Contemporary artist Pavel Otdelnov believes that an artist is an observer, seeking a perspective on how everyday life can show its unexpected side, where others do not see anything special.
I never know until the end what my new art work will be. I can think up and present everything in the smallest details, but for the work to take place, it must be unexpected for me. It seems to me that at some point the work begins to create itself. I think it is very important to give more freedom to both the work and the viewer. Uncertainty conceals great potential.
Photo by Rusina Shikhatova.
How did your tryst with art begin?
My passion for art began early, in my kindergarten years. My favourite topic was war. I used to draw tank battles and wrecked planes, whilst my classmates gathered around to watch these battles in progress. In the end, the whole picture turned black from the depicted fumes and explosions or the paper tore because of my aggressive drawing. Since in the Soviet Union toilet paper was scarce, I often found my paintings torn in the toilet.
My childhood passed in a small industrial city. There was only one art book in my house. It had pictures by cosmonaut Leonov. I enjoyed them and decided to become a spaceman, or at least an artist-astronomer. My desire to become an artist never waned since then.
Galaxy. 2019. Oil on canvas.
How do you describe yourself in the context of challenging people’s perspectives via your work and art?
An artist, as I understand it, is one who steps back to see the whole subject and the phenomenon. The artist observes and seeks a perspective on how everyday life can show its unexpected side. An artist is one who can watch from different points at the same time. An artist is always an observer, who is able to see the whole world, where others do not see anything special.
Promzona. Photo from the exhibition. Photo by Pavel Otdelnov.
How do you deal with the conceptual difficulty and uncertainty of creating work?
I never complicate what can be said simply. When someone refers to citations of philosophers or post-structuralists to give greater significance, I do not like it. I never know until the end what my new art work will be. I can think up and present everything in the smallest details, but for the work to take place, it must be unexpected for me. It seems to me that at some point the work begins to create itself. I think it is very important to give more freedom to both the work and the viewer. Uncertainty conceals great potential.
Ruins #10. 2016. Oil on canvas.
Let’s talk about the evolution of your practice over the years.
My main medium is the picture. But I also work with video, text and installation. I do not just paint, but create a space in which viewers can see my art. So, for example, I covered the entire floor of the Moscow Museum of Modern Art with artificial snow for my exhibition Inner Degunino. I wanted the viewer to make his way from picture to picture through real snowdrifts. I did this to slow the movement of the viewer, to make him look at my paintings for a few secondslonger.
A few years ago I acquired a quadrocopter. I have long dreamed of having a point of view that allows you to look at the usual from a bird’s-eye view. From such footage my films Chemical Plant, From White Sea to Black Hole and The Trash Trip formed.
Let us talk about your career, or if you prefer, artistic journey. What were your biggest lessons and hurdles?
I studied for a very long time, maybe even too long. Four years at an art school, then five years at another art school, six years at an academic art institute, and two years at graduate school. And another two years at the Institute of Contemporary Art. Much of what I learned was very useful to me. My professor once said that we should one day spit on his opinion. Many thanks to him for that. But the most useful thing, which took me a long time to realise, was my own uselessness. This was the most valuable lesson, after which no failure is terrible.
Photo by Elena Mikhailichenko.
Let us talk about your commitment to your current medium.
I have noticed a very important area that has gained prominence, which is non-fiction in literature. The viewer today is not interested in looking at the artist’s self-expression. He himself wants to be an artist and co-author. The viewer does not want anyone else to think for him. Therefore, I consider documentary to be a very important approach. For me, ‘he’ was the protagonist in my last project, Promzona, on which I worked for four years.
How does your audience interact and react to your work?
My works often have a social message. I speak honestly with the viewer about those issues that really excite me. For example, what happens to my garbage after I throw it away? With my garbage, I threw out GPS trackers. Then, I traced the entire journey of my garbage. I followed it to a waste recycling plant and to household waste landfills. I made large paintings with landfills, combining the method of journalistic investigation and my view as an artist. This was work I did for the Moscow Biennale of Contemporary Art. Almost every day I get feedback from viewers who saw my work. Sometimes artists and photographers write to me, as they were inspired by my work. It is very nice.
Landfill Alexandrov. 2019. Oil on canvas.
Let’s talk about your frameworks, references and process.
I am most inspired by the outskirts and abandoned places. I love to start exploring a new city from its outskirts. Straight from the airport, I can go to an address unknown to me and go a long time in an unknown direction. I live in Moscow and often leave for the outskirts. I want to find a point from which I can see the city from the side. In the outskirts changes are taking place: new houses and infrastructure are being built. There is always a conflict between the old and the new.
What inspires you?
I am inspired by the workshops of abandoned factories and I am very inspired by music. In fact, I can listen to the same thing a hundred times. I really like the music of Terry Riley, especially his reflection on the theme of Indian raga. I like the phrase from the Bible, “The spirit breathes wherever it wants.” I also think that inspiration can be found in everything.
Landscape with the yellow fence. 2016. Oil on canvas.
What are you looking for when you look at other artists’ work? Which shows, performances and experiences have shaped your own creative process?
I try to find something valuable. I want to understand how the artist who did the work thought. But this approach requires serious effort. So, I am very selective about exhibitions and concerts.
It turned out to be very important for me to communicate with my teacher and artist Pavel Nikonov. The Museum of Cinema, where I went to for many years while studying, also was crucial. I think in another life I could become a film director.
How do you balance art and life?
I do not have a clear boundary. I live in art almost all the time. If I am forced to do household chores, I still continue to come up with new works. I try to organise every day so that most of the day is dedicated to art. But I almost never feel satisfied with myself. So it’s hard for me to talk about internal growth.
Landscape with the reflection. 2019. Oil on canvas.
What was your first sale? Do you handle the commercials yourself or is it outsourced to a gallery or an agent?
The first sale was very funny. I was a schoolboy and lived in a small town. Over the weekend, I drew a couple of pictures with sunsets and went with them to the book market, hoping to sell them. I set a rather high price of 25 rubles, a quarter of my parents’ salary. People approached, were interested, but such a price seemed too high. My grandmother came to me and asked me how my “business” was going. I told how a man approached me and offered 10 rubles for a small picture. She said it was necessary to yield to him. I burst into tears and my grandmother and I left for home. On the way, we accidentally met the same buyer and he bought my picture for 10 rubles. He asked to make a signature and added “suddenly you will become a famous artist!” And he guessed right!
I do not advertise as such. If I do an exhibition, I share different stories around my projects on social networks. If the exhibition is organised by a museum or a gallery, then I give them part of my material and help them prepare catalogues and press releases.
Mall #5. 2015. Oil on canvas.
Let’s talk about the duality of the commercial and the creative. How do you strike a balance?
When I finished my studies at the Surikov Institute, I felt divorced from what was happening in art at that time. My blog on LiveJournal helped me get in touch with the world. I wrote about what I saw at various exhibitions and laid out my works for general discussion. This helped me find a connection with the outside world and establish contacts. I continue to write about what I consider important and interesting, but with less intensity. For my last big project, Promzona, I made a website which became a virtual continuation of my work. The topics I touched on in this project are important and I would also like my work to be seen by viewers who didn’t visit the exhibition.
Ruins. Zarya. 2019. Oil on canvas.
How does your interaction with a curator, gallery or a client evolve?
I work with two Russian galleries and several art dealers. I prepare various exhibitions with different curators. It so happened that I did the two most important exhibitions at the Moscow Museum of Modern Art. They were Inner Degunino and Promzona with the wonderful curator Daria Kamyshnikova. It can be useful for me to communicate with people of art. Sometimes I need a “focus group” in which I can discuss my ideas.
Globality. 2019. Oil on canvas.
Are you more of a studio artist or naturally collaborative by nature? How do you feel about commissions?
I work only in the studio. After graduating from an art institute, we united and did joint exhibitions. It was an important stage, when we talked a lot and discussed each others’ work. In Kovcheg gallery there was an informal club of painters. We told each other about our new works. But, probably, this period should have ended. I like to work alone and am sceptical of collaborations. That is probably why I wouldn’t be able to become a director. However, my dad specifically wrote memories of his work in toxic chemical workshops for my Industrial Zone project. I used quotes from them at exhibitions of my Promzona project. Also, the music for my two films was created by my brother and his band KernHerbst.
How much work do you get done in a year? How much work do you wish you would get done
Unfortunately, I usually work very long. One work can be on the easel for two months. For a year, I usually get no more than one-and-a-half, sometimes, two dozen works. I would like to do twice as much.
Inner Degunino. Photo from the exhibition. Photo by Pavel Otdelnov.
What are you working on now? What’s coming next season?
I don’t have clear dates for my new shows yet, but there will definitely be something next year. In 2019, I completed a huge project that I worked on for four years. Now I am preparing two projects. One of them is about garbage disposal and the second is a continuation of my old urban projects. I really hope that at the end of 2020 I will be able to show the results of my work.
Before you go – you might like to browse our Artist Interviews. Interviews of artists and outliers on how to be an artist. Contemporary artists on the source of their creative inspiration.
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