Dancing on icebergs
On cold quickly give up the illusions. Earth is not here, there is only a stone »land» covered by a glacier. A »hard» on which you go - it's the drifting ice. There is no night and day, in the usual sense of the word. Night lasts several months, and the same day lasts. There are no boundaries between the human and the animal world. My friends Eskimo hunters say that when polar bears return home, they take off their hides and hung on a hook.
I dance on the drifting ice. My scene is moving under his feet. Iceberg on which I stand, I can swim up to the latitude of New York or Los Angeles for one summer. My art is illusory, and it will disappear with the melting ice.
Sea ice - is a particular scene. There is no need to write anything, exaggerate or lie to the viewer himself. There is no place for eloquence, the world is open to the horizon. It does not hide anything and you can not hide itself. Nobody will regret not gasp. Here, as in any desert, you feel the presence of great truth, »the truth of life», which at the same time - a mirage.
It is not clear, icy fortress floating past me and we sail past castles, sometimes real and sometimes mirages? All of this interplay of light, shadow, ozone and low temperatures.
In the ice desert you realize how weakPeople, if you deprive his cocoon. On the sea ice you do not there is nothing left except the body and base instincts, through which you can accept life as it is and adapt. People who have lived in a cocoon of life, can not imagine what a fantastic adaptation possibilities hidden in our genetic memory and how quickly they are implemented when the need arises.
There is absolute silence. My art is born in the silence and in dreams. However, this relative silence. For me, in the Arctic more sounds than anywhere else, and most of them you've never heard in my life. The ice is cracking and breaking,
When ridges are bunched together like bulls. A huge, like a skyscraper, iceberg flips under its own weight, and it sounds like a nuclear explosion. There is not that the West is called the small talk, the constant talk about anything to avoid silence. After all, the silence in the understanding of modern man - a manifestation of rudeness. Here I can only speak with ice, rocks, wind and underwater fish. But it does not need words.
The body as a natural material
In all my work I use naturalmaterials - grease seal to the ice and reflections in mirrors polurazbityh hunting. But my main instrument - my own body. This is the main reason why many people call my art is provocative. In the civilized world to the human body is still treated as a »low-matter», it is necessary either to fear or ignore. I trust the body more than the mind. The body - more accurate, reliable and fair tool than my »civilized» mind. My body does not deceive, but the mind can easily lie.
The ice goes, the circus remains
In 1989 I first came to CanadaArctic, in a small village, which then had about a few hundred people. I was stuck there for a long time, and in such places are fast becoming part of the community. The village had many children, and they have the whole day revolved around us, because they do particularly there was nothing: no clubs, no studios, no, of course, art galleries and theaters in the village was not. I rode with them on the ice floes, and invent all sorts of funny stories. Suddenly it occurred to me to do a little circus on ice floe. Where else? The scenes there, and the shore is steep, rocky. We sewed the costumes of rags, put a small show about the polar bear and the crow - all are based on a familiar tale. They played for themselves, but it turned out that on the coast, we had an audience. So the children for the first time in his life got applause. It has been almost 20 years, and I came back to his idea of the circus on ice, except that the ice at the time left a lot less ...
Climate change in the Arctic, but not all areimagine how quickly. For example, in Greenland, before the sea ice I was nine months, and now - just two. But on the sea ice goes all life - hunting, fishing and culture. So it was for centuries. In open water, where he lives seal hunters were writing songs, danced, told stories. No ice-means no food and culture. Hunter, who was once the foundation of society, suddenly became unnecessary. And the society crawled at the seams. He came from the south of alcohol, began -to suicide especially among teenagers.
With the departure of the ice people stopped to visit each othervisit: because there is no road, only a dog sled through the fiords. People have become prisoners of our own islands. What can save from the loop or alcohol? Celebration! Again I decided to put the circus on ice.
We bought costumes and masks on Broadwaytheater stores, and went into the ice. Eskimo children - born jugglers, acrobats, tightrope walkers, ventriloquists, magicians. It's in their genes! It may be difficult in a short time to teach them to play symphonic music, but you can make a circus for the day. With the help of the body, without a word, they can tell you about your pain. And throw out the aggression that would otherwise be directed against them. And they love to laugh. When people laugh, it's hard to think about the bad.
This winter we are again going to create icecircus. At this time, in Yakutia, and possibly in Chukotka - on the basis of the local orphanages, where they live talented and good children. And the music we have, by the way, too, »ice»: our musical instruments - stone, leather, wood, and even the howling of dogs. I think that all of us will turn out. It connects the cold heart!
