Between Two Worlds

Oct. 18

The Impact of Freedom on Artistic Expression

Artistic creation often emerges as an act of survival, a pursuit of expression intricately woven into the fabric of history, politics, and personal experience. For Nikita Seleznev, a sculptor and sound artist hailing from the industrial Ural region of Russia, art transcends mere self-expression; it is a navigation through complex, sometimes hostile, environments that have shaped both his identity and practice. Born and raised in Komi, an area marked by its stark industrial landscapes and lingering post-Soviet echoes, Seleznev's work intricately reflects the physical and cultural milieu of his upbringing.

Seleznev’s artistic journey is shaped by a “wild mix” of experiences from his childhood in Perm, where he encountered the stark contrasts of a gray Soviet environment alongside the vibrant influences of “early internet, The Simpsons, and MTV,” all intertwined with echoes of incredible ancient artifacts.This rich tapestry of experience serves as a throughline in his work, embodying the tension that arises from growing up in a space where the remnants of Soviet life intersect with the vibrant chaos of Western media. Seleznev's creations often mirror this contradiction: his sculptures convey a simultaneous rawness and delicacy, while his sound installations oscillate between the ethereal and the dissonant. This ability to navigate dualities lies at the core of his artistic identity.

In our conversation, I was interested to learn how his childhood in Russia has shaped his approach to art. Seleznev's response was both personal and profound. “I spent my childhood in a fairly aggressive environment,” he noted, recalling “constant fights and clashes in the outskirts of cold cities.” Changing schools frequently, he often returned home “with a torn jacket sleeve or a split lip.” His recollections, tinged with vulnerability, recognize that these challenging experiences, though difficult, became a foundation for the empathy that infuses his work. The characters in his sculptures may appear peculiar or even pitiable at first glance, but Seleznev insists they are portrayed “with deep sympathy and respect,” standing as a quiet act of resistance against the humiliation he once endured.

This theme of empathy is not an abstract notion in Seleznev’s work; it manifests directly through his choice of materials and subjects. Concrete, a recurring medium in his pieces, serves as more than a practical choice; it is a metaphorical lens through which he reflects on his environment and upbringing. “It can be both brutal and delicate, permanent yet capable of decay,” he explained. The inherent dichotomy of concrete, evoking both strength and fragility, mirrors Seleznev's view of human existence: complex, multi-layered, and sometimes contradictory. His sculptures, crafted from this material, embody the complexities of life in industrial Russia, encapsulating the harshness of that environment while simultaneously revealing the tender human experiences within it.

Seleznev’s artistic evolution was not a straight path; it was instead characterized by a series of explorations and transformations. After studying at the Academy of Arts in St. Petersburg, a bastion of traditionalism and classical training, he emerged with a deep understanding of anatomy and form. However, the academy left him grappling with questions about the kind of artist he wanted to be. He describes this institution as a “sanctuary” for honing invaluable skills but also notes the limitations posed by its rigid focus on early modernism and classical techniques.

“I felt an overwhelming desire to move away from the formal constraints of my academic training,” he confessed, expressing frustration with the academy’s narrow perspective. While he credits this institution for laying a foundational understanding of traditional forms, it became evident to him that he needed to break away from its constraints to tap into his authentic creative potential. The system had its blind spots, and Seleznev was eager to venture into less familiar territory to uncover more about his own voice as an artist.

It was through this exploration that Seleznev's practice began to fully flourish. This pivot enabled him to delve into the relationship between sound and physical space, transcending the limitations of static sculpture. In one early project, he installed speakers on a Soviet building, broadcasting “mysterious ‘whale’ sounds” that reverberated through the urban landscape. The result was a haunting yet beautiful fusion of sound and architecture, inviting audiences to reconsider the possibilities inherent in their surroundings. This blending of mediums, combining the solidity of concrete with the ephemerality of sound, has since become a hallmark of his work.

However, creating art in Russia is not without its unique challenges, particularly in today’s political climate. When I inquired about the difficulties surrounding artistic freedom in a country like Russia, Seleznev was refreshingly candid. “After the invasion of Ukraine, my works, and those of other artists, were banned from state museums,” he shared. This censorship often manifests as self-censorship, with artists avoiding certain topics that could put them at risk. Yet, even amidst this oppressive backdrop, Seleznev has cultivated a sense of solidarity within Russia’s contemporary art community, describing it as a tightly-knit group that operates outside the pressures of commercialization prevalent in Western art.

“The contemporary art scene in Russia is very small,” Nikita told me, “and the market for contemporary art is tiny. This has both positive and negative aspects. Such a limited community can feel like a real collective working together on a common cause and supporting each other. The market pressure, which is especially influential in the U.S., has much less impact on the formation of artistic practices in Russia. On the flip side, the precarious position of the artist becomes more apparent.” This sense of camaraderie is essential for Seleznev, who perceives political repression not as a deterrent, but rather as an impetus for deeper collaboration among artists confronting similar challenges.

Yet, even as Seleznev grapples with external limitations, he remains steadfastly committed to producing works that reflect his inner world. His current project, NORMA, exemplifies this ongoing evolution in his practice. This project examines the concept of care within a post-apocalyptic context, delving into how human connections, both established and broken, emerge in times of crisis. “It’s tactile and over-heavy,” he described, underscoring that the weight of this project, both physical and emotional, is central to the audience experience he aims to create. NORMA will incorporate the collaboration of digital scans of concrete sculptures and animation, further merging the physical and digital realms, a continuation of his interest in interdisciplinary practice.

Seleznev expressed palpable excitement about the potential of NORMA when we spoke. “This is the culmination of many of my artistic inquiries,” he said, “and I’m thrilled to see where it takes me, especially as I continue to blend traditional and digital media.”

What I personally find most compelling about Seleznev’s work is its refusal to fit neatly into categories. His practice embodies the contradictions of his life: shaped by the post-Soviet industrial landscape of Komi, refined through the classical training of the Academy of Arts, and now situated at the intersection of sculpture and sound art. His art eschews simplistic labels of political activism or aesthetic expression; instead, it occupies the liminal space between the world as it is and the world as it could be.

Seleznev's reflections on the difficulties of being an artist in Russia resonate with a broader truth about the nature of creative work in oppressive environments. He avoids romanticizing his struggle; he doesn’t frame his practice as an act of grand defiance. Rather, his art is fundamentally about communication, about forging connections with people on a deeply human level, despite, or perhaps because of, the challenges he faces. “Art has always been about communication for me,” he emphasized. “A presentation or exhibition is the best way to interact with viewers.”

In a world where the freedom to create is often taken for granted, Seleznev’s journey serves as a poignant reminder of the resilience required to sustain creativity in more challenging contexts. His work is not merely a reflection of his past but a testament to the perseverance necessary to maintain artistic practice amid adversity. And despite the obstacles, Seleznev’s hopefulness shines through. When I asked him what advice he would give to aspiring artists, he candidly replied, “Art is a marathon--it takes time, and things don’t always go according to plan.”

In this way, Seleznev’s art echoes the complexity of life itself: messy, unpredictable, and ultimately enduring. Through his sculptures, sound installations, and multi-layered projects, he invites us to glimpse the worlds we inhabit, even when those worlds seem intent on silencing us. His work serves as a reminder that art, at its best, is about survival—not in spite of adversity, but through it.