Something Like an Introduction
If anybody thinks he or she can draw a square better than Malevich, he can come on and fucking do it. Don’t worry if people underestimate you – it’s not because you’re an asshole, but just because there are memsers* all around that will not live to see winter. Why should you worry about their winter if you permanently live in summer, have a positive attitude, and jump about the minefield certain there are no mines, only harmless piles of accurately placed squat. Maybe it was Kulik himself who squatted on your creative path, and you are not in your miserable apartment in some Asshole City, but in Switzerland.
It is so simple to find things you just don’t understand to be stupid and worthless. To smash with a bulldozer the exhibition of people you don’t give a shit about calling them buggers and giving them the status of mentally different persons in order to appear adequate, at least to yourself.
Well, why talk so much about this shit? Shouldn’t we change the subject? For example, let’s speak about drooling.
Drooling is everything to us. If it weren’t for drooling, there wouldn’t be shit.
How many people are drooling about other people being successful, gifted, or in demand?! As many as have read this article, plus a couple more. Come on, moisten abundantly. Saliva is the best lubricant for tight-assed hypocrites who turn pale and puke hearing the word “prick”, even when in this case the “prick” has been painted by Ter-Oganyan, Zvezdotchetov, or Osmolovsky. The word PRICK* shall sound proud, it neither causes religious hostility, nor provokes persons beyond 14 years of age to engage in sexual intercourse, sodomy, or lesbian relations with the artist.
Though, to be honest, we wanted to tell you about the world of art, modern art, and collecting, in particular. And this is the introduction to the catalogue, as you may have guessed. The catalogue, in turn, is an entrance fee for the museum of topical art – ART 4. And the museum is a collecting tool.
In this particular case, the museum is just storage space. If it seems to somebody that the museum is a way to soak through the floor to history and to immortalize one’s name in the annals (God save us) of culture, this is, mildly speaking, a mistake. And if we would not speak mildly, just look at it, almost for free, and don’t fucking talk about some historic part of the collection or some topical part of the exhibition…
Igor Markin is just a dude whose significance for the history of art is evident regardless of what parts of him bitter tongues are licking.
He gathered the collection first of all for himself and has the right to send all who are not satisfied to hell, like Ranevskaya sent the pioneers, including those citizens dissatisfied with this introduction.
It is true, Markin has no special education, neither is he an art critic nor an artist; moreover, he is a Daltonian and former radio engineer. So what? His love of art is enough to successfully invest loot in the things he simply enjoys. And he enjoys quite tangible things that are beautiful and rare.
Collecting is like a disease, the urge to snatch the coolest bubble-gum insert in order to become a bit happier than others. It is not that there are as many pictures in the collection as a fool has gum wrappers, but there are about 700 pictures, among which some shit is definitely also present. But a small portion of the shit looks nice against the average background.
When you have 11 pictures by Krasnopevtsev worth as much as 11 apartments in Moscow you can afford to buy something worth the cost of a T-shirt just because you like it, to buy, and to hang in your museum.
Anyone can offend an artist. Collectors offend artists on a regular basis, it is their hobby. And it is a justified hobby, because artists sometimes behave like that notorious old woman selling a rooster. Just how much is the rooster? Five hundred thousands bucks! Why so much? You see, sonny, I really need the money.
Everyone needs money. And, for example, artists are paid for different reasons. Kabakov and Bulatov are paid for their genius, Zvezdotchetov and Koshlyakov – for their talent, Dubossarsky and Vinogradov – for being in fashion… Vlad Monro should be in diamonds by default. It is impossible to satiate so many hungry bellies.
To invest in painting is an interesting move, but it requires grown-up investments of power, a change in one’s circle, and knowledge, as well. By the way, Markin acquired the knowledge by himself. Even a bear could sing after 5 years of close contact with people in art. Some people have no such skills and gain experience though studying in universities. Knowledge comes very quickly when one doesn’t wear his ass out at lectures but instead – oops! – buys a fake Zverev. And thrashes with it from one expert opinion to another, fucking with one’s own and other people’s minds, studying the so-called subject so as not to be caught once more with the same bait. And then the Zverev turns out to be authentic, and you are in spades and the whole world is at your feet.
Once upon a time, though not so long ago, about 12 years, Markin bought his first piece of modern art. And, like any other collector, fell into a hallucinogenic trip through museums, galleries, and auctions while quite sober. Instead of engaging in entertainment waiting like a normal Commie* for cocaine*, whores, and work, he started buying pictures. Besides, there were almost no competitors, and a clear business field is any huckster’s dream. The dude* just guessed that he could do it better than anyone in the world, constantly developing, and gaining new knowledge. It is interesting to him that he could become grand doing almost the same things that Tretyakov and Shukin did.
Let us continue speaking about the museum. Is it possible to appreciate a 3x4 meter picture if it hangs in an office corridor and you stand touching the canvas with your beak. That’s hoggery and an eyesore! So, when the soul calls for the feast to continue in the form of a museum, the museum will appear.
Surely, not the greatest museum in its significance to art, but, whoopee, sometimes size also matters. In general, 600 meters is quite enough to display the major pearls of the collection. But there is not enough space for a fountain.
Without the usual activities, Markin has become an altruist. To buy 600 meters in the centre of Moscow and to make repairs is not as easy as pissing in doorways, it is fucking difficult!
But somebody should act as the mother of modern art, generously giving it all 13 nipples!?
Artists need appraisal and appreciation, preferably in cash. There are no hungry artists in present-day modern art. It is not comme il faut – to be widely acknowledged on a massive scale post mortem. We should admit that for a museum, for a collector, a good artist is a dead artist. But Timur Petrovich Novikov has died in vain; some people should live forever.
Artists who have lost their minds are also good. Chubarov could have cut off his ear, but instead he paints with two hands simultaneously, while his brain is completely astral. Weisberg cut his veins because of models being late, while Yakovlev has just spent half his life in a nut house. On the whole, not all guys drawing, creating, and doing things have got their pieces of the pie. They just have not lived long enough to get it.
Modern art also needs support, otherwise it will perish. The epoch of exhibitions in communal apartments is gone even in St Petersburg. The underground is as dead as rock ’n’ roll. Even Tzoy’s boiler room has become kitsch. The system of good old alcoholic values has crashed. What would people know of art if it were not for the Tretyakovs-Markins?
People are always eager for bread and circuses. If you need something for the gut – there is none of that here. Everything that stimulates emotions and is a subject for discussion is a sort of circus. It doesn’t matter what you do. The novelty of a concept, an invention, and the discovery is what’s primary. The one who is first is a genius. He makes history painting a black square, biting people on their legs, chopping up icons in public, and erecting barricades on Nikitskaya Street. Outrageous. Scandalous. And a distinct new accent in the history of art.
Markin is the first man in the last 100 years who has set up a private modern art museum — a museum both for him and for us.
People frequently ask why oh why is it called ÀRT 4.RU, and in the end everyone does ask. For those who prefer to go around in the dark – ART 4.RU translated into Russian means art for Rushka*.
Don’t shoot altruists – they are playing the best they can. If you can play better – no fucking problem! Come on, go and paint a Malevich square, set up a museum, or read this article from the beginning and try to write it better.
Brief glossary for those in the dark.
Memser – a bloody mixture of an asshole and a loser
PRICK – ask Ter-Oganyan
Cocaine – an expensive narcotic
Dude – a man
Commie – an entrepreneur
Khavchik (something for the gut) - food
Rushka – Russia (diminutive and derogatory)
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