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I was born on December 22, 1964 in the Novosibirsk Academgorodok in the family of physicists. During the Soviet Union, I studied at the Physics Faculty of the Leningrad State University. A.A. Zhdanov.
In the 1980s, I blindfolded myself and at night, on the roof of the university, poured paint from a bucket onto the canvas. Then the art squats began. At that time, I had many friends of artists, most of them died long ago. When the Soviet Union fell and began a new time, I moved to my homeland in Siberia.
In Siberia, I conducted a project from myth to contemporary art, comparing the artifacts of the art of long-gone epochs with my own spiritual quest. The idea of the project of a new art of Siberia, belonged to A.G. Pozdeev, later his own work of this new style disappeared in the gallery of Rudolf Koryagin in Kemerovo. Like almost all of my works of that period. Part of my work saved E. Demidov, daughter of Rudolph. She is the keeper of the collection in the local museum. It is now. But then, on the orders of the museums, I traveled a lot through the ancient sanctuaries.
Some museum staff invited me to the exhibition, others demanded a bribe for this. It was not just corruption, the epic of the whole Russian culture then began as an epidemic.
Once, when once again refused to pay the "curator" for the exhibition of our art group, I was asked to close the huge graphic sheets of V.Kapelko with glass. Otherwise the exhibition is canceled. During installation, the glass cracked and cut the tendons in my hands. After that, I drew, holding the brush in my teeth.
I collected all my paintings from museums, sewed the plague from them and lived in it to the northeast of Baikal, until in winter, in the frost it was burned by unknown people and I did not survive a clinical death from hypothermia. When I woke up at the railway station Tulun for 500 km to the west, I recorded visions. In Novosibirsk, this book was published.
Then I got to London and visions from the Siberian taiga came back. I returned to Moscow. In 2012, after a 15-year break, I again began to participate in exhibitions.
Once, in 2017, in a workshop on Myasnitskaya Street, where I worked then, my artwork was torn into tiny shreds. I glued these works in a new random order and again hung it on the same wall. At that moment I realized that I am drawing the structure of the space of thought, as a plan for escape from prison of words.
In the 1980s, I blindfolded myself and at night, on the roof of the university, poured paint from a bucket onto the canvas. Then the art squats began. At that time, I had many friends of artists, most of them died long ago. When the Soviet Union fell and began a new time, I moved to my homeland in Siberia.
In Siberia, I conducted a project from myth to contemporary art, comparing the artifacts of the art of long-gone epochs with my own spiritual quest. The idea of the project of a new art of Siberia, belonged to A.G. Pozdeev, later his own work of this new style disappeared in the gallery of Rudolf Koryagin in Kemerovo. Like almost all of my works of that period. Part of my work saved E. Demidov, daughter of Rudolph. She is the keeper of the collection in the local museum. It is now. But then, on the orders of the museums, I traveled a lot through the ancient sanctuaries.
Some museum staff invited me to the exhibition, others demanded a bribe for this. It was not just corruption, the epic of the whole Russian culture then began as an epidemic.
Once, when once again refused to pay the "curator" for the exhibition of our art group, I was asked to close the huge graphic sheets of V.Kapelko with glass. Otherwise the exhibition is canceled. During installation, the glass cracked and cut the tendons in my hands. After that, I drew, holding the brush in my teeth.
I collected all my paintings from museums, sewed the plague from them and lived in it to the northeast of Baikal, until in winter, in the frost it was burned by unknown people and I did not survive a clinical death from hypothermia. When I woke up at the railway station Tulun for 500 km to the west, I recorded visions. In Novosibirsk, this book was published.
Then I got to London and visions from the Siberian taiga came back. I returned to Moscow. In 2012, after a 15-year break, I again began to participate in exhibitions.
Once, in 2017, in a workshop on Myasnitskaya Street, where I worked then, my artwork was torn into tiny shreds. I glued these works in a new random order and again hung it on the same wall. At that moment I realized that I am drawing the structure of the space of thought, as a plan for escape from prison of words.
