🗓️July 25-27, 2014
📍Nikola Lenivets, Kaluga Region 249866 Russia
◆”Archstoyanie” 9th International Land Art and Architecture Festival◆
This year, the festival in Nikola-Lenivets hasn’t exactly gained a second wind—that would be overstating it. But the curators have found a format capable of transforming an open-air event for city dwellers yearning to combine cultural leisure, a change of scenery, and the joys of rural freedom into a clearly structured festival.
The idea came from Frenchman Richard Castelli, the curator of the main program. Along with the main program, there are now special projects, a strategic project titled “Cloud Kitchen,” and a lecture series—everything you’d expect from a “big” international festival. Castelli, better known in theater circles as a collaborator and co-producer of Robert Lepage’s performances shown during the Chekhov Festival in Moscow, made an elegant move. He suggested focusing not only on architectural objects or even on the beautiful places where they are built, but on… time.
And not historical or mythological time—there’s plenty of that in Nikola-Lenivets already. In fact, most of Nikolai Polissky’s works, which launched ArchStoyanie’s journey into the wider world, are attempts (very successful ones, it must be said) to conceptualize the meeting of archaic, mythological, and agricultural cyclical time with the arrow of progress and technocratic civilization. The fusion of these two types of time on the banks of the Ugra River, and the interpretation of this place as a boundary between two worlds, marked by wonderful handmade objects (with “homegrown” technology rather than high-tech), is what made Nikola-Lenivets appealing to people on both sides of the “border.” No matter where you came from—be it the Netherlands or Kaluga—you didn’t feel like a “stranger” in this “borderland.”
So, naturally, curator Richard Castelli saw no point in following an already beaten path. The time that interests him is more like “pure” time. In this sense, it’s clear why the signature installation of this year’s festival—titled “Here and Now”—was Mark Formanek’s Lenivets Clock. What’s more, the fact that this piece was previously shown in Amsterdam and Berlin adds further significance. We’re presented with an expanse of time understood as the minute-by-minute changes on a digital display—a numerical sequence open to infinity. The artist’s choice of digital numbers over a round clock face with hands is meaningful. Clock hands, running in circles, still “remember” the cyclic nature of natural time. Numbers that change one after another do not. This is already virtual (or rather, mathematical) reality. But Formanek transforms this “virtual” reality into real human time.
In Amsterdam, Berlin, and now Nikola-Lenivets, the changing digits—made of wooden boards four meters tall—were assembled by workers. For 32 hours straight, without a lunch break, the digital “picture” changed before our eyes each minute. In Berlin, we’re told, 70 people took part in the performance; in our field of sunflowers, five stunt performers from Kaluga did the job. Dressed in green coveralls and yellow helmets, they danced and playfully changed the minutes. They kept track of time. Abstract minutes became physical effort, real life, and part of an economic agreement.
The shift toward performance art continued with a piece by Japanese artist Sachiko Abe, presented in the Remote Office structure. A line of people formed at the entrance. Visitors were let in two at a time, asked to remain silent and not take photos. Inside sat a lovely young woman in a white dress, surrounded by clouds of delicately shredded white paper. Thanks to speakers, the sound of her scissors came through like the blow of a guillotine. The Eastern beauty clearly evoked the image of an ancient Fate. But this Fate was busy with “office” paper work. Mythological time was translated into a 9-to-5 schedule.
In ancient myth, different goddesses spun and cut the threads of life. Here, it’s rationalized: the woman cuts white sheets into fine strips, thus creating “yarn.” The mythical, the romantic image of a “bride,” and the funereal image of death are fused into one. But the most striking aspect is the grotesque storyline that unfolds: the Remote Office is a place everyone wants to enter, without clearly understanding what goes on there. Are they merely cutting paper, or performing a sacred ritual? It’s a theater of the absurd, disguised as a romantic myth.
Finally, the third work in the main program was The Font by Alexander Alef Vaisman, shown in a structure called Functional Mooing. After waiting in line, the visitor found themselves in a space between two infinities, stretching upward and downward. “Like being in an elevator,” said a colleague. But you wouldn’t see your reflection here. Considering that in his lecture Richard Castelli made ironic remarks about laziness and obsession with the interface of conceptual art, the venue—a barn named Functional Mooing—can be seen as a witty curator’s commentary on the overly serious pursuit of conceptual and high-tech art.
In short, thanks to Richard Castelli, the main program gained unexpected energy, French elegance, and wit.
And what about the traditional pleasures? The classic delights of ArchStoyanie—strolling through the field, photographing everything in sight, exploring architectural objects inside and out—were joined by a new one: queues. People even stood in line to climb the newly built Lazy Ziggurat, 18 meters tall (a project by Vladimir Kuzmin and Nikolai Kaloshin of the “Pole-Design” group). It’s “lazy,” of course, because it’s in Nikola-Lenivets. And maybe also because its model is based on a children’s game of stacking blocks. Block on block—a ziggurat. Made from heavy logs notched into one another. But it’s hardly lazy: money for it was raised via crowdsourcing, much like for “Hercules.” A stick from every internet user—a log for the ziggurat.
The Lazy Ziggurat also plays the role of an ecological manifesto. The logs came from trees eaten by bark beetles. So the ziggurat is also a response to both the beetles and those who forbid cutting down pest-damaged trees. Still, the festival’s environmental message deserves a separate discussion. It appears in various projects, though it’s not as prominent as the main program curated by Castelli.
Richard Castelli: “I didn’t invent this cocktail. I just made use of it.”
Richard Castelli, curator of the main program of ArchStoyanie 2014, proposed viewing architecture not just as art that works with space and in space, but as art that works with time.
Does this mean you’ve crossed into the territory of adjacent arts—like theater, music, and film? Those are typically seen as time-based arts.
Richard Castelli: Let me clarify: all art works with time. At the very least, because generations of viewers change. If you’ve seen sculptures by Praxiteles, you’ve noticed that many of his sculptures of gods and heroes have suffered losses over time—perhaps an arm or shoulder is missing. These losses are part of the artwork’s history, and thus part of the piece itself. Also, we must consider not just the life span of the work, but the viewer’s experience. It doesn’t happen in an instant—you approach a painting, examine the details, come closer to see the brushwork… Not to mention that your perception of the same work may change as you age. Time is a part of every artwork. It’s just an “invisible” part—whereas in film or video, time is moving visibly. That’s obvious to everyone.
So, you’re not a boundary-breaker?
Richard Castelli: No, no—I’m a fan of tradition. By the way, if you look for traditions, in some sense the sculptures and reliefs with inscriptions of Pharaoh Ramses II’s victories are a kind of visual storytelling of his campaigns. And any story implies a sequence of events—that is, it unfolds over time. Why not a kind of cinema—millennia before us? In short, all art is linked to time. I didn’t invent this cocktail. I just made use of it.
The sculptures of Ramses II are a great example. But pyramids weren’t exactly typical dwellings. They were built for the afterlife. Ordinary buildings are for us mortals—here and now.
Richard Castelli: I’d say that “here” is “now.” The “here” of any building refers to the viewer’s encounter with it at a specific moment. And those moments differ. Seeing the “golden brains” atop the RAS building in the morning is not the same as at night. Time of day, weather, lighting—all change how we perceive. Not to mention that architecture always contains dramaturgy.
In what sense?
Richard Castelli: In a literal one. For example, when Albert Speer built the new Reich Chancellery for Hitler, he made it a square with Hitler’s office opposite the entrance. To reach the office, a visitor had to walk a long perimeter corridor—meaning, the architecture embedded a prolonged approach to power. It emphasized the person’s importance and shaped the visitor’s mood. This strategy is essentially theatrical. The architect was directing a ceremonial approach. Of course, it wasn’t his invention. Ancient temples show the same blend of theatrical and architectural strategies.
So you weren’t surprised to be invited to curate an architecture-based festival? In Russia, you’re better known as co-producer of Robert Lepage’s theater works shown at the Chekhov Festival.
Richard Castelli: I wasn’t surprised, but I didn’t expect it either. As for my theater projects—the curators of this ArchStoyanie discovered them after meeting me. They already knew me as a curator of exhibitions. They came from another angle…
Which brings us back to the question of boundaries between the arts… In your lecture at ArchStoyanie, you said that what inspired you wasn’t so much the nature as the context of Nikola-Lenivets and the works of Nikolai Polissky and his team. What did you mean?
Richard Castelli: The nature here is beautiful, but I also have trees, grass, and birds in my garden near Paris. What I don’t have are the works that made such a strong impression on me in Nikola-Lenivets—like Beaubourg or Universal Mind. They couldn’t have appeared there. Polissky’s decision to leave his previous life and come here, far from Moscow, was a powerful choice. That decision laid the foundation for the objects in Nikola-Lenivets.
That’s if we talk about place. If we talk about time—or more precisely, about “here and now”—then the sequence of events is just as important. First came Polissky’s works, then the architecture festival, then music events. It’s an evolving process. It’s rooted in place. And it has a worthy “frame.” To me, what’s important is that nature is allowed to change. There’s no preservation of the old. On the contrary, the festival actually helps nature return. I understand this used to be collective farm fields. Now there’s a young forest growing here, and artists are working with it. There are “alleys,” but it’s not a rigid, centuries-old formal park. Artists are freer here. The possibility of change is one of ArchStoyanie’s greatest strengths.