Well, I watched the subway doors close on David, on his way to the train station (and from there, to Riga, and from there, to Tallinn, and from there--?), gave a final salute, and caught my own train in the other direction, aware that I had just said goodbye to my last friend in St. Petersburg. Katey and David, my friends from Smolny who had decided to stay the summer, were both here on Smolny's invite; their visas expire on the 1st of July, which meant they had to be out of the country by then. Since before I arrived, Katey had been emailing and calling embassies in different countries to find out if they would grant a visa to foreign nationals: Finland denied her, Ukraine ignored her calls, UK evaded her questions and said they could get her a visa "if she met certain requirements". Finally Iceland gave her a straight affirmative answer, and for a few days we were all excited for her Icelandic adventure. However, at the last minute plans changed, and Katey caught a bus to Finland Saturday to fly from Helsinki to her home in Fort Worth, Texas, where she'll regroup and relax while her visa for the rest of the summer processes; she'll be back in three weeks. David's in the same boat; processing takes a few weeks, so he'd have to spend an indeterminate period of time in some other country (Scotland was his choice). However, he suddenly realized that he doesn't really HAVE to come back to Russia, and today he set off to backpack across Europe for a month, eventually ending up at a friend's place in Edinburgh before returning to the States.
And Andrey, apparently, decided to go to Finland for a week or two.
So I'm alone in my apartment, alone in this city (and how bizarre it is to be alone in a city of 5 million!), with a few (anglophone) acquaintances I've made since I returned whose numbers I have but have never called. I'd say I don't know what to do with myself, but there's so much I could be spending my time on that it's exhausting to think about. My research is...taking off:
It turns out the easiest way to get ahold of people in Russia is through...Vkontakte, which is--for the uninitiated, and may God save your soul--Russian facebook. Quite literally, Russian facebook; Vkontakte uses the old facebook layout from four or five years ago. Anyway, I found something like 15 or 20 of the 30 artists I'm hoping to meet, through mining Yuri's friends list (the extent to which St. Petersburg artists all know each other is absurd and oh-so-helpful!) Five of them replied to me; I've only got to call them and set up times. I'm meeting with Marina Koldobskaya tomorrow, and Anton Khlabov and Aleksandr Dashevskii want to set up interviews this week. Two more have emailed me; a few are out of the country until early July; and Svetlana Scherbinina, whom I've run into at Yuri's studio and at a vernissage early last week, has also agreed to interview whenever we find it convenient (perhaps when Andrey gets back from Finland; or maybe I'll film some myself?).
So, tons of meetings in the works. Each interview takes a bit of me, because I get so anxious about meeting new people and I'm afraid of asking stupid questions, freezing up, or seeming naive, ignorant, condescending, etc. Even in English it would be difficult; in Russian I have double the angst. I have to stare at the phone for a minute before I work up the nerve to dial the number and schedule a meeting. It's ridiculous, and I have to laugh a little at myself; this project is good for me. And in addition to the anxiety, I also have to do quite a bit of research before each interview to avoid wasting time with simple lack of preparation--I have to familiarize myself with the artist's work and their history, which involves a great deal of reading in Russian, googling, and tapping my fingers while the slow wi-fi takes its damn sweet time.
I'm also translating the exhibition catalog, which I got from Gleb Yershov at our interview. It's got some very interesting information about the origin of the Russian Beauty project and the nature of national/international contemporary art, plus a list of everyone I need to get in touch with and pictures of most or maybe all of the works shown at the Krasniy Treugol'nik factory last fall. This is a great way to spend my time when I'm not interviewing but still feel obligated to do some work; the catalog has 30-40 pages in articles/opinions.
NOT that I need to come up with ways to keep busy! I bought some sneakers recently, so I've been going running around my neighborhood in the mornings, then doing a little yoga before a shower and breakfast. I'm halfway through Simone de Beauvoir's autobiography (Force of Circumstance) and I read every chance I get; it's a thought-provoking, inspiring story, and I feel like I can learn a lot from her as a writer (duh.)
I play violin and accordion every day, working up the nerve to busk in the metro or the park. I make excursions to galleries and museums, walk up and down the canals and investigate new cafes, bookstores, grocery stores. On the weekend I'll go to the market at Udel'naya; the vendors usually present their new wares on Saturdays and that's when I'm likely to find the most exciting things. I picked up a carrying case for my accordion for 50 roubles yesterday, by coincidence. I was looking for a backpack, and I asked the old man how much for the "sack" he had spread out next to old books, silver spoons, broken pocketwatches, warped records. As I examined it, David pointed out that it had an appendage that looked as though it would fit snugly around the keyboard of the accordion. "Is this for an accordion?" I asked, and in a moment I had it crammed under my arm, pleased at the serendipitous find. Yes!
Today, I spent the afternoon walking around Tavricheskiy Sad (The Tauride Gardens) in the sun, eating plombir (soft-serve) with David and talking about how morally degenerate we are. Tavricheskiy Sad is the most beautiful place I've seen in St. Petersburg so far; I remember walking around there a little bit in November last year, and imagining how lovely it must be when the sun's out and the trees and flowers in full bloom. I had pneumonia, and I had pleaded with the doctors to let me take a walk, because I was sicker with boredom than with fluid in my lungs. They made sure I was completely bundled up, in hat and gloves and scarf, and let me out for a few hours to stroll around the neighborhood. I was allowed to go into a cafe, they said, and get some tea or coffee. Instead I wandered up and down the barren paths in the garden. Everything was grey and brown and frozen. Today it was like a different world. It's an hour's walk from where I live, but before David left he bequeathed me with his rickety old collapsible bike, which makes me significantly more mobile--or will, once I give it a little care and attention.
This week is going to be a long one, starting tomorrow; I need to find a camera to shoot my interviews, which...start tomorrow. I'd better get to sleep, or try--it's midnight and still light.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
A few lovely days
9 days now in Russia and I'm just beginning to get started. I learned the verb "to establish oneself" at just about the same time I began to feel established. Я почти учреждалась.
Research. Skip this if you're not interested in that:
-I met with Yuri and he stressed again what everyone else has been stressing: that my research needs a concrete focus and a much narrower goal than I've been elucidating so far. He gave me some numbers and suggested I more actively use the resources available to me--my association with the Center of Contemporary Art, which can possibly get me ins where I otherwise wouldn't have them, for one. He also came up with a good idea for narrowing my field of interviewees, which until now has been rather nebulous and far too vast to yield any interesting or comprehensible final project. What if, he said, you ask a few very important people in the SPB art scene who they consider to be the 20 or 30 most interesting artists working right now in St. Petersburg, and maybe use that as a list of possible contacts. He gave me a few numbers and names, and I've scheduled to meet with the curator of the Russian Beauty show on Tuesday.
-The focus that my project is working towards is this one exhibit--Russian Beauty, Русская Красота--and the 30 or so artists that participated in it. I want to explore representations of Russian national and personal identity in the 21st century, see how artists see their work and how they represent themselves and their culture. Russia has been through a lot. The Paul Gauguin questions of Where do we come from? Who are we? Where are we going? are deeply embedded in art, in general, but these questions are especially pressing and interesting in Russia because she has changed so frequently, radically, recently. The past, the history of Russian art which Russian artists have to call their own and draw upon, is fraught with contradictions--each chapter has been villified and quarantined in turn. They know where they come from, but perhaps not how they feel towards it--and the questions of Who are we and where are we going are answered differently by each artist.
-So, I want to make a documentary video-collage that shows artist responses to these questions posed to them by a foreigner, an интосранка. I asked my friend Andrey, who's a film student, if he'd be interested in helping me out with the technical aspects of it--contributing his time, camera, and expertise to the effort. He said yes. Marina thinks it's still too vague an idea, too deep, and that the people I interview are likely to wax philosophical and forget to talk about art. I'll need to make it clear before hand where my interest lies and carefully formulate my questions so that people don't get carried away and so that "their speech went more or less about art". Marina gave me a list of 10 of the most interesting artists, in her estimation, 3 of which I already know (Yuri and the two Pyotrs, Bely and Shvetsov, who share his studio) and one more of which I've been hoping to meet.
-I don't know how large a part of my thesis this documentary can be, or if it's even appropriate thesis material (Art history theses are generally, um, written). I'm not an art major or a film major, so I don't know if I'll even get thesis credit for this. It might be, as far as the art history department's concerned, a dead-end waste of time--but that's only one opinion, and not the one that matters the most. For example, although she thinks my idea still needs refinement, Marina is thrilled that I want to do a video and put forth the idea of organizing a presentation in the Frants Gallery Space in New York, which is apparently devoted to St. Petersburg art (Who know?).
This coming week will be very fruitful!
Also, the solstice is tomorrow and I plan to go out walking all night with my roomie. Marvelous!
Research. Skip this if you're not interested in that:
-I met with Yuri and he stressed again what everyone else has been stressing: that my research needs a concrete focus and a much narrower goal than I've been elucidating so far. He gave me some numbers and suggested I more actively use the resources available to me--my association with the Center of Contemporary Art, which can possibly get me ins where I otherwise wouldn't have them, for one. He also came up with a good idea for narrowing my field of interviewees, which until now has been rather nebulous and far too vast to yield any interesting or comprehensible final project. What if, he said, you ask a few very important people in the SPB art scene who they consider to be the 20 or 30 most interesting artists working right now in St. Petersburg, and maybe use that as a list of possible contacts. He gave me a few numbers and names, and I've scheduled to meet with the curator of the Russian Beauty show on Tuesday.
-The focus that my project is working towards is this one exhibit--Russian Beauty, Русская Красота--and the 30 or so artists that participated in it. I want to explore representations of Russian national and personal identity in the 21st century, see how artists see their work and how they represent themselves and their culture. Russia has been through a lot. The Paul Gauguin questions of Where do we come from? Who are we? Where are we going? are deeply embedded in art, in general, but these questions are especially pressing and interesting in Russia because she has changed so frequently, radically, recently. The past, the history of Russian art which Russian artists have to call their own and draw upon, is fraught with contradictions--each chapter has been villified and quarantined in turn. They know where they come from, but perhaps not how they feel towards it--and the questions of Who are we and where are we going are answered differently by each artist.
-So, I want to make a documentary video-collage that shows artist responses to these questions posed to them by a foreigner, an интосранка. I asked my friend Andrey, who's a film student, if he'd be interested in helping me out with the technical aspects of it--contributing his time, camera, and expertise to the effort. He said yes. Marina thinks it's still too vague an idea, too deep, and that the people I interview are likely to wax philosophical and forget to talk about art. I'll need to make it clear before hand where my interest lies and carefully formulate my questions so that people don't get carried away and so that "their speech went more or less about art". Marina gave me a list of 10 of the most interesting artists, in her estimation, 3 of which I already know (Yuri and the two Pyotrs, Bely and Shvetsov, who share his studio) and one more of which I've been hoping to meet.
-I don't know how large a part of my thesis this documentary can be, or if it's even appropriate thesis material (Art history theses are generally, um, written). I'm not an art major or a film major, so I don't know if I'll even get thesis credit for this. It might be, as far as the art history department's concerned, a dead-end waste of time--but that's only one opinion, and not the one that matters the most. For example, although she thinks my idea still needs refinement, Marina is thrilled that I want to do a video and put forth the idea of organizing a presentation in the Frants Gallery Space in New York, which is apparently devoted to St. Petersburg art (Who know?).
This coming week will be very fruitful!
Also, the solstice is tomorrow and I plan to go out walking all night with my roomie. Marvelous!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Market Day
I went out to Udel'noy market today, rode the metro half an hour in each direction and walked through mud, heat, and unthinkable treasures alongside heaps of garbage (for the same price) with a singular mission. I haggled, refused, even stepped up to my ankles in грязь, and at the end of the day I had found Agador, my battered, stalwart $16 accordion. This is our family portrait--Agador on the left, Helga, Katey's more delicately-proportioned number, on the right.
The first thought that should have come into my head, but only just now began to nag at me, is--how on earth am I going to get this home?
My Apartment, an initial sketch
My little room on my first night in St. Pete; now it's a mirror image.
Katey making dinner in our little kitchen
My little windowsill
The view from our little red roof
My little Winnie-the-Pooh tattoo, on the little ledge outside my window
A little Nazi graffiti
Friday, June 18, 2010
Weekly update sent to my thesis adviser
MOSQUITOES. GOD DAMN MOSQUITOES.
"Zdraste!
I'm in St. Petersburg a week now, and in between hiding from the rain and putting life on hold to enjoy the few hours of sun, I've begun to get to work on my project. A lot of logistics had to get out of the way first, so my first few days were just devoted to dealing with the bureaucracy of registering my visa with the Russian government and establishing my living situation. However, a few days ago I finally managed to meet with the director of the Center of Contemporary Art. It turns out they don't have much of a job for me; the organization is made up of just a few people, without the omnipresent Russian bureaucracy. But, Marina and I discussed during our meeting a new website they're designing devoted to Art News in St. Petersburg (called "Art Propaganda") on which they'd like to publish the interviews that I conduct. So, while I won't be working with them, I guess I'll be working for them. I've begun researching artists who are active in St. Petersburg right now, getting acquainted with the work of a few who've sparked my interested. I'm going out to an exhibition at a gallery today of an artist who I believe was part of a collective authorship that I've read about which produced a lot of aggressive installations/projects a few years ago. And this afternoon, I'm meeting with Yuri, who just returned from a festival in Perm', to ask him some details about the exhibition last fall that I'd like to focus on in particular, and get in touch with some participants and the curator(s?).
So, a few points:
1) The CCA website--do you happen to know if I need to ask permission from the Institutional Research Board to publish part of my 'research' (interview transcripts) on the Art Propaganda website? I believe I checked a box on their applicatoin saying that the information I gather would be used in a 'later publication' (by which I meant my thesis), so this should be within my rights?
2) My research seems to be getting focused: I'm really interested in a particular exhibition (this "Russian Beauty" exhibit I think I told you about) and the artists involved. As far as my thesis goes, I've frankly never read a senior thesis and I don't know--is it appropriate for my focus to be that narrow, on the importance, history, and implications of this one exhibit for Russian art/culture/identity? I've been overwhelmed by the enormity of what I've been looking at (foolishly trying to map "Art" in this city and consolidate "St. Petersburg Art" into a concise conclusion). This place is like Paris in the 1880's--there are lots of things going on and a lot of artists exhibiting independently and in groups they regularly work with. I don't know quite enough to say that there are "schools", but it seems like there are, at least in the sense of collectives or people who generally work/exhibit together. Anyway, I think there's a bit to say here, but with what I'm capable of learning in the two months I'm here, it seems much more plausible to focus on the one exhibit and the idea surrounding it: artists exploring the ambivalent and ambiguous facets of the Russian identity. Any ideas/advice? Do you think I'm getting too specific, or is this the scope I should be looking at?
3) As a side note, I hadn't realized when I got in touch with them that the Center of Contemporary Art is actually the State Center of Contemporary Art (Государственный центр), which means it is a part of the bureaucratic-political machine of the Russian government. Their mission seems noble--to promote Contemporary Art and international exchange of artistic ideas--but I do find it curious that it's "government-run", which in times past was pretty much Russian for "censors". While I doubt the SCCA has the power or objective to censor art and they're certainly not controlling art to promote some political ideology, I do think it's interesting (in a history-joke sort of way) that their Art News website is going to be called "Art Propaganda"--an echo of the past, a wry reference to their history.
Okay, writing out this novel of an email was as much for me as for you, if not more, so spacibo bol'shoe for getting to the end--a big thank you! Hope all is well! I'm almost missing Ithaca, I think we get more sun there than we do here, and there are certainly fewer mosquitoes.
Until next week,
Hope"
"Zdraste!
I'm in St. Petersburg a week now, and in between hiding from the rain and putting life on hold to enjoy the few hours of sun, I've begun to get to work on my project. A lot of logistics had to get out of the way first, so my first few days were just devoted to dealing with the bureaucracy of registering my visa with the Russian government and establishing my living situation. However, a few days ago I finally managed to meet with the director of the Center of Contemporary Art. It turns out they don't have much of a job for me; the organization is made up of just a few people, without the omnipresent Russian bureaucracy. But, Marina and I discussed during our meeting a new website they're designing devoted to Art News in St. Petersburg (called "Art Propaganda") on which they'd like to publish the interviews that I conduct. So, while I won't be working with them, I guess I'll be working for them. I've begun researching artists who are active in St. Petersburg right now, getting acquainted with the work of a few who've sparked my interested. I'm going out to an exhibition at a gallery today of an artist who I believe was part of a collective authorship that I've read about which produced a lot of aggressive installations/projects a few years ago. And this afternoon, I'm meeting with Yuri, who just returned from a festival in Perm', to ask him some details about the exhibition last fall that I'd like to focus on in particular, and get in touch with some participants and the curator(s?).
So, a few points:
1) The CCA website--do you happen to know if I need to ask permission from the Institutional Research Board to publish part of my 'research' (interview transcripts) on the Art Propaganda website? I believe I checked a box on their applicatoin saying that the information I gather would be used in a 'later publication' (by which I meant my thesis), so this should be within my rights?
2) My research seems to be getting focused: I'm really interested in a particular exhibition (this "Russian Beauty" exhibit I think I told you about) and the artists involved. As far as my thesis goes, I've frankly never read a senior thesis and I don't know--is it appropriate for my focus to be that narrow, on the importance, history, and implications of this one exhibit for Russian art/culture/identity? I've been overwhelmed by the enormity of what I've been looking at (foolishly trying to map "Art" in this city and consolidate "St. Petersburg Art" into a concise conclusion). This place is like Paris in the 1880's--there are lots of things going on and a lot of artists exhibiting independently and in groups they regularly work with. I don't know quite enough to say that there are "schools", but it seems like there are, at least in the sense of collectives or people who generally work/exhibit together. Anyway, I think there's a bit to say here, but with what I'm capable of learning in the two months I'm here, it seems much more plausible to focus on the one exhibit and the idea surrounding it: artists exploring the ambivalent and ambiguous facets of the Russian identity. Any ideas/advice? Do you think I'm getting too specific, or is this the scope I should be looking at?
3) As a side note, I hadn't realized when I got in touch with them that the Center of Contemporary Art is actually the State Center of Contemporary Art (Государственный центр), which means it is a part of the bureaucratic-political machine of the Russian government. Their mission seems noble--to promote Contemporary Art and international exchange of artistic ideas--but I do find it curious that it's "government-run", which in times past was pretty much Russian for "censors". While I doubt the SCCA has the power or objective to censor art and they're certainly not controlling art to promote some political ideology, I do think it's interesting (in a history-joke sort of way) that their Art News website is going to be called "Art Propaganda"--an echo of the past, a wry reference to their history.
Okay, writing out this novel of an email was as much for me as for you, if not more, so spacibo bol'shoe for getting to the end--a big thank you! Hope all is well! I'm almost missing Ithaca, I think we get more sun there than we do here, and there are certainly fewer mosquitoes.
Until next week,
Hope"
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
My first assignment
I'm trembling from a combination of excitement and too much weak coffee. It's 5:16 PM on June 15th and I'm sitting on Nevsky Prospekt trying to gather my thoughts and sort out the task I've faced myself with.
I rang the bell at the Center of Contemporary Art at a little after 3:00 for my scheduled meeting with Marina Koldobskaya. On the half-hour walk over from my apartment I'd racked my brain trying to figure out what I was going to say, how I was going to explain what I wanted to do. The truth is, I really didn't know what I wanted to do (Still don't) and, though I knew it was an unrealistic expectation, I hoped for directions of some kind from her--a pretty silly thought, considering that I had practically forced myself upon her and her art center with no resumé. I kicked myself for not spending more time preparing myself beforehand, knowing that I seemed really foolish and disorganized, and rightly so. My mind was stubbornly empty. I thought up a few empty sentences to say, but I felt a little more agitated with every step when all that could come into my head were rebukes and scornful just what do you think you're DOING here thoughts. I got here 4 days ago and have hardly given my work any attention since then. I've drafted some interview questions and worked out my budget (which doesn't mean I can stick to it), but frankly my energies have been focused more in the midnight-boat-cruises, crazy-parties, cheap-champagne-and-potato-chips direction and the getting-myself-established-as-a-person-in-St. Petersburg direction. Both of these directions have been fruitful--the boat cruise was among the coolest things I've ever done in St. Petersburg, and I got a cell phone and my apartment keys --finally!-- yesterday. I got registered through a hostel on Kazanskaya Street, thankfully, which means I no longer have the threat of the Russian Government hanging over my head. Okay, okay, so I've been busy--but still, it's easy for 4 days of shiftlessness to suddenly become 2 weeks of shiftlessness without me even realizing it, and 2 weeks of shiftlessness isn't something I can afford when I'm only here for two months.
When I arrived they were in the middle of an administrative meeting and having tea, so I sat down and poured myself a cup of coffee. Marina introduced me and within moments I was translating for the proofs of her new businesscards, coming up with clean ways of compressing enormous Russian phrases into concise, comprehensible job titles in English. I felt absurdly underqualified and that made me feel even more ridiculous: the native speaker who can't trust her own tongue.
Marina and I met in her office afterwards and in a short meeting decided my fate here in St. Petersburg. Here we go!
The SCCA is starting a new website called "Art Propaganda", focused on art in St. Petersburg, and they would also like to begin sending out an Art News newsletter. My interviews will be featured on the website (and maybe in the newsletter?), in Russian and possibly also in English. This means that I will have some sort of time limit for the interviews; this means that I will have to DO them. This means I should attempt to get one interview done each week AS A MINIMUM. I'm a little disappointed that I won't be doing actual work with the CCA, but this is a really fantastic opportunity to do some interview journalism and have it published somewhere besides a senior thesis, where it would sit and rot and never be read by anyone except my thesis committee because they HAVE to read it.
So my task right now is to just get started. To start with, I need to find somewhere other than McDonald's to work; somewhere quieter and classier. A cafe with Wi-fi near my home? I suppose a twenty-four hour establishment with free wi-fi is too much to hope for.
I need to finish writing my basic interview template, but also need to compile a list of artists that I'd like to interview. This involves coming up with a list of criteria, or what kind of artists I'm looking for. And then I need to focus on specific artists, think of what I want to ask them individually, what about their work intrigues me and why I'm interested in them. I need to translate my interviews into Russian. I'll need to meet with Yuri to get in touch with other artists in his network.
And then I actually need to interview people, get the interviews transcribed, translate and edit them, and submit them (one by one) to Marina and the SCCA!
But first, I need to buy a pen and eat some lunch. And McDonald's is not the place for either of those things.
I rang the bell at the Center of Contemporary Art at a little after 3:00 for my scheduled meeting with Marina Koldobskaya. On the half-hour walk over from my apartment I'd racked my brain trying to figure out what I was going to say, how I was going to explain what I wanted to do. The truth is, I really didn't know what I wanted to do (Still don't) and, though I knew it was an unrealistic expectation, I hoped for directions of some kind from her--a pretty silly thought, considering that I had practically forced myself upon her and her art center with no resumé. I kicked myself for not spending more time preparing myself beforehand, knowing that I seemed really foolish and disorganized, and rightly so. My mind was stubbornly empty. I thought up a few empty sentences to say, but I felt a little more agitated with every step when all that could come into my head were rebukes and scornful just what do you think you're DOING here thoughts. I got here 4 days ago and have hardly given my work any attention since then. I've drafted some interview questions and worked out my budget (which doesn't mean I can stick to it), but frankly my energies have been focused more in the midnight-boat-cruises, crazy-parties, cheap-champagne-and-potato-chips direction and the getting-myself-established-as-a-person-in-St. Petersburg direction. Both of these directions have been fruitful--the boat cruise was among the coolest things I've ever done in St. Petersburg, and I got a cell phone and my apartment keys --finally!-- yesterday. I got registered through a hostel on Kazanskaya Street, thankfully, which means I no longer have the threat of the Russian Government hanging over my head. Okay, okay, so I've been busy--but still, it's easy for 4 days of shiftlessness to suddenly become 2 weeks of shiftlessness without me even realizing it, and 2 weeks of shiftlessness isn't something I can afford when I'm only here for two months.
When I arrived they were in the middle of an administrative meeting and having tea, so I sat down and poured myself a cup of coffee. Marina introduced me and within moments I was translating for the proofs of her new businesscards, coming up with clean ways of compressing enormous Russian phrases into concise, comprehensible job titles in English. I felt absurdly underqualified and that made me feel even more ridiculous: the native speaker who can't trust her own tongue.
Marina and I met in her office afterwards and in a short meeting decided my fate here in St. Petersburg. Here we go!
The SCCA is starting a new website called "Art Propaganda", focused on art in St. Petersburg, and they would also like to begin sending out an Art News newsletter. My interviews will be featured on the website (and maybe in the newsletter?), in Russian and possibly also in English. This means that I will have some sort of time limit for the interviews; this means that I will have to DO them. This means I should attempt to get one interview done each week AS A MINIMUM. I'm a little disappointed that I won't be doing actual work with the CCA, but this is a really fantastic opportunity to do some interview journalism and have it published somewhere besides a senior thesis, where it would sit and rot and never be read by anyone except my thesis committee because they HAVE to read it.
So my task right now is to just get started. To start with, I need to find somewhere other than McDonald's to work; somewhere quieter and classier. A cafe with Wi-fi near my home? I suppose a twenty-four hour establishment with free wi-fi is too much to hope for.
I need to finish writing my basic interview template, but also need to compile a list of artists that I'd like to interview. This involves coming up with a list of criteria, or what kind of artists I'm looking for. And then I need to focus on specific artists, think of what I want to ask them individually, what about their work intrigues me and why I'm interested in them. I need to translate my interviews into Russian. I'll need to meet with Yuri to get in touch with other artists in his network.
And then I actually need to interview people, get the interviews transcribed, translate and edit them, and submit them (one by one) to Marina and the SCCA!
But first, I need to buy a pen and eat some lunch. And McDonald's is not the place for either of those things.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
I'm back!
Everything is just as I remember.
I opened my eyes as though through glue or molasses to the outskirts of St. Petersburg, dirty streets and neon signs and used-car dealers. I'd slept most of the 6 hour drive from Helsinki, where I'd touched down the night before, waking up only when the van stopped and at the border-- to pass through customs meekly and without comment. The woman behind the glass had thrust my passport back at me and gestured, unimpressed, towards the swinging metal barrier. I pressed through it--and just like that, I was back in the FUSSR.
It seemed easy.
So I slept on, slept off days of constant traveling and the 9 hour time difference between Spokane and Helsinki. I slept what I didn't get to sleep on the airplane from Minnesota to Amsterdam, slept off my 5-hour layover in Amsterdam, spent walking up and down alleyways with my shoulder-bag and violin, past shops opening up with bartenders taking chairs down off the counter and barbers sweeping their floors in preparation for the day. I slept off the confusion of the two-hour darkness that makes up night in this northern tip of the continent.
In Amsterdam at 6:30 AM I left the plane and made my mind up immediately not to spend my five hours in the airport, biding time. I caught a train to the centre of the city, where the shops were all shut tight against the morning and the shivering rain, and my leather jacket shrunk against my skin as I searched for a coffeeshop or cafe to dry off and collect my thoughts. By 8:30 I'd found only one cafe, so I sat and drank an Americano--only it's not called an Americano in Amsterdam; it's a cup of coffee. I read some from As I Lay Dying.
I knew the difference between a coffeeshop and a cafe, and for nearly an hour I passed by closed coffeeshops with hesitation, wanting and unsure, and then a few open ones with even more trepidation and not enough courage to go inside. But in the end no one was policing me but myself, and I steeled myself to step inside when the next doorway opened up. It was "Any Day" Coffeeshop, and the man behind the counter was kind and didn't scoff at my bashful and incredulous questions: "Can I smoke it anywhere, or just here?" I felt like such a country bumpkin, but he showed me the 'menu' and I chose a pre-rolled '100% pure reefer' joint for convenience, and I smoked while strolling along the canal past groggy Dutch men and women hurrying to work. I fairly floated back to the airport, high on THC and my own daring, still nervous that I might miss my flight. I dozed while waiting at the gate and finally let my breath out when I sank into my seat on the last leg of my journey (almost).
I was late for my meeting with Atte because I'd fallen asleep in the cafe-bar at the Helsinki train station. He stood in the lobby waiting for me, tall and slim and beautiful with a guitar on his back and his halting, uncertain English. I was grateful for his understanding when all I wanted to do was sleep, again, and he left me in his apartment with directions and a plan to meet two hours later at a bar near the metro station--to which I was late, again, and I felt awful for putting him in such a position. Still, we got along well, and after a drink with his friend Kira we walked all evening, speaking of our plans and our responsibilities toward the world and our places within it.
And now I was sleeping again: dreaming of deja vu and places I've been as I returned to one of them. The van stopped outside the Mayakovskaya metro station, and I sleepily bought a token, shouldered my 50 lb pack and ducked inside to get out of the rain. Katey was at the door when I rang our doorbell. I climbed the five flights to our top-floor apartment with bated breath (although how much I can attribute to anticipation, and how much to the weight on my back and in my hands, I cannot say). The stairwell smelled like cat piss, and there were broken windows chalked with swastikas and profanity leaning against the wall on one landing. This is it, this is Russia, this is my home in Russia, this is Russia and my home both I thought with each step between the turquoise walls. And then: I was THERE.
My apartment: it is beautiful and colorful! The floor in the hallway is parquet painted the same turquoise as the walls in the stairwell, and the bathroom walls are painted sunny-side-up yellow. The kitchen is tiled in green and pink and cream, which matches the tabletop. The windows face east and there are beautiful potted plants on my windowsill. It's huge and so airy and bright, and my window overlooks the rooftops of the city. Sennaya Ploschad'--the metro, the grocery store and the market--is two minutes from here. This is perfect, I could not ask for a better place to live. It's mere luck that Katey and I came across this perfect apartment; our classmates Ben and Noah rented it in the spring and returned to America just in time for us to take over their lease, and we almost didn't because of the boys' questionable track record. For example, one day Ben came to school with the showerhead in hand, and my memories of Noah consist mostly of recklessness and hostility.
St. Petersburg is almost exactly how I left it, almost eerily so. A few shops closed and a few opened up elsewhere, but a 300-year-old city doesn't change drastically over five months. The difference is me, and what I'm doing here. My schedule is wide-open to a dizzying degree. Right now I have no schedule: the Center of Contemporary Art hasn't contacted me yet, and Yuri is out of town at a festival in Perm for the weekend. The whole country is celebrating right now; today is День России, akin to a Russian independence day (though Russia has been independent for a milennium or so), so my first few days here are a well-needed break.
Everything is just as I remember alright, including the bureaucracy and complications at every step of the way. It starts simply: every person living in Russia must be registered with the government. When you arrive in any city with the intention of staying for more than three days, you must register your location. If you don't register, you can be fined exorbitant fees (up to $100,000 I believe) and they can refuse to let you leave the country, or put you in prison. Simple enough, right? But wait: you can't register yourself; you have to have your landlord or host organization register you. Okay, okay--but my landlord is out of town, and as I mentioned it's a national holiday, so the bank that's involved in the registration process is closed until Tuesday.
Well, fuck.
Despite the fact that the bank is closed, I highly doubt that the Russian Federation will accept a national holiday as an excuse for not being registered, which leaves me with the ugly truth that I absolutely must be registered by Monday and can't register with my landlords until they return to town, on Monday. Perfect, right? It's like Russia is welcoming me back with a nice big "Fuck you!"
There is one other way to register, in general, although with the closing of the bank it might not work. Hostels will generally register their guests as a matter of course, so all I have to do is stay one night in a hostel and I'll be registered in St. Petersburg for the rest of my time here. Katey and I set off across town to the Graffiti Hostel, a big square building painted to look like a Mondrian composition, but even here we ran into problems. I'm not the only one who wants to be in St. Petersburg right now; in fact, June is the height of the White Nights and thus also tourist season. We tried several hostels, then went home to try telephone numbers instead--and every hostel in the city is full. FULL. There are no vacancies anywhere. St. Pete is at capacity. I finally made a reservation for tomorrow night. Fingers crossed that there's no 24-hour time-limit...
In the meantime, I will make dinner and sort out my budget, which is already woefully in shambles and in need of an overhaul because of the unexpected visa fees and super-expensive plane ticket. I'll go shopping for essentials (you know, like a towel. And an accordion.) and I'll enjoy these beautiful days in this beautiful city.
I opened my eyes as though through glue or molasses to the outskirts of St. Petersburg, dirty streets and neon signs and used-car dealers. I'd slept most of the 6 hour drive from Helsinki, where I'd touched down the night before, waking up only when the van stopped and at the border-- to pass through customs meekly and without comment. The woman behind the glass had thrust my passport back at me and gestured, unimpressed, towards the swinging metal barrier. I pressed through it--and just like that, I was back in the FUSSR.
It seemed easy.
So I slept on, slept off days of constant traveling and the 9 hour time difference between Spokane and Helsinki. I slept what I didn't get to sleep on the airplane from Minnesota to Amsterdam, slept off my 5-hour layover in Amsterdam, spent walking up and down alleyways with my shoulder-bag and violin, past shops opening up with bartenders taking chairs down off the counter and barbers sweeping their floors in preparation for the day. I slept off the confusion of the two-hour darkness that makes up night in this northern tip of the continent.
In Amsterdam at 6:30 AM I left the plane and made my mind up immediately not to spend my five hours in the airport, biding time. I caught a train to the centre of the city, where the shops were all shut tight against the morning and the shivering rain, and my leather jacket shrunk against my skin as I searched for a coffeeshop or cafe to dry off and collect my thoughts. By 8:30 I'd found only one cafe, so I sat and drank an Americano--only it's not called an Americano in Amsterdam; it's a cup of coffee. I read some from As I Lay Dying.
I knew the difference between a coffeeshop and a cafe, and for nearly an hour I passed by closed coffeeshops with hesitation, wanting and unsure, and then a few open ones with even more trepidation and not enough courage to go inside. But in the end no one was policing me but myself, and I steeled myself to step inside when the next doorway opened up. It was "Any Day" Coffeeshop, and the man behind the counter was kind and didn't scoff at my bashful and incredulous questions: "Can I smoke it anywhere, or just here?" I felt like such a country bumpkin, but he showed me the 'menu' and I chose a pre-rolled '100% pure reefer' joint for convenience, and I smoked while strolling along the canal past groggy Dutch men and women hurrying to work. I fairly floated back to the airport, high on THC and my own daring, still nervous that I might miss my flight. I dozed while waiting at the gate and finally let my breath out when I sank into my seat on the last leg of my journey (almost).
I was late for my meeting with Atte because I'd fallen asleep in the cafe-bar at the Helsinki train station. He stood in the lobby waiting for me, tall and slim and beautiful with a guitar on his back and his halting, uncertain English. I was grateful for his understanding when all I wanted to do was sleep, again, and he left me in his apartment with directions and a plan to meet two hours later at a bar near the metro station--to which I was late, again, and I felt awful for putting him in such a position. Still, we got along well, and after a drink with his friend Kira we walked all evening, speaking of our plans and our responsibilities toward the world and our places within it.
And now I was sleeping again: dreaming of deja vu and places I've been as I returned to one of them. The van stopped outside the Mayakovskaya metro station, and I sleepily bought a token, shouldered my 50 lb pack and ducked inside to get out of the rain. Katey was at the door when I rang our doorbell. I climbed the five flights to our top-floor apartment with bated breath (although how much I can attribute to anticipation, and how much to the weight on my back and in my hands, I cannot say). The stairwell smelled like cat piss, and there were broken windows chalked with swastikas and profanity leaning against the wall on one landing. This is it, this is Russia, this is my home in Russia, this is Russia and my home both I thought with each step between the turquoise walls. And then: I was THERE.
My apartment: it is beautiful and colorful! The floor in the hallway is parquet painted the same turquoise as the walls in the stairwell, and the bathroom walls are painted sunny-side-up yellow. The kitchen is tiled in green and pink and cream, which matches the tabletop. The windows face east and there are beautiful potted plants on my windowsill. It's huge and so airy and bright, and my window overlooks the rooftops of the city. Sennaya Ploschad'--the metro, the grocery store and the market--is two minutes from here. This is perfect, I could not ask for a better place to live. It's mere luck that Katey and I came across this perfect apartment; our classmates Ben and Noah rented it in the spring and returned to America just in time for us to take over their lease, and we almost didn't because of the boys' questionable track record. For example, one day Ben came to school with the showerhead in hand, and my memories of Noah consist mostly of recklessness and hostility.
St. Petersburg is almost exactly how I left it, almost eerily so. A few shops closed and a few opened up elsewhere, but a 300-year-old city doesn't change drastically over five months. The difference is me, and what I'm doing here. My schedule is wide-open to a dizzying degree. Right now I have no schedule: the Center of Contemporary Art hasn't contacted me yet, and Yuri is out of town at a festival in Perm for the weekend. The whole country is celebrating right now; today is День России, akin to a Russian independence day (though Russia has been independent for a milennium or so), so my first few days here are a well-needed break.
Everything is just as I remember alright, including the bureaucracy and complications at every step of the way. It starts simply: every person living in Russia must be registered with the government. When you arrive in any city with the intention of staying for more than three days, you must register your location. If you don't register, you can be fined exorbitant fees (up to $100,000 I believe) and they can refuse to let you leave the country, or put you in prison. Simple enough, right? But wait: you can't register yourself; you have to have your landlord or host organization register you. Okay, okay--but my landlord is out of town, and as I mentioned it's a national holiday, so the bank that's involved in the registration process is closed until Tuesday.
Well, fuck.
Despite the fact that the bank is closed, I highly doubt that the Russian Federation will accept a national holiday as an excuse for not being registered, which leaves me with the ugly truth that I absolutely must be registered by Monday and can't register with my landlords until they return to town, on Monday. Perfect, right? It's like Russia is welcoming me back with a nice big "Fuck you!"
There is one other way to register, in general, although with the closing of the bank it might not work. Hostels will generally register their guests as a matter of course, so all I have to do is stay one night in a hostel and I'll be registered in St. Petersburg for the rest of my time here. Katey and I set off across town to the Graffiti Hostel, a big square building painted to look like a Mondrian composition, but even here we ran into problems. I'm not the only one who wants to be in St. Petersburg right now; in fact, June is the height of the White Nights and thus also tourist season. We tried several hostels, then went home to try telephone numbers instead--and every hostel in the city is full. FULL. There are no vacancies anywhere. St. Pete is at capacity. I finally made a reservation for tomorrow night. Fingers crossed that there's no 24-hour time-limit...
In the meantime, I will make dinner and sort out my budget, which is already woefully in shambles and in need of an overhaul because of the unexpected visa fees and super-expensive plane ticket. I'll go shopping for essentials (you know, like a towel. And an accordion.) and I'll enjoy these beautiful days in this beautiful city.
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