Nikolay Polissky

I refer to the public art created by my group as “archstoyanie” because it is the kind of art where works are born out of and establish themselves in natural settings, in co-authorship, and close relations with people. This approach helps me to distinguish between good and bad art because people, in general, don’t just create rubbish. First of all, people consider the idea and tell me: “Uncle Kolya, that works, we like it.” That way I have no trouble in explaining my art. It creates itself and explains itself.

There are few public artworks in the world that I personally like. The more time passes, the more I am convinced that we are at the forefront of public art. Still, I can refer to a few favorite artists: Richard Serra, Сhristo Hristo Yavashev, Anish Kapoor, Daniel Buren. The latter’s striped Colonnes de Buren (1986) were removed from Paris due to common complaints. We viewed them in 1989 and we loved them.

There are examples of public art in the world, but research in this field has still a long way to go, because people began massively consuming art just recently. Previously, art was seen as belonging to the elites. Currently, we are gaining understanding of what people require. Public art is art that satisfies popular demands. We have yet to see this kind of art.

That kind of art must be of interest to people. People have to see it by their own free will. Let them mock, think up funny titles, yet the people’s path thereto must never disappear. My art is best experienced in Nikola-Lenivets. It’s much more difficult to work in cities. People begin damning you for spending money on trifles. The reason behind the damnation is poverty. People in cities worry about other things. People are different in such trouble-free countries as France and Japan, yet you still have to find willing helpers and art lovers to explain everything to those who remain unsatisfied. People must be engaged in the act of joint creation, that’s the only way of gaining an understanding of public art everywhere.

It happened in the winter of 2000. At the start of January, I was in Nizhny Novgorod with a large group of artists and architects. We were considering the possibility of NCCA at the Arsenal of the Nizhny Novgorod Kremlin. There was a lot of snow everywhere. I was napping in our bus and suddenly dreamt the whole snowmen thing. I went to Nikola-Lenivets because I knew some people over there. It was freezing cold outside, and we couldn’t have made enough snowmen by ourselves. I told Yuri Muravitsky: “Find some people and ask them to make snowmen. We’ll pay 10 rubles per snowman.” I did a sketch and forgot about the whole thing. Two weeks passed. Uncle Yura calls me: “Alright, you can come around. It’s ready.” Somewhere around February 23, Konstantin Batynkov, Sergey Lobanov, and I arrived at the site and were amazed. We dug out a camera and began photographing. I later showed the photos to Vasily Bychkov who offered to present them at Art-Moscow. I saw how much the whole project was appreciated by people. At that time everybody was doing other things. Our project appeared to be an interpretation of impressionism for the 21st century.

I was emboldened by the recognition of the professional community. What next? I decided to maintain the unity of place and action. That summer we cut down grass in Nikola-Lenivets and built our Ziggurat. I understood what resources I had at hand: land and people. I would have been a fool not to take advantage of those resources. I packed away all my previous cultural knowledge and began to actively pursue my new work. Afterwards there were exhibitions in France. I worked for about eight years with my co-authors from the village but the spot became too famous, so we established the festival.

I like building columns, I have quite a few projects in that vein. A grapevine column in the city of Die in France. Border of the Empire made from many columns in Nikola-Lenivets. I did a woven column for Old Manege. There were the columns for the Universal Mind. In the new series Russian Antiquity, I am de facto copying antique columns but I am using Russian village materials for the fluting, capitals, and foundations. The exhibition will present a 6-meter high complete column in the style of Russian antiquity. The gallery will feature the column in ruins: capitals will be presented separately, just as ruins of ancient cities.

I’d say that a good artist’s name immediately conjures up a clear picture of his work. If the image is fragmented, made up of various bouts of creativity, various attempts at art, then that person cannot be an artist in the true sense of the word. Being an artist is about fate, about creating a clear result. A true artist might not create a lot of things yet the few things he does create will be of real value.

We can talk about a multitude of themes. I am not especially interested in literature and social issues, though I do appreciate that other people can be interested in these fields. I am focused on organicity, on creating an object in an empty field, on ensuring that the people’s path thereto never disappears. I guide people to the field, show them the need to go there. There are times when one views ruins of some temple or something of that sort, and one doesn’t understand what stood in that place. Yet one is mesmerized, thoughtful, interested. One wants to go back there. That’s the most important thing: create something engaging, something that people can accept as a part of their universe.

Any feedback. Sometimes the feedback is truly unexpected. A boy and his grandmother will see something of their own, while the genius critic and philosopher Alexey Lidov will talk at length about sacred knowledge. I tell him: “There are no sacred things!” He persists: “No, they do exist, you just deny their existence!” I remain unconvinced. Religious ravings. However, some things can force people to deceive themselves, so enticing these things prove to be. The main goal is to produce a thing that will tantalize people in a good way.

There is no specific location but I am always overjoyed to be invited to an unusual natural spot. It’s as though I’m collecting such spots! A few years ago, I was invited to the Vladimirka Village in Yakutia. I was presented with a truly otherworldly landscape. One’s mind begins actively working in such spots. A new place offers an awesome bout of energy. There is a drawback to viewing such places: you don’t want to harm or disturb their beauty. Of course, all things pass in time, yet people can enjoy them as they are right now. Usually, I’m invited to rather depressing locales to enliven the surroundings with my art. Artists are called upon to resurrect life. I like placing my works in places that I wouldn’t have visited otherwise. For the sake of variety in my “collection”!