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solo show Yuri Samoilove


05.07 — 01.08

Contemporary Art Center "Winzavod", 4 Syromyatny Lane, 1/8, 9, entrance 22

On July 05th a—s—t—r—a gallery will present a solo exhibition of the artist Yuri Samoilove "How to disappear completely".

For the duration of the exhibition the gallery space will become a place of total immersion into the artistic practice of Yuri Samoilove. Being a musician, artist and screenwriter at the same time, Yuri Samoilov uses an interdisciplinary approach in his art - he creates paintings, draws, writes lyrics and music.

The exhibition will combine two modalities of perception - visual and auditory. In addition to the presented paintings and drawings, they will be accompanied by music composed by the artist - sampled soundtracks will set a certain tone and mood while viewing the exhibition, increasing the degree of immersion in the visual-visual universe of the artist.

Yura's works always refer to the visual. They are attractive, vivid, executed in an expressionistic manner. Their special artistic expressiveness - texture, form, plasticity, color and composition - is achieved through a whole set of experimental means of the artist.

The artist achieves unpredictable color combinations and lighting effects, using and mixing different materials on the plane - watercolor, acrylics, gouache, spray cans. At the same time is constantly expanding its artistic arsenal of new tools and techniques.

Graphic work of the artist can be compared with palimpsest - Jura applies and erases paint layer by layer, washes it off with water, then repeats the process, again overlaying one colorful layer with another. The number of such iterations can reach a dozen. As a result, not without a fraction of randomness, unpredictable images, compositions and color combinations emerge on paper.

The result of the search for an artistic approach to the creation of a new image and drawing at the exhibition will be a series of graphic and pictorial works.

curatorial text Roman Kutsenko

«Invisible Animals»

I am in a room surrounded by invisible animals. I can't sleep, so lazily, without much interest, I stare at them, creatures I've seen too many times. 

A dizzying waterfall of multicolored droplets, the color of paint scattered across the room, bursts into the darkness of my ajar eyes, forming several simple figures - children or adults in the water - the water is so opaque that it is probably a swamp, there are millions of spectators in the stands, they are cheering all at once and each individually - like me when I crawl on the floor and collect the tubes of paint, which from the tension of my fingers resemble all the figures of the Gates of Hell at once and each individually.

- No need to get upset! - someone from the losing team shouts to me and slowly drifts off to the bottom, squinting one last time at the pale pink sun in the tops of the coal fir trees. 

Is it the trees creaking or my chair?

The first thought that occurred to me as I touched my finger in black watercolor to a white sheet of paper - cautiously surveying the world around the surfaces available to me - was - the sea sand creaked lightly under my sole - what am I really painting? What if I "manifest" the painting, maybe for that I should wash off the paint and will I find something interesting underneath - my real painting? 

Beneath the black drop was a translucent black circle, covered with black rays going into the center of the circle. Farther gray paper, further sea sand on the floor, a pulse in my eyes - outside the window, on a yellow wooden fence sits a plastic robin and presses its beak to its chest, as if it wants to peck its heart - the head comes off and falls into the green grass. 

The clouds in the sky are smiling. 

Did I draw all this? Minimal means, for sure, isn't that the mark of a good artist? М? No.

The voice that tells the story becomes/turns into the sound of a sharp fall. Invisible animals bare some of the space, unseen generosity on their part, unseen generosity of image: a plastic robin's head in small grasses lies on the floor of my room. 

The best cure for insomnia is simply to stay awake.

I squeeze the robin's head in my palm. Silence. It's too quiet here all the time. Silence in large print. 

The marshmallow rings are pale lemon, slightly purple, and one the color of volcanic ash. 

Ring, loupe - color looped on/in itself, pattern. Above the palm is a crimson ring. It slowly spins - without making a sound. The color slowly turns into silence. 

Spinning at a speed peculiar only to the color. In the darkness, in its own, barely visible to the eye - the glow. The ring-beams become more and more, all different colors and sizes. 

Waiting for the sound is overwhelming - leaden clouds without rain...

Stunned by the silence...

I unclench my palm...

Darkness again. 

Sounds seem to emerge. I tuck the plastic robin's head into my pocket. 

Morning. Ready for breakfast - rainbow rings with fruity flavor... 

Stunned by the color...

So what are we really painting?

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