Icons to avant-garde

why art by Andrei Remnyov makes foreigners fall in love with Russian culture

– On my exhibitions abroad, I was often called ‘that Russian’. Perhaps those born in Russia have no choice. Russia's place in the world seems to be special, at the crossroads. As an artist, I want to talk about it. I have met foreigners who sincerely love their homeland. I realised that you only become heard when you talk about something close to you, something native. Acquaintance with other cultures abroad helps to understand this. Admiring the beauty of the world, nowhere have I experienced such vivid emotions as in the ascetic landscapes of the midland or the Urals. In my paintings I admire Russian culture. Very often I have to face that Russian culture causes irony and a reason for jokes: kokoshniks, khokhloma, gzhel. But true objects of folk life are art of the highest level. At the beginning of the XX century they tried to popularise it, but it took hundreds of years to return that depth of understanding of form and colour to the hands of masters. All my work tells the viewer about it in the language of painting. After all, Russian culture is universal.

– Childhood is a time when everything is for the first time, when everything you see has a special power. If it took place in a special place, an artist can use it for the rest of his life. Yakhroma is a unique place that influenced the choice of my path. As a child, I was fascinated by the romanticism of the horizon line, I imagined mysteries, cities and countries behind the hills. Later on, associations with art emerged. As a pre-schooler I looked at miniatures by the Limbourg brothers, created in Burgundy in the 15th century, and saw in them the landscapes of my native land. The second discovery was Breughel's paintings set to the music of Bach in the cinema or on TV. The view from my window seemed very similar to them. Family had played a great role: my parents who were doctors, my brothers and sister encouraged my studies in the art studio. My parents loved books, and I loved to climb into the bookcase and leaf through them. My first book was ‘Tretyakov Gallery’ with the favourite painting - ‘The Sleeping Shepherd’ by Venetsianov. Later, teaching composition to students, I realised that all this shaped my attitude to what is worth painting. The main task of an artist is to ‘attract the love of space’, as Pasternak said, that is, to depict space as a source of influence on the viewer. The details are not so crucial. You, inspired by the real world, have your own universe that you are telling about.

– Studying icon painting at the Spaso- Andronik Monastery, where the Andrei Rublev Museum of Old Russian Art is located, coincided with my studies at the Surikov Institute. I was lucky to have mentors: the muralist K. A. Tutevol, then Professor E. N. Maximov, with whom I still work in his studio as a teacher. At the same time I studied icon-painting technique, worked with natural pigments, and copied frescoes of the XVII century in Rostov the Great. I realised that studying painting techniques helps an artist to form priorities, to choose specific subjects, to experience plastic intrigue. Studying frescoes, sgraffito, mosaics shaped my interest in craft. Craft is an integral part of becoming a creator. A deep study of technique gives freedom. To be contemporary means to belong to the time in which you live. Technique allows the artist to be precise, and it is interesting to talk about today. An idea is only as good as its execution. Striving to be original is a delusion. Everything has been invented long ago! The findings of Old Russian artists are sometimes extreme, but when you live ‘onsight’, they become a source of techniques that can surprise the viewer.

– An artist needs to travel. The Cyprus trip after the institute played a role in choosing what I wanted to paint. Six months in the Greek province with its comfortable atmosphere, where I painted from life, portraits to order, led to an exhibition of my work in a Russian cultural centre. After living there for six months, I had an unbearable desire to return to Russia and paint subjects from Russian life related to Nizhny Novgorod, where I had been once. Those sketches were the beginning of my creative original path as an artist. Later, in Moscow, a book about the photographer Karelin provided the necessary visual material for the paintings. A trip to Gorokhovets, a Russian town of incredible beauty, became an important source of inspiration. This moment is the true key to understanding what I want to portray. It was then that my artistic language began to take shape. I painted what I felt: how these elements could interact within the space. That's how my first paintings ‘The Lemonade Seller’ or ‘The Water Carrier’ came about, then ‘The Toy Seller’. Germany, France and especially Holland with its rich culture also had a huge influence. For us, Rembrandt is just as much a Russian artist. Therefore, the traditions of Dutch art were a powerful source of inspiration for Russian artists. My exhibitions in Europe have been a valuable experience of communicating with a sensitive and sophisticated audience. I see the role of the artist as a witness who can state realities at the level of the image. For example, I intuitively called my exhibition in Rome, created a month before the pandemic, ‘The Face of the Element’.

– My important creative principle is to be respectful towards the audience. It is important for me that the audience sees the high professional level of performance, recognises the mastery of details and technique. But the most important thing is that there is a desire to understand what I did it for. There was an incident at an exhibition: a glamorous setting, darkness and glowing paintings. A strange man with burning eyes was moving from painting to painting. Looking at him, I was a little embarrassed. He walked over and good-naturedly said: ‘My wife and I had an argument about whether I understand your paintings correctly.’ He began to share his thoughts and I heard an adequate and clear understanding of my work. It was an example that what I created is accessible to such ‘simple’ viewers. In every composition, rhythm, gesture, form, space, colour and light are important. They must ‘play off’ each other in solving the creative problem. The title of the painting is important; it adds depth and meaning to the work. When word and image resonate - the viewer is delighted. Titles come in different ways: sometimes in the process, like a ‘lightning strike’, helping the viewer to understand the painting, and sometimes I hear a phrase and a sign or a story is born under it.

– The Creative Path is a constant learning process consisting of two directions. The first is the development of visual sensitivity, the ability to notice unique and paradoxical moments in ordinary life. The second is the development of ‘vision’, the study of the works of great artists, which forms a reference point for the painter. After all, an artist is a researcher of space and plastic events taking place in it. As a result, works are born that are unexpected even for the author himself and interesting to the viewer. I realised early on that I was interested in techniques that influence the plastic experience of form and space. I am sure that this is what an artist should strive for. I have always loved and felt Russian art in all its manifestations: constructivism, Byzantine and Myristic traditions. The creative result is always a surprise. The ‘like/dislike’ formula is the engine of the artistic process. You pass everything through yourself, through your heart, and something new is born. This is the law of the birth of meanings. It's one thing to learn a craft, but it's another to make the work make sense in the eyes of the viewer. This is the marvellous moment that every artist strives for. Some intuitively, and some logically, through intellect. The main goal of visual arts education is to develop creative intuition. Stravinsky once said that it is infallible. Art at every historical stage is perfect, it does not evolve, as it always tells about the unchanging world and eternal problems in its own way.

– How do you define ‘the Russian life’ and what elements of it do you reflect in your work?

– How did your childhood in Yakhroma shape your perception of art?

– Working at the Spaso-Andronik Monastery has opened up for you the secrets of old masters. What principles and techniques of ancient painting do you consider relevant and valuable for the modern artist?

– The Cypriot ‘internship’ was the stimulus for the creation of a series of works on Russian life in the 19th century. What is the role of a change of scenery in the creative process?

– You call your works ‘pictures for leisurely gazing’, like Hokusai's gravures. How do you find the balance between not ‘simplifying’ and still making the works accessible?

– You have created a unique style by combining the traditions of Old Russian iconography, 18th century painting and the avant-garde of the early 20th century. How did you find your balance?

– How do you feel about your artistic ideas becoming part of the fashion industry?

– My intention was not to have my paintings inspire fashion designers. The aim was to portray the form truthfully, and the clothes in my works belong to the picture space, to the gesture of the character, without stylisation or fashion trends. It was probably my interpretation of the form that gave impetus to fashion artists. Visits to exhibitions by Coco Chanel, Yves Saint Laurent and Christian Dior convinced me that fashion can also be art, creating unique pieces in a replicated version. These people are artists of an incredibly high calibre. I am glad that my work resonates with designers in Europe. The collection of the fashion house Delpozo in Madrid in ‘15 or '16 was called ‘Remnev’.
But I don't plan to do the fashion industry, only to inspire it. What I depict has value on the picture plane and within the picture space I'm talking about. Take it all apart and it loses its power to influence the viewer.

– The feeling of ordinariness passes with active work, exhibitions and communication with the audience, in social networks. The appreciative audience, including professionals, gave confidence in the appropriateness of my work. My teaching experience also played an important role. I began to formulate my thoughts on composition in lectures, to explain my own methods and the work of other artists.

– The whole point of learning fine arts is to learn to be interesting to yourself. The time with a mentor passes quickly, and the artist is left to himself. It's a paradox: to create something worthwhile you need the silence of the workshop and introversion. But to get in touch with the viewer and the gallerist, you need extroversion. This is something you have to learn. Painting is a painting for leisurely gazing, as the Japanese masters used to say. And they should be created unhurriedly in order to have that capacity, to stop the viewer in front of him, to make him look and wonder. Even if the viewer is not in the subject, he will want to share his impressions and attract another to contemplate the work. This is the law of perception of an established work. A classic painting cannot compete with clip perception, but interest in it is eternal. People, tired of the constant running, suddenly discover the spiritual power of classical art. It is more difficult for a modern artist to win the attention of the viewer than for the famous masters of the past. But it is necessary to go to the viewer, look for him and carry real art, not fake. Good things are achieved with great effort. Young artists are now being pushed to create something quickly, ‘virtuoso’, from which both meanings and the viewer's interest suffer.

– You've felt like an ‘ordinary’ artist for a long time. When did this feeling change?

– You mention the importance of internal dialogue for the artist. How do you maintain this dialogue in today's world?

– I don't know the meaning of routine in creativity. My work is a struggle with weaknesses and passions for the sake of results. The joy comes when I overcome obstacles and reach the goal. Everyone's methods of struggle are different, empirical and individual. I have developed my own psychological techniques to get involved in the work. The ideal process is ‘not a day without a line’, although in practice it varies.

– Walter Gropius, founder of the Bauhaus school, has said: ‘An artist is an enthusiastic craftsman’. Therefore, in any field, only professionalism, knowledge of all the subtleties of one's work give one a chance to become a creator. It is said about successful people: ‘He is self-made’. It is possible to acquire creative individuality only through doing - this is the only law of creating oneself as a person.

– Tell us about your routine and perfect day.

– What advice would you give to aspiring creators for finding their voice in any endeavour, whether it's art or business?