Exiled Russian artist, Victoria Lomasko, sat down with Industrial Worker to discuss her latest book, The Last Soviet Artist, what it means to be a political artist, and how working on liberatory projects is far more important than attaching yourself to an immovable mountain like Putin or Trump.
IW: The first half of the book is, as you wrote in the introduction, a continuation of Other Russias – but here you title the section Traces of Empire. The title suggests a shift in thinking about these people and places being Russian as opposed to being colonized. Did you feel a shift in your perspective or was it more subtle or am I reading too much into it?
VL: In the first part of The Last Soviet Artist, I continue to work at the intersection of journalism and sociology, using the same methods and style as in Other Russias. The choice of topics is similar: gender rights, grassroots initiatives and invisible social groups. However, because the geographical scope is expanded to the post-Soviet space, a new subject is added: the relationship to our common Soviet past. The title Traces of Empire suggests that whether we like it or not, we have a post-Soviet identity.
An example of post-Soviet identity is the way Ukrainian refugees and Russian emigrants are now adapting in Europe. I have been living in Germany since the beginning of the war, and I have seen the same stress among Ukrainians and Russians about the enormous bureaucratic system, huge taxes, mandatory insurance, and paid but poor medicine. Suddenly, it became clear that socialism also has some benefits.
Concerning the relations that existed between Russia and the other Soviet republics, there are two narratives. In my Soviet childhood, I only heard stories about unbreakable friendship and the absence of hierarchies. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Western narrative about Russia as an evil empire that enslaved the other republics became trendy. The truth lies somewhere in the middle. During my travels, I documented traces of colonization everywhere: stories of rebellion and the suppression of national languages, the partial destruction of local culture, and so on.
VL: At the same time, the Soviet authorities invested huge resources in building cities, industrialization, agriculture, science, and culture in these republics. And these traces are also present everywhere.
IW: You have published two previous books, Forbidden Art and Other Russias, which were focused on telling other people’s stories through your eyes. You wrote about a conversation you were having with a friend who asked you what it meant to be an artist. Your response was that now it means being able to look inward. You put it in opposition to being more journalistic. With the publication of The Last Soviet Artist, you are looking more inward and telling your own story.
VL: During the work on these books, my self-definition was transformed several times. The first book, Forbidden Art, was a reportage from the courtroom when I sketched what was happening as a silent witness. Then, I got bored with the role of passive observer and started studying books on journalism, organizing trips, and conducting interviews. While working on Other Russias, I turned into a real graphic reporter. In the first part of The Last Soviet Artist, I worked as a sociologist, living in each place for a month and describing the people’s daily life.
But since 2020, events have become too unpredictable and strange to try to describe them in the language of a journalist. It’s a pandemic that lasted two years but ended immediately when war broke out in Ukraine. It is the revolution in Belarus in which I participated. It is the change in Russia’s political course and an intense premonition of disaster – I finished the second part of The Last Soviet Artist Becomes Someone Else three weeks before the war in Ukraine began. The current crisis in America is unfolding the same whirlwind of events.
VL: Since 2020, I have begun to combine reportage sketches with symbolic compositions and to tell stories not as a journalist but as an artist, based primarily on my intuition. The picture of the world which journalists create: the horizon is covered by mountain-like political figures, some of whom you have to join and others to fight against. The picture of the world an artist can create: a spectacular landscape unfolding in a space where each of us is a mountain, a river or a forest.
IW: I feel like this idea is very similar to the thesis given by David Graber in his work: “Fragments of an Anarchist Anthropology.” He argues that it is more important to work on liberatory projects than to focus all your energy on fighting against the current person in power.
VL: In the past, I believed in such ideas, fighting the regime and drawing “chronicles of resistance”. Gradually, I realized that this narrative devalues “development” as a goal, offering instead “struggle”. The tool of “struggle” is standing on the street with signs and shouting something into a megaphone. Now, I am sure that such “methods of struggle” are invented by the power itself because as long as we waste energy pointlessly, we cannot create an alternative reality.
IW: You wrote a chapter about being smuggled into Belarus to report on the revolution. That was extremely brave. At the book launch you said you were convinced the revolution would succeed – but it didn’t. Can you share a little bit about that experience?
VL: Before participating in the Belarusian Revolution, I shared a popular idea: If a large population takes to the streets, it will lead to the victory of democracy in any country. The borders between our countries were closed because of the pandemic, but I paid a private bus driver, he hid me in the trunk, and I entered Belarus illegally to draw the victory of the revolution. Unfortunately, I saw the beginning of its defeat. The dictator was not afraid of crowds in the streets, creative posters, feminist actions, street concerts, and protest graffiti. Police arrested, beat, tortured, raped, and sometimes killed people. Within a year, the protest, in which most of the population participated, was completely cleaned up. There was no Western support.
VL: When the war in Ukraine started, the Western media tried to encourage Russians to take to the streets to protest empty-handed. I wonder why America and Europe, with all their resources, still haven’t stopped the war.
IW: Are the five steps something you believe applies only to your own experience or is it something that applies more broadly?
VL: The book ends with Five Steps, an essay written at the beginning of my emigration to Europe and at the peak of the cancellation of Russian culture. The main subject is collective guilt, or even shame, actively imposed on any Russian: former protesters, single mothers, residents of remote provinces, teenagers and the elderly, as well as national minorities (there are about 200 nationalities in Russia, many of which are already marginalized). Psychologists call guilt one of the most destructive feelings; when feeling it, a person cannot create and becomes useless.
To finish this conversation, I want to emphasize that Russians are not Putin and Americans are not Trump. Don’t let the media impose guilt on you. Don’t be discouraged when protesting in the street doesn’t work—and it couldn’t. Cultivate a sense of dignity. Engage in creating, not fighting.
The book The Last Soviet Artist from publisher n+1 is currently available through all major booksellers. A new documentary, Tree of Violence, about the connection between state violence and domestic violence is available through Draw For Change.