A conversation with Kyiv artist Yuri Solomko about art, gravity, and Australian Aborigines
“When did you understand that maps are your thing?”
“It happened in the summer of 1991, when it was clear we were approaching the collapse of the Soviet Union and Gorbachev’s abortive reforms had to give way to something new. Information could no longer be contained within the borders of the USSR, the world began to become smaller and smaller, and its map, earlier an abstract notion, assumed a concrete and material meaning, at least for me. I made a decision literally in an instant. I was in Bakhchysarai at the time and I needed a map to plot the itinerary of my tour of the Crimea. I came into a local bookstore and found, instead of a map of the Crimea, some political maps of the world lying under an oilcloth. I touched that oilcloth and recalled that Kyiv artist Kost Revunov once drew on this kind of Soviet-style-drab checkered cloth. At precisely this moment, an inner voice said: ‘Stop, what’s that got to do with the oilcloth?’ And immediately, right there in the store, the world map turned from a utilitarian thing into an esthetic image, a guidepost if you like. I took the map, left, then came back again and bought another one. In a matter of an hour, I stuck these maps together and thought about what to depict on them. Naturally, it might have been somebody else’s image, for I was utilizing a ready-made thing. It is not I who invented the map: it has been in the making for centuries and contains a lot of information I have nothing to do with, except that I remain in one of the points of its space. All these colors, for example, the huge pink speck in the center of the eastern hemisphere, mean the political coloration of one country or another. And since at that time the world has pressed on my consciousness through the map, and I have felt it my duty to relieve the world’s political map of this tension. I was to find an opposition to the contemporary political situation. I decided the heroes of eighteenth century intimate scenes were the best counterweight to the cataclysms of today. It seems to me the combination of these extremes brought forth something new, an inner facet between the images and names, the outlines of continents and islands, i.e., what lies between these visual layers. It is this new, intermediate, and totally invisible that I consider my invention — both conceptually and visually.”
“But still, why do you paint on maps?”
“Painting each picture, I feel I’ve done something and must do away with this method, but sometime later everything suddenly comes back. After all, a map contains a great deal of information; it is one of the most powerful symbols civilization has ever created. This combines so many things that when you work with a layer you are bound to discover something new under it. The only thing the map lacks is immaterial and unseeable notions, such as time for example. Nor does a map know emotions and feelings. This purpose is served by pictures. I am inclined to think any picture is nothing but a map of feelings. How can I express invisible notions? I recently rediscovered maps for myself. Attending a symposium last summer in Slovakia, I met an aborigine artist from Australia. That meeting and the information he brought instilled in me a new perspective. The pictures of Australian aborigines are maps. Every picture depicts certain places where the artist practiced or did something else. It depicts movement from one place to another, as well as initiation, sacred, or recreation spots. And the artists can explain the meaning of each element, each point on their works, and if you find yourself in this area, they will show you the place they painted and tell why they did so. It is a different question that their pictures cannot help you reproduce a construction plan or measure to the precision of a meter the distance between objects. This is not a functional map for our rational mindset. Yet, it portrays human feelings concretely. European maps are made by artists who, relying on their esthetic taste, choose the colors to paint Australia yellow and Argentina blue, for color plays a secondary role here. But the maps of Australian aborigines do everything the other way round. Even then, I made a couple of pictures together with that Australian, using his methods, trying to draw my own maps of unreal events and irrational ideas.”
“What made you create The Planet of People, the latest series of your works?”
“ The Planet of People shows mutilated people. In other words, the series deals with anomalous conditions of a human body as a result of accidents or environmental calamities. This is what The Planet of People created.”
“A terrible planet, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is very tough. The world has changed over the last ten years. What interests me most now is reality, not history. Whatever the case, I am the father of a family, and these are not just empty words. Of course, one must enjoy, love, and take satisfaction from this life, but there also is the seamier side, which we should not forget either. It is important for me as an artist to make a visual shock, find a powerful metaphor, which still can have a sobering impact on audiences if their consciousness is in a soft and superficial state.”
“And are you going to overcome graviy? For there also are the maps of Mars, Mercury, constellations, and other, fictional, worlds.”
“I have a map of my torments, a country named Tormentia, my own Saturn. Or, let us say, the map of love as it is named, This Is Love. And, answering the question if there is life on Mars, I said long ago there is no life on Mars. My works deal with people, sentiments, and feelings, so why should I take, of all things, Venus or Mars? Outer space and the planets are in my consciousness. But if you mean my inner cosmos, I have overcome gravitation. In any case, it does not seem to exist at all.”
