Zoo of Ukrainian Plasticity

If your heart is in a minor key you will feel better. If you are an optimist by nature, your optimism will grow three, four, maybe seven times, and you will be very lucky if you are fond of animals, whether wild or domesticated does not matter.

The exhibition's curios await you everywhere. Just look: the artist's name is Rubo and his profile strongly reminiscent of Lenin. Next take in "Pyramid" by a well-known artist. The hero is rubbing his shrunken genitalia against the top of the pyramid. Must hurt. And this one is titled "Days of Taras," a most touching relief. Tears come to my eyes, and I reach for my handkerchief. I'd never imaged that something so like the old Soviet Lives of Prominent People biography series would be possible to express in sculpture. Shevchenko is in good company, between a pokrytka unwed mother and a naked man (the latter turns out to be Prometheus). And if you are not amused by K. Lyskova's "Students from Cameroon," take a closer look at Yu. Rybalchenko's wooden head (with the top and back glued over by Russian rubles, Ukrainian coupons, Belarusian zaichiks, but no dollars). A heart attack threatens the onlooker from such rapture.

The display is a small paradise for biologists (zoologists, entomologists, ichthyologists, ornithologists, as well as science fiction and fantasy writers). The impression is that sculpture has finally shed its last vestiges of boring anthropomorphism. Slowly but surely animals and human beings met halfway, and the animals became dominant. This benefits sculpture. At least in Ukraine, for our sculpture now presents a gorgeous zoo, a local version of the Jurassic Park (in all previous and future versions), where every visitor turns into a character of some unimaginable bestiary.

Snails with human heads crawl slowly by in a Basho haiku by Roman Kukhar, who did not receive the praise he deserves. And the same is true of Petro Antyp ("The Old Man and the Fish" is one of the show's hardest hitting offerings, and one wants to return to it again). Waves of archaism roll over our postindustrialist cottages: "Fried Chicken Gate" (O. Kovaliov) is like a shaky step made by a mutant troglodyte. "Bird of Happiness" (V. Tatarsky) is clearly not for our modern hen house. "My Kind and Tender Beast" (V. Fedychev) is actually not all that kind and tender, at least I would not want to make sure myself. A fish clings to a woman's womb as though in an ancient ritual (S. Bryliov's "Dreaming of a Fish"), bronze against marble looking extremely effective. O. Popova's hippopotamus looks subdued. S. Oleksiyenko's monkey queen pricks up her ears. Nellie Isupova's "Birds" are having the time of their life (she is a remarkable artist and her works blend equally well with a museum or McDonald's interior). Even Oleh Pinchuk looks much better against all those zero new things and Pharisaism done in stone and wood, although his "Toys for Adults" has become trite, even annoying over the past several years. Karunska's "Chimera Girl" really is a chimera, Allah be praised, and 30% girl. R. Chaikovsky's "Farewell to the Millennium" presents a centaur's muscle (a paradox: the artist first adopting Slavic paganism as his Arcadia is now firmly established at the Mint, testing his talent with latter-day technologies). Well, before we knew it we reached a man on a horse (V. Klokov's "Take Me With You"). Now open your eyes wide; this sluggish academic study received the main award! Strange things happen in this world. However, I am not surprised, not after all those monstrous statues and monuments now and then erupting like pustules on our city streets and squares. Ukraine is in darkness and its sculpture is senile.

Suppose we offer with an alternative Grand Prix nomination. I suggest Oleksandr Ridny's "Abel" as a refutation of superficial pessimism; also, Mykola Zhuravel and Oleksandr Sukholit (the latter did receive some laurels, though maybe not as rich and verdant as he had expected). I have already mentioned R. Kukhar and R. Chaikovsky. And I applaud Anatoly Valiyev. And I won't mind F. Betliyevsky's "Wild Ass's Head" (a consolation prize). And Tamara Babyk's wickerwork deserves every compliment, as always.

None of these artists is a demiurge, only harbingers of the new form, smoldering, pulsing, struggling, yearning to be set free. Ukrainian sculpture is in hard yet inevitable childbirth. Too late for an abortion, so a cesarean is required.

Quick, surgeon!