Director of the Vitebsk Center of Contemporary Art Andrei Dukhovnikov moved to Serbia — he spoke about denunciations in culture, the ignorance of ministers, and who Chagall really belongs to
Although Andrei Dukhovnikov was born in Kazakhstan, he considers himself a Vitebsk artist — it was there that he began his professional career and tenderly painted the streets of the city that became home in every sense. With the same love, Dukhovnikov was once involved in developing the concept for the Vitebsk Center of Contemporary Art, where he served as director until 2023. Today, the artist and his family are forced to live in Serbia.
We talked about how and why he was squeezed out of his homeland, the state of contemporary art in Belarus, denunciations by Bondarava, ministers of culture, Slavianski Bazaar, receiving an award from Lukashenko, earning a living in emigration, and, of course, Chagall.
“They hinted that with my background, I’d be lucky to get a job as a street sweeper in Vitebsk”
“Nasha Niva”: You were the long-standing director of the Vitebsk Center of Contemporary Art from 2009 to 2023. You were known as a recognized artist. How did it happen that in 2024 you ended up in Serbia?
Andrei Dukhovnikov: Initially, I was invited to Serbia just for plein air painting — I used to travel to various European countries that way. And having finished my duties at Slavianski Bazaar [in 2023 — NN], I went to submit my leave request. Well, I brought it to Natallia Shyyanok, the head of the culture department. Without going into details, they told me there that it would be better for me to resign altogether. As if I had accumulated a bunch of screw-ups as director.
Naturally, I had such an adrenaline rush back then… I remember saying that if I was bothering someone so much, I'd go teach art to children somewhere. But they hinted to me that with my background, I’d be lucky to get a job as a street sweeper in Vitebsk.
After that, I spent about two months at my dacha, all alone. Even my family left — I was unbearable to be around. I watered the flowers there, fed the cat.
At the same time, some inspections started at the museum after my resignation, rumors began that they might almost open a criminal case against me, hints started dropping… Although State Control had inspected me 500 times before that, so I wasn't afraid of anything. I knew that if they wanted to, the most they could pin on me was paying someone bonuses late or filing a report incorrectly, but they couldn't have anything serious on me.
My wife, of course, was very worried about me. Especially after the death in custody of Ales Pushkin, who was a friend of mine.
At first, I really went to Serbia for plein air painting, met a lot of artists there, people who were kindred spirits. I realized that I felt very good there. And on top of that, the private school where our son studied was closed down. We decided that there was nothing left for him in terms of education in Belarus.
So in early 2024, the decision was made to move and sell our apartment. Although we had never planned to leave. I thought I would eventually leave the museum on my own to focus more closely on art again. Plus, I had business plans for developing art tourism in Vitebsk; I had already drafted the concept…
“Denunciations against me started coming in both from artists and from figures like Volha Bondarava”
“NN”: How did you cross Vitebsk officials so badly?
AD: You know, by nature I am a conformist. I can reach an agreement with anyone. For this reason, Ales Pushkin and I often argued, because he was more radical, nationalistic. We didn't even speak for a few years, because there was this attitude of "we'll drive all the Russians out!" And my mother is Russian, so what was I supposed to do? I am against such radical things.
I am a man of peace. Therefore, when everything started unfolding in 2020, we came out in front of the art museum not with the white-red-white flag, but with white canvases. But of course, even that was photographed and reported to where it needed to be. Calls immediately started coming in, telling me that as a museum director I shouldn't behave that way.
Plus, right after the election, one of our young artists went missing. By then I already knew that people were being arrested. I started calling everywhere: the executive committee, the police… And we wrote a letter addressed to the mayor — a very polite one, asking them to explain what was happening in the city. And I was one of those who dared to sign that letter, and later, of course, they held it against me.
I turned out to be too inconvenient; I often traveled to Europe and the US for various events — plein airs, conferences.
And denunciations against me started pouring in — both from artists and from figures like Volha Bondarava. She wrote, for instance, that LGBT propaganda was being promoted at our exhibition. Or there was a denunciation stating that the "Malevich Museum" in Vitebsk should be closed down entirely because in 1913 Malevich collaborated with the magazine "Anarchy."
Overall, there was an unhealthy atmosphere at work — inky, sticky, dirty. Constantly some suspicious women with bouffant hair would come in, taking pictures of things in our halls… Acquaintances were amazed at how I could continue working. But I had a self-justification: I was staying to keep the cause alive.
But it became too much even for me when, in 2022, while the war in Ukraine was going on, Russian photographers approached us with an offer to hold an exhibition about their soldiers on APCs. I refused them, said it wasn't our format. And then absolute madness began: people were running around complaining about me with all their might.
“NN”: Did these events influence your views in any way?
AD: You know, I was never particularly into politics. But I have always been for justice. And for personal freedom.
And I remember the COVID story. Work didn't stop, and imagine: we had four or five visitors a month, yet the museum stayed open. And all the gallery attendants were pensioners. I sent them home myself, of course, and the other staff and I took turns on duty. When the programmer and I came in at the same time, we each used a separate entrance — we didn't cross paths so as not to transmit viruses. It was scary: I had a young son, and I saw people dying all around. I knew what was happening to healthcare: how teachers were sewing PPE suits for doctors out of spunbond, how our children were delivering food to physicians…
And then these blatant falsifications. And so many people suffered. In Vitebsk, it was milder compared to Minsk, but still. Look at how Vitebsk doctor Uladzimir Martau was shaken down in the end…
“Five minutes with the ministers of culture was enough to realize that talking to them about the Vitebsk school, about art, was pointless”
“NN”: You worked under various ministers of culture, from Pavel Latushko to Anatol Markevich — did their turnover affect the museum's work?
AD: Regarding Bondar and Markevich, I have only one thought — they were completely useless ministers. They spoke purely in clichés, smiled, and loved being given souvenirs. Perhaps they did want to do something good. Whenever I had a chance, I lobbied for our interests: we need this and that. But five minutes with them was enough to realize that talking to them about the Vitebsk school, about art, was pointless.
In 2020, by the way, our team [at the Vitebsk Center of Contemporary Art] managed to receive Lukashenko's special award "For Spiritual Revival." I went to Minsk back then and somehow endured it, accepted that certificate following the advice my grandmother once gave me — with fingers crossed in my pocket.
Pavel Latushko, on the other hand, can be considered the godfather of our museum. I respect him very much. While serving as minister, he came for the closing of "Slavianski," and I managed to thrust the printed concept of the museum into his hands. And things got moving very quickly — funds for designing were allocated promptly. However, Latushko never made it to see the completed museum, although I invited him.
To some, it might come as a surprise, but the second person who helped us greatly was Iryna Dryha. A lot of nasty things have been said about her, and I think they were well-founded, but she got actively involved in the Vitebsk museum project. On Pal Palycz’s instructions, I suppose. Even though everyone in Vitebsk was terrified of Dryha, I gave her guided tours. To me, it simply makes no difference who I talk to for the sake of a good cause.
“NN”: What is happening to the Vitebsk Center of Contemporary Art today? Do you keep track?
AD: As an independent entity, it no longer exists. The Vitebsk Center of Contemporary Art used to comprise five branches. And even before I left, there was talk of optimization. But back then, we insisted that you couldn't lump Chagall, Malevich, the art college, and contemporary artists all into one pile. That was the concept.
Now, however, they have mixed it all together, and everything operates under the brand of the Marc Chagall Museum. I don't know if the current director, Iryna Voranava, is very happy to find herself in charge of seven branches at once. Meanwhile, the art space at 7 Tolstoy Street is currently under reconstruction, and in the future, it might be seized for something else entirely.
“I constantly had to smooth over rough edges between the artists and officials”
“NN”: The Center for Contemporary Art was also closed down in Minsk. What does this trend indicate to you?
AD: It's not just happening here. Look at Russia: at the Tretyakov Gallery, they closed the department of latest trends.
As my superiors often told me: you contemporary artists are uncontrollable. Nobody knows what an artist will pull next time. We always had plenty of scandals — remember how in Vitebsk they cooked jellied meat in the shape of Lenin's head. I constantly had to smooth over rough edges between artists and officials; I had to apologize for artists. But contemporary art makes no sense at all if it isn't free.
Once I had a meeting with an art critic — a very good curator of contemporary art. It was when he came to Belarus to study our reality. He said then that Belarusian art would be of no interest to anyone in the world as long as it remained an art of decoration, aesthetics, and design. We have a very good school and very high-caliber artists, but often, for obvious reasons, there is no relevance to current realities. And contemporary art cannot exist without relevance.
Everything here is so herbivorous, and only a handful of artists are capable of saying something. And they were already inconvenient before 2020, and afterward, purges began, expulsions from the Union of Artists — all that hideousness.
“‘Slavianski Bazaar’ long ago ceased to exist in the ideological form envisioned by Radzivon Mikhailavich Bas”
“NN”: How do you live with the realization that your years of work have gone down the drain? Watching what that same "Slavianski Bazaar," which you were involved with, has turned into? That only ideologically loyal artists who haven't blundered can now get into the "Autumn Salon"?
AD: "Slavianski Bazaar" long ago ceased to exist in the conceptual form envisioned by Radzivon Mikhailavich Bas. On that scale.
For me personally, "Slavianski Bazaar" died when they eliminated the late-night jazz concerts. Instead, an onslaught of cheap pop, chanson, and third-rate performers took over. And I remember times when there were genuinely vibrant, talented performers there — "Mashina Vremeni," Alla Pugacheva… And now the ceiling of the festival is Baskov and Gazmanov.
With art, the reality is that many artists have emigrated, many are not allowed to exhibit, and other colleagues have taken advantage of this social elevator — occupying a vacant niche they could never have occupied under normal circumstances. All this is our history, and there is no escaping it. I know for sure that many artists work for the drawer, and the main thing is that their work comes to light at the right time. So that all of this can be studied as part of Belarusian culture.
The ones I am definitely confident about are the Belarusian youth. They are wonderful. You can intimidate them by revoking scholarships or dorm rooms, but that is precisely how an underground is born. Because it is impossible to completely stifle the creative flow.
When I was young myself during Perestroika, it seemed like everything around was a terrible swamp and nothing was possible. As a young artist, I couldn't believe I would ever have opportunities to exhibit. But later they appeared.
You know, I am very fond of the poet Joseph Brodsky, and when he was being sent into exile, Anna Akhmatova uttered this phrase: "Good heavens, what a biography they are building for our redhead!" That is how the biography of today's Belarusian creators is being shaped. And of course, one could gasp that everything is sad and terrible, or one can live through it. I am in Serbia now, and here before my eyes history is unfolding, where young people, among others, are overcoming the old order.
“I have several life mottos, and one of them is: it's good wherever I am”
“NN”: What were you able to take with you, and what did you leave behind in Vitebsk?
AD: We brought 700 kilograms of books alone. When we sold the apartment, we took apart the furniture too, and we had designer furniture. A huge number of photographs, all my paintings, naturally. As for the documents concerning the museum, I left them all there. Handed them over to the archives.
In Subotica, we found an art college for our son, which is why we settled here. And you know, this city feels very similar to Vitebsk internally. Plus, just like in Vitebsk, we live in the center here. I managed to convert a former garage into a studio. I think we got very lucky.
“NN”: How financially stable are you there? Can you make a living from what you earn through art?
AD: I was lucky to integrate into the Serbian environment right away. Because there are a lot of Russians here, and they live exclusively within their own community for years: they gather purely with Russian artists, discuss their problems, open salons from Russians for Russians, sell Russian pelmeni… And they don't try to integrate or learn the Serbian language. And there is something arrogant in this, their kind of imperial chauvinism.
Thanks to the fact that I immediately joined the local community, even before knowing Serbian, plein airs started happening for me here, exhibitions are organized, and from time to time various collectors buy my paintings. In addition, I periodically give art lectures, write texts, and curate art projects myself. Moreover, I have students — not many, but I have some. That’s how we survive.
“NN”: Recently you released an original set of postcards about Vitebsk. You drew your favorite city almost from memory. Is it difficult for you without the ground under your feet that provided so much inspiration for your work?
AD: You know, I have several life mottos, and one of them is: it's good wherever I am. And wherever I am, Vitebsk is there, Belarus is there. I am by no means a Serbian artist; I always say that I am from Vitebsk. And the city isn't going anywhere; it will outlive us 500 times over. It is impossible to build your life in torment and waiting, because that way we waste our time. And no one will give it back to us.
Of course, at first I suffered a bit too, went through depression — I just lay on the couch, gained 15 kilos. But then I tried to organize my life so that I simply had no time to mope. The Lord gave me an opportunity to live another, completely different life. And to you as well. While you are young and beautiful, it's no time to be sad and engage in self-flagellation over circumstances.
By the way, Serbia has a wonderful climate — it's November, yet roses are blooming outside.
“The mindset of citizens of the Russian Federation has always been and remains completely imperial”
“NN”: You are a specialist on Kazimir Malevich and Marc Chagall. Not long ago, host Leonid Parfyonov called the latter a Russian artist. So who does Chagall really belong to?
AD: It so happens that the mindset of citizens of the Russian Federation has always been and remains completely imperial. It is at a genetic level with them. And they are always the best, even if a specific individual amounts to nothing. And Parfyonov is no exception here — he reasons entirely in an imperial way. What's more, Russians might not care at all about some talented artist of their own, but as soon as someone achieves worldwide fame, they feel the urge to claim them. That way, they validate that they, the Russians, are somebody.
But where was Chagall born? In Vitebsk. He grew up in Yiddish culture with its own language, fairy tales, and legends. He didn't speak Russian super well. And his Vitebsk essence shone through in his work even when he was already living in Europe. That was the work of a man from Vitebsk, not a Russian. In essence, he couldn't care less about Russia, the USSR, or Belarus. But Vitebsk was the exception.
Belarusians, of course, were deeply stung by Parfyonov's statement. Maybe that's a good thing. That is how we learn to stand up for ourselves. But we also have our own internal snobbery. As a Vitebsk artist, I always ask people from the capital: how many colleagues from Vitebsk do you know? How about from Mogilev, or from Gomel? And usually, few can name many. We have this Minsk-centrism: if someone from the capital's circle of artists stages a performance, that's considered grand! And the Academy of Arts is top-tier, unlike the graphic arts department in Vitebsk. In that respect, we are no better than those who measure everything exclusively by Moscow or Petersburg.
“NN”: Are you currently preparing to take part in the Paris Biennale?
AD: Yes, that is my dream, right in my jubilee year: I am turning 60. I'm also preparing for the London Biennale. And it would be great to make it to Budapest as well, since it's only a three-hour drive from here.
Overall, of course, I would like Belarusian artists to have more opportunities to exhibit in Europe. Why did Chagall become Chagall? Because the world learned about him. The same goes for Malevich — they ventured beyond their homeland. If Belarusians organize exhibitions exclusively for Belarusians, nothing will come of it.
In this context, I wish success to Siarhei Douhushau with his idea of opening a permanent gallery in Warsaw where our artists could exhibit. An artist needs an audience; the absence of one is equivalent to death for a creator.
And artists simply need institutional support, because without it, it's hard to exhibit anywhere else: the modern system is such that you must have the backing of a specific gallery to promote your work further. Siarzhuk is really enthusiastic about this idea; the only question is finding premises and funding for it. But I hope everything works out. That would be a huge boost for Belarusian artists; there is great potential in it.
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Director of the Vitebsk Center of Contemporary Art Andrei Dukhovnikov moved to Serbia — he spoke about denunciations in culture, the ignorance of ministers, and who Chagall really belongs to 2
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