Ekaterina Andreeva

The New Artists.

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The group contained, nevertheless, a core of extremely independent young men: Novikov himself, Kozlov, Kotelnikov, Sotnikov, Vadim Ovchinnikov, and Bugaev. (Ovchinnikov and Bugaev joined the group in 1983 and 1984, respectively.

Sergei Bugaev, leading actor in "ASSA" in front of a painting by Evgenij Kozlov "PCCCASU" 160 x 196 cm, mixed media, cotton, 1987 (Collection Kozlov and Fobo); published in "SojwetFilm 9/1988, Moscow, German edition

Sergei Bugaev, leading actor in "ASSA" in front of a
painting by Evgenij Kozlov "PCCCASU"
160 x 196 cm, mixed media, cotton, 1987 (Collection
Kozlov and Fobo);
published in "SojwetFilm 9/1988, Moscow, German edition
Moreover, Afrika’s role steadily increased over time; Novikov called him the group’s talisman. In 1986, Bugaev became the chairman of the V.V. Mayakovsky Friends Club, which was officially registered with the Dzerzhinsky District Committee of the Communist Youth League. At this same time, he headed the Novorossiysk group—that is, himself, the Savchenkov brothers, and Krisanov. In 1987, Bugaev played the lead role in the runaway-hit film ASSA, thus bringing his star-studded destiny to its logical fulfillment.) In the late eighties, Inal Savchenkov and Andrei Krisanov also play important roles in the group. Yevgeny Yufit was likewise a member of the group’s core from 1984 to 1988. This association stuck together thanks to Novikov’s energy and a commonality of interests, the principal among these being a strategic adherence to a “zero” aesthetics. Although he affirmed that the New Artists were prepared to form temporary alliances with anyone whomsoever,[1] Novikov nevertheless organized his own group strictly according to an aesthetic principle. As an aesthete himself, he also preferred to use this principle as his own guide in life and art.


Evgenij Kozlov: shirt. 1985 Collection Kozlov and Fobo. photo: Hannelore Fobo
Evgenij Kozlov: shirt. 1985 Collection Kozlov and Fobo. photo: Hannelore Fobo

Evgenij Kozlov: shirt. 1985
Collection Kozlov and Fobo
photo: Hannelore Fobo

The first aesthetic category of the Leningrad zeroists was “wildness.” It is precisely this wildness that immediately inscribes the New Artists within international art history by aligning them with the German Neue Wilde movement, which had achieved the height of its popularity in Europe and the US in the very early eighties, and the American new wave artists. In a letter to the fictional Mr. McGreis, Novikov asserts that in 1984 the New Artists got their “first news of Figuration Libre and the American graffiti artists. […] We recognized them as kindred spirits and took an interest in what was happening in the culture of the west.”[2] The first public viewing of the Neue Wilde took place at the show Man and Nature, which was held in the Leningrad Manezh (Central Exhibition Hall) during the 1984–85 season. Just as had been the case with the local reception of cubism on the part of artists like Tatlin and Malevich, the New Artists did not borrow foreign prototypes, but evolved in parallel with them. The unforgettable early-period New Artist masterpieces—for example, Kotelnikov’s Horseman, Kaput, and Brushstroke (all dated 1982); Novikov’s Pokrovskaya Square, Leningrad Landscape, and his portraits of Koshelokhov and Gurjanov (from 1982–1983); Sotnikov and Kotelnikov’s joint portrait of Kovalsky (dated 1983 in the Happy New Year catalogue); and Sotnikov’s Concert or Novikov’s Airport (also from 1983)—testify to the unique quality of their art and, correspondingly, to the fact that their “wildness” was homegrown, not imported. Moreover, the presence of Leningrad’s New Artists (who were practically not plugged into the international market until 1987) in the context of early painterly postmodernism in Europe and the US is in fact direct proof of the originality of this entire international movement. This fact should allow us to dismiss speculation about the allegedly commercial (and thus secondary) significance of the painting of such artists as Georg Baselitz, Francesco Clemente, and Jean-Michel Basquiat.


In 1986 Novikov strategically demarcated the “wildness” of the New Artists, the Leningrad neo-expressionism of the seventies that had preceded it, and the classical “wildness” of the early twentieth-century avant-garde:


      One fundamental tendency—“wildness”—had already found vivid expression, in the mid-seventies, in the work of Boris Koshelokhov. This, however, was anything but the wildness of Matisse: Koshelokhov’s early works were hard on the eye, compositionally unbalanced, and lacking in thematic clarity.
      Meeting of expressionists, 1983. First row from left to right: Solomon Rossin, Boris Koshelokhov, Vadim Ovchinnikov Oleg Kotelnikov. Second row: Natalia Batisheva, Arkady Tager, Timur Novikov, Ivan Sotnikov. archive of Timur Novikov, from the catalogue "Brushstroke" "Удар кисти", 2010 photo by Evgenij Kozlov, 1983, inv. number YF01

      Meeting of expressionists, 1983
      First row from left to right: Solomon Rossin, Boris Koshelokhov, Vadim Ovchinnikov
      Oleg Kotelnikov
      Second row: Natalia Batisheva, Arkady Tager, Timur Novikov, Ivan Sotnikov
      archive of Timur Novikov, from the catalogue "Brushstroke" "Удар кисти", 2010
      photo by Evgenij Kozlov, 1983, inv. number YF01

      Critics were always enamored of the phrase “primeval chaos” in reference to his work. This superficial impression was aggravated by the quantity of analogous works: the artist is fond of demonstrating a hundred or two pieces [to studio visitors or exhibition viewers] all at once. Aside from painting, Koshelokhov also made object compositions that gravitated toward conceptualism (he called them “concepts”). These pieces also provoked an unambivalent reaction—“this isn’t art.”[3] With his original take on the process and product of artistic work, Koshelokhov attracted many young followers. They were clearly impressed both by the anti-art-historical categories he employed—“rough-and-ready,” “tough,” “plain and simple,” etc.—and his universally accessible methods—frames fashioned from old furniture found in garbage dumps; house paints; canvases rigged from the upholstery backing of old sofas.[4] After 1979, Koshelokhov’s artistic methods finally stabilized, and he became more a living museum piece than a guru. The living genius of “wildness” is Oleg Kotelnikov, who had also once been influenced by Koshelokhov. Whereas Koshelokhov’s principal element was color, Kotelnikov dwells in the realm of form and content. This shifting of accents has led the “wild” faction of the New Artists away from elitism and towards populism, a tendency that has not been fully realized. The content of Kotelnikov’s works is profoundly folkloric. His subjects are jokes, scary stories, and fragments of songs and TV programs, and his works are also reminiscent of comic strips. He constantly employs the widest spectrum of media and new methods in his explorations of the pictorial surface, which is also characteristic for the majority of the New Artists.[5]


Kotelnikov claims that at the time he was not interested in such local expressionists as Koshelokhov, who showed an affinity with American painting of the fifties:


      Oleg Kotelnikov, painting at "ASSA" Gallery. Photo by Evgenij Kozlov, approx. 1984, inv. number BM15

      Oleg Kotelnikov, painting at "ASSA" Gallery
      Photo by Evgenij Kozlov, approx. 1984, inv. number BM15
      Back then I watched the films of [Fritz] Lang. This was an expressionism that was specific to German cinema to an even greater degree than [contemporary German] painting. You ended up with this interesting loop that was not a continuation of the expressionism that the Americans had borrowed from those very same French artists and, before them, from the Russian avant-garde artists, and which issued in this chemical nonsense in the sixties. [On the contrary,] this was a pre-root immersion in expressionism. And you can throw the Chinese in there as well. It was clear that from the viewpoint of international art this stage had been surpassed, but it was you who had [personally] surpassed it, not Pollock, and that was much more interesting. [6]


In an article about the show Happy New Year, Novikov expresses regret that


      the new expressionists, who had been scheduled to appear, were unable to take part in the exhibition. Their school is particularly strong in Leningrad (Boris Koshelokhov, Elena Figurina, Albert Rozin). Of them, only Arkady Tager remained.[7] On the other hand, the [N]ew [A]rtists let it all loose. The broader public was able to see the paintings of the long-renowned Afrika (Sergei Bugaev) for the first time. Everyone’s favorite, Oleg Kotelnikov, delighted the eye in a multifaceted and arborescent way, while Evgenij Kozlov [made an unexpected statement] on a gigantic sheet of black paper. more >> Timur Novikov reinvented himself with a new cycle of large panels. Ivan Sotnikov gave the show a special present in the form of an enchanting winter landscape, and the show would not have been complete without the super-famous Kirill Khazanovich and Vadim Ovchinnikov. Yevgeny Yufit presented his work, and for the first time [the public saw] a broad selection of works by that titan of miniature forms, Valery Cherkasov, who recently passed away.[8]


Novikov’s own neo-expressionist period began in 1978–79 and ended in the mid-eighties; moreover, Novikov openly made the turn to color precisely in 1982. As for the other natural, self-made painters within the group, Kotelnikov took up “wild” painting around 1982 and continued to work in this style until 1990. On the contrary, Sotnikov, who became a “wild” expressionist at the same time as Kotelnikov (it is no accident that they collaborated so often), never gave up this manner.

Oleg Zaika in his studio at Pushkinskaya 10, St. Petersburg. 1993. Still frame from the video "Artists from St. Petersburg" by Evgenij Kozlov and Hannelore Fobo, 1993

Oleg Zaika in his studio at Pushkinskaya 10, St. Petersburg. 1993.
Still frame from the video "Artists from St. Petersburg"
by Evgenij Kozlov and Hannelore Fobo, 1993

Vadim Ovchinnikov found his painterly style (which shows affinities with the Italian Transvanguardia artists) in the mid-eighties after he had reinterpreted his early apprenticeship with Albert Rozin (Rossin), whose own work was vivid and spectacular in the punk manner, but who restricted his pupils to a harsh diet of blue-grays and gray-browns. The leading light of the Novorossiysk School, Inal Savchenkov, became a painterly star of the New Artists in 1986. The golden period of the painting of the necrorealists and the new New Wilds (Alexei Kozin, Oleg Maslov, Oleg Zaika) also dates to the period 1986–1990. The New Artists were thus formed in the year when the principal heroes of the movement’s first wave—Kotelnikov, Novikov, and Sotnikov—discovered themselves in the wild style. The older generation’s final break with “elitist” neo-expressionism took place in 1986, when the second wave of wildness rose and the first-wave artists themselves were in the process of contemplating the results of the previous five years of artistic labor.


Timur Novikov "The Black Sea in Winter" Collection of Timur Novikov's family This work by Timur Novikov was one of 13 "Horizons" which Hannelore Fobo was able to locate in England and to return to Novikov's family. photo: Hannelore Fobo, Berlin, 1998.

Timur Novikov
The Black Sea in Winter
Collection of Timur Novikov's family
This work by Timur Novikov was one of 13 "Horizons" which Hannelore
Fobo was able to locate in England and to return to Novikov's family.
photo: Hannelore Fobo, Berlin, 1998.

Novikov chose this moment to write his programmatic essays (signed by “Igor Potapov”) about the democratic aesthetic of the New Artists, while at the same time abandoning the wild style and announcing the advent of “neat tendencies in the work of the New [Artists].”[9] As Novikov left “wildness” behind, Ovchinnikov’s paintings achieved a new level of perfection. Just like Novikov in the mid-eighties, Ovchinnikov shifted his affections from the dynamics of the gesture to subtle surface renderings and a deployment of pictographic icons that conjured up images of virtual cross-cultural journeys. In 1987 Novikov began working on the series Horizons. (The earliest example of his experiments with horizontal composition, The Black Sea in Winter, dates to 1986.) In these works, the images are pasted or stenciled onto pieces of fabric. “The stencil,” Novikov wrote, “is now the favorite method of those artists who just yesterday painted with a mop or a broom. The industrial art of the LEF achieved perfection, and the New Artists had no intention of competing with it. Processes of repetition are experienced in another informational field. The idea triumphs once again over the lack of ideas.”[10]


It is true that, aside from painting, Kotelnikov, Novikov, and Sotnikov were also especially interested in collage from 1983 onward. Kotelnikov has claimed that the New Artists took up collage because the price of paints rose fivefold under Andropov. According to Yuri Krasev, Kotelnikov was equally fanatic in his practice both of painting and collage:


      Kotelnikov could never sit still for a second. When he entered a room he had to immediately grab something and began making something [with it]. Once, when he was at my place, he brazenly used my own paints to paint something on pieces of my very own cabinet. He just grabbed it, ripped pieces of it off, and painted several outstanding works, which he then later asked to borrow for an exhibition. The first time I saw Kotelnikov he was cutting up [copies of] the magazines Ogonyok and North Korea: he was making collages. He was continuously making something from whatever came to hand and he [thus] produced tons of artistic product.[11]


However, financial difficulties were not the only factor that spurred the interest of the New Artists in collage, stencils, stickers, and appliqué. They most often employed these media to depict “streams of consciousness,” as the affichistes, pop artists, and Robert Rauschenberg had done in the forties, fifties, and sixties. In 1983, the New Artists befriended Igor Veritchev, the author of a text entitled “The Versification of Information.”[12]

Popular Mechanics «Insect Culture» LP cover. 1987. Photo by Evgenij Kozlov, inv. no. EG13, cover design by Collin Fallows. Evgenj Kozlov was asked by the musician and leader the group "Popular Mechanics" Sergey Kuriokhin to take pictures for the first international LP release of "Pop Mechanics" with the New Composers in Liverpool, 1987. Among several pictures, Kuriokhin chose the one showing Valery Alakhov, himself and Igor Verichev in the Passage department store in Leningrad.

Popular Mechanics «Insect Culture» LP cover. 1987
Photo by Evgenij Kozlov, inv.no. EG13, cover design by Collin Fallows
Evgenj Kozlov was asked by the musician and leader the group "Popular
Mechanics" Sergey Kuriokhin to take pictures for the first international LP
release of "Pop Mechanics" with the New Composers in Liverpool, 1987.
Among several pictures, Kuriokhin chose the one showing Valery Alakhov,
himself and Igor Verichev in the Passage department store in Leningrad.

This friendship rocketed the New Artists into the boundless realm of sound collage—transmissions of the collective unconscious spliced together from recordings of radio programs. The New Artists (Vadim Ovchinnikov, in particular) recorded music in which the sounds of “zero music”—that is, various forms of white noise—were spliced with fragments of radio broadcasts; the call signs of Soviet satellites were then pumped through this entire acoustic mass. (Here I should note that in the Soviet Union these call signs were marketed as souvenirs. In the sixties, Soviet industry produced musical cigarette boxes in the shape of books that played the tune “Broad Is My Native Land” and signals from the first Sputnik.) Novikov was obviously charmed by Veritchev’s ideas, but once again he found a functional application for “trans-sense” language in the production of various “recompositions” and the recruitment of aesthetic supporters. In the article “Collage in the New Art,” Novikov paints an epic picture:


      ROOTS. Where should we search for the origins of the new collage? []The canny critic would hide them in the depths of history or say he has never seen anything like it. The method is both old and new. We will mention only the bare minimum: folk quilts, the Soviet avant-garde, folk conceptualism. To save paper, I won’t engage in lofty phrasemaking. Today collage is reality. It has entered our lives, taken its deserved place. [] COLLAGE IN MUSIC. The influence of radio and television is beyond a doubt there: they have accustomed us to listening to the news right after Beethoven. A constant shift in the character of information. Long stretches of monotony became exhausting. At the same time, the clear advantages of combining readymade forms. Stravinsky, Shostakovich: a clear yearning for collage minus the technical means. Kuriokhin has been realizing many of their programs without giving up the orchestra in his hands. Veritchev has only the technical means. […] COLLAGE IN CINEMA. […] Although it is young, the New Cinema experiences no dearth of collage.
      Exhibition “Brushstroke" / "Удар Кисти", curated by Ekaterina Andreeva, the author of this article, and Vladimir Dobrovolski. State Russian Museum, St. Petersburg. top: Oleg Kotelnikov. Poster for the "Kino" group. 1986. bottom: Evgenij Kozlov. Triptych, 1984. photo: Allen (Arkady) Tager, 2010

      Exhibition “Brushstroke" / "Удар Кисти", 2010
      curated by Ekaterina Andreeva, the author of
      this article, and Vladimir Dobrovolski
      State Russian Museum, St. Petersburg
      top: Oleg Kotelnikov. Poster for the "Kino"
      group. 1986
      bottom: Evgenij Kozlov. Triptych, 1984
      photo: Allen (Arkady) Tager, 2010

      Kondratiev, Ovchinnikov, Kotelnikov, Yufit, Veritchev: a clear example of interconnection that cannot avoid the influence of television. […] PAINTING AND COLLAGE. The most serious forces have gathered within this sector. We also encounter our acquaintances from the worlds of music and cinema. Efficiency is here not always the main reason for the turn to collage. The expressiveness of the method attracts more and more new forces. Cherkasov also ploughed around the edges here; Filonov produced a whole school (Vermishev, Savinsky). Larionov also anticipated this every which way (Sotnikov collection). [This is a reference either to Sotnikov’s own collection of folk and primitive art—aka “swan painting”—or to Sotnikov’s own collages — E.A.] Kotelnikov [and] Novikov are dumpster divers who have ransacked even the dumpster of American pop art; they have also inherited their aestheticism from their teacher the century. Koshelokhov gave up collage too quickly; his heirs—the anti-aesthetes (Bugaev, Inal, Kozin, Maslov)—are ripping it from the hands of Kotelnikov, who picked it up. The naïve school is giving them a run for their money—Batishcheva and the children of Tager’s studio, Zakhar, Gutsevich. And here the jobbers are also right on their tail. Shutov, Kozlov, Vermishev, Ovchinnikov, Novikov: prettiness that is computer-like in its self-justification.[13]


The ideology of the New Artists inevitably led them to work with readymade textures and collage; as Novikov put it, “The zeroists use everything without mastering anything.”[14] These practices gave rise, in Novikov’s art, to a totally new pictorial form: landscapes or portraits on pieces on fabric in which the details are produced with appliqués and stencil prints. Novikov began pasting tinfoil spires and colored-paper leaves onto this works in 1982. In Novikov’s oeuvre, collage and stencil were not employed in order to express streams of consciousness, but in order to achieve the maximal effect with a minimum of artistic means. This principle of economy should be understood not only functionally, but also ideologically: the “savings”—the last sign left standing on the pictorial surface (Malevich’s Black Square is the supreme example of such economy)—transmits the work’s main idea with a tenfold force. If we view them in this aspect, Novikov’s works used unfailingly comprehensible (nearly computer-like) symbolic icons to unveil a new, universal artistic idiom that any viewer can access. This idiom witnesses to the ecological minimum of existence—our home, the space around us, and beauty as the essential glue that binds the world together.


Ivan Sotnikov was also fond of appliqués. In his rendering, they were also both decoratively expressive and conceptual—like the magical diagonal crosses and sun symbol in To the South, which reproduces one instant of a TV report on the transport of the Soviet Buran space shuttle to an aeronautics show on the back of a Mriya cargo plane; or the face of the “alien” in Homon LTD (which, according to Sotnikov, is a portrait of our “antipode,” Paul Robeson, clipped from an issue of Ogonyok and turned upside down). As I have already mentioned, Kotelnikov in his role as collagist developed the avant-garde genre of the artist’s book by recycling Soviet mass-market printed matter, both literary and bureaucratic (brochures, instructional booklets, magazines, etc.)


This genre was also mined by Vadim Ovchinnikov, author of the object The Iron Book, which became famous after its appearance in the film ASSA. Ovchinnikov fashioned the book while working as watchman at Vodokanal (the city water plant). It testified to the fairness of Novikov’s remark that literature was hardly the first concern in the books authored by the New Artists. Between 1985 and 1986 Ovchinnikov also produced several large-format collage paintings and compositions.

Viktor Tsoy, "ASSA" Gallery, approx. 1985. back: Collage "We" by Vadim Ovchinnikov. photo: Evgenij Kozlov, inv. number AB13

Viktor Tsoy, "ASSA" Gallery, approx. 1985
back: Collage "We" by Vadim Ovchinnikov
photo: Evgenij Kozlov, inv. number AB13
The most engaging of these is the collage We, which consists of a multitude of miniature portraits clipped from magazines and neatly pasted to a single support. Upon casual examination, the work recalls the ordinary graphic design style of the sixties albeit on an absurdly microscopic scale that makes it difficult to pick out the faces. Closer scrutiny reveals the secret—the mask of the French literary and cinematic villain Fantômas has been hidden amidst the labyrinth of pictures of “us.” Ovchinnikov was also an unsurpassed master of mail art: he dispatched dozens of letters in the guise of a certain “Collegium D.P.” or the anonymous “Head Accountant.” These letters contained not only texts (for example, “The creation of the Universe has been completed” or “Close ranks!”), but collages as well: Ovchinnikov often also used appliqués to freshen up the envelopes in which he sent his communiqués. For example, the reverse side of an envelope marked with the return address “Civic Stance Department” bears a sticker depicting a water faucet that has been turned on. In another specimen, the “sender” has scrawled the name “Vadik” without indicating a return address; the envelope is pasted with stamps bearing a portrait of Pushkin and his line, “And my incorruptible voice / Was the echo of the Russian people.” (A different variant with these same stamps contains the return address “Leningrad, State Institute of Non-Outer Space Research, Diving Department.”) On a collector’s envelope with a portrait of Mikhail Sholokhov and pasted with a stamp featuring a reproduction of Vladimir Serov’s The Storming of the Winter Palace Ovchinnikov has glued a black-and-white picture from a cheap fifties-era cookbook: jars labeled “sugar,” “oatmeal,” “oil,” “salt,” and “lard” stand lined up on a shelf. (The second variation on this same envelope bears the inscription “Imaginativeness” and a price tag, “Cracked rice 1 [kilo]/ 0.55”; while in the third, the natty Sholokhov shares space with an elegant stamp portrait of the Mongolian revolutionary leader Damdin Sükhbaatar and a return address that reads “Department of Classical Art.”)

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[1] Novye khudozhniki, p. 80. This statement reads as follows: “MAFIA. The News have developed into a powerful culture mafia with their own organizations: the V.V. Mayakovsky Friends Club; the New Artists; the New Composers; the New Theater; the New Criticism; the New Cinema and the Mzhalala Film Studio; the Folk Art Amateurs Club; the journal News; Collegium D.P., the New Literature, etc; branches in other cities and offices in other countries; fraternal organizations. They are prepared to collaborate (with anyone whomsoever).” I have reproduced this passage in full because others have reproached Novikov for it without noticing the irony of his statement.

[2] DNKh-87-51(3). As in the case of Igor Potapov’s conversation with Timur Novikov, Novikov in all likelihood wrote this letter to himself. As I have already noted, above, there is extant an article (“New Russian Painting”), attributed to a critic identified as “A. McGreis,” that was written on Novikov’s typewriter. This text is reminiscent of other “promotional materials” about the group that Novikov issued on behalf of fictitious art scholars.

[3] Koshelokhov’s well-known “concept” Exclamation consisted of a chamber pot and hospital bedpan nailed to a board. In 1976, Koshelokhov transported this assemblage unimpeded to the Peter-and-Paul Fortress, where an open-air show in memory of Yevgeny Rukhin, a leader of the Leningrad underground who had died in a mysterious fire, was supposed to take place. Police arrested the other exhibiting artists as they approached the fortress, canvases in hand.

[4] Kotelnikov recalls that Koshelokhov was capable of carrying off on his back several “capital renovations” (kapremonty)—that is, any material that he found in abandoned flats and stairwells and that he thought might come in handy for his paintings and “concepts.” According to Novikov, Koshelokhov once produced a piece from the trash that he picked up as he walked down Nevsky Prospect.

[5] Novye khudozhniki, p. 86.

[6] Timur, pp. 23–24.

[7] Novikov’s archive has preserved a letter, dated August 22, 1982, that is signed by a group of artists—Koshelokhov, Ovchinnikov, Figurina, Kozlov, Tager, Batishcheva, Kotelnikov, Novikov, Sotnikov, and Alexander Goryaev—and addressed to the Chief Directorate for Culture of the Leningrad City Council Executive Committee. The artists ask the directorate to include an exhibition of 150 works in their plan for 1984. This lineup, then, was the core of the city’s neo-expressionist movement. No shows featuring this precise roster of artists ever took place, however.

[8] Novye khudozhniki, p. 91. Novikov once offered to donate several hundred miniature abstractions by Cherkasov to the contemporary art department of the Russian Museum. They all fit in a soapbox.

[9] This was the title of New Artists show at the Znanie movie theater in 1987. All the exhibited works were neatly matted with strips of pink paper.

[10] Novye khudozhniki, p. 80. Novikov abridged this text for publication in the anthology and dated it 1985. The word “MANIFEST” [sic] is handwritten in the margins of the original typescript. There is reason to assume that this text should be dated 1986 insofar as the well-known phrase by Dunya Smirnova—“All words are synonyms”—which Novikov quotes here, was coined no earlier than 1986.

[11] Timur, pp. 116–117.

[12] Novye khudozhniki, p. 93. “[T]he manipulation of sound information from various spheres of our life imparts to music a new and [rapidly] changing significance. It is precisely this [that] creates new musical objects [that need not be compared] with reality. [H]ere we observe the reverse process[,] in which the abstract becomes concrete[, but] this concrete[ness also] has many planes in the [realm of meaning]. [T]hese planes of significance are like abstract elements of the entire Universe; their availability creates the possibility for the birth of the music of a new reality and the possibility [of being present within it.] [A]ny coherent thematic or symbolic treatment of this music enters into unavoidable contradiction [w]ith the very principle of its construction, [whose] essence consists in the destruction of connections, in the desynchronization of meanings and structural layers. [T]he absence of a particular semantic superstructure in a musical work guarantees [i]ts direct entry into reality and therefore into that vast space [within it] where ideas and [clashes] of views and positions exist. [T]he most important thing is that in the process the [short-circuiting] of content does not occur. [T]he listener himself expands its content, [plugging into] its interpretation his own knowledge of reality, his [thoughts] about it, [and] various associations. [T]his is like a catalyst [that] allow[s] one to materialize images of concrete irrationality[,] but at the same time these images [] have [no] worth HERE[:] the rules of their connectedness are [replaced] by random association[s]. [The more distant they are], the stronger the effect of surprise[]. [I]t is precisely this unexpectedness which [militates] against the stagnancy of opinions and brings one closer to a free and active co-experiencing, to pure inventiveness. [T]hat magic of inner action[,] that possibility to live through [] an experience [that] otherwise would have been would have been would have been [sic] inaccessible. [T]his approach to the creation of musical forms allows one to [situate] them in no man’s land[,] in the territory of ‘the impossible,’ in that abyss [that lies between] objective reality and the [operation] of consciousness[.] And it is here that everything [] begin[s].” Kabinet: An Anthology, ed. Viktor Mazin and Thomas Campbell (Amsterdam & Saint Petersburg, 1997), pp. 128–129.

[13] Novye khudozhniki, pp. 87–88.

[14] Novye khudozhniki, p. 87.

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