecution. This follows our earlier unjust labeling as a "foreign agent."
These actions are direct attempts to silence independent journalism in Russia. The authorities claim our work "discredits the decisions of the Russian leadership." We see things differently: we strive to provide accurate, unbiased reporting on Russia.
We, the journalists of The Moscow Times, refuse to be silenced. But to continue our work, we need your help.
Your support, no matter how small, makes a world of difference. If you can, please support us monthly starting from just $2. It's quick to set up, and every contribution makes a significant impact.
By supporting The Moscow Times, you're defending open, independent journalism in the face of repression. Thank you for standing with us.
Not ready to support today?
Remind me later.
Remind me later.
×
Remind me next month
Thank you! Your reminder is set.
We will send you one reminder email a month from now. For details on the personal data we collect and how it is used, please see our Privacy Policy.