Space and time

Dmitry Zakunov

Photographer Dmitry Zakunov creates amazing shots on the edge of perception. Using chronophotography techniques, he manages to convey the hidden plasticity of body movements and depict metaphorical thought-forms. Together with Dmitry we reflect on freedom, creativity and sources of inspiration.

— It certainly didn't happen suddenly. I grew up in a family where my parents were involved in music, we read to each other, we were always discussing films and books. Y ou could say that my path began in a healthy, in creative terms, childhood. Trying new things, writing something, drawing. I was formed among people who were interested in humanitarian disciplines. I was influenced by cinema, artists, my parents. In short, the environment in which I developed and grew up.

— Yes, photography wasn't always my thing. There was a time when photography seemed to me an exhausting process of documentation, preventing me from enjoying the current moment. Chronophotography has become a means of realising my artistic intentions, on the one hand being an expressive technique that works with rhythm and form, and at the same time preserving the nature of the photographic process. It allows me to walk the line between fine art and documentation.

To tell my own, highly subjective story, as in gonzo journalism. I'm attracted to the moment of chance, like stealing a precious frame from chaos. Of course, in studio shoots I direct, ask for something to be repeated, create a controlled randomness. Yes, I didn't come to photography straight away: first I studied in Nizhny Novgorod, then I went to the USA, and began to study photography there, at the University of New Mexico, in the city of Albuquerque.

—Unspokenness is refreshing and invigorating, blowing the dust of routine off everyday. Stephen King's stories, Hitchcock's and Lynch's films, Munch's paintings - a mystery that intrigues, gives interest to life. It is a kind of escapism, a way of confronting the ordinary. It's also allegorical, metaphorical language. It does take up a significant part of my work, but again, through the surreal image, in essence, I am talking about life, about people, creating portraits of them, sometimes showing some ridiculous situations. It depends on the subject and the project I'm working with.

— First and foremost, it is an artistic method that I work with. Chronophotography emerged as a way to study the trajectory of birds, animals, moving objects. This type of photography is used in science. Gradually, from the first experiments of Edward Muybridge, the technique has been popularised and, starting with Gyen Mili, has been extended to solve problems in the field of art. For the viewer, it is an opportunity to see a trajectory that we cannot trace in ordinary life. In terms of aesthetics, to show the plasticity of movement and to see in this a certain state, an emotional experience that this photograph is able to convey. Images can be combined into a series, sometimes the series grows into a project that reveals a specific problem.

— In the state between dream and reality, as in the method of ‘interrupted sleep’ used by Salvador Dalí, the human mind can pull out certain echoes, thought-forms that appear, as you say, as if from other realities. Fears, expectations, vague premonitions that have materialised. They are not necessarily negative, but rather unspoken, ignored. This is the field I would like to work in.

— At the end of October, the 12th Cosmoscow International Art Fair ended, where I participated with the dialog project from the newnow team (a project about dialogue as a phenomenon). On the stands of the fair, which were hundreds of works, I saw artists turning to neural networks, artificial intelligence, and also to classical or rare techniques to create actual works. These are all tools. What's important is what the artist uses them for.

— The year 2024 was very eventful. I had my solo exhibition in St Petersburg with the support of the ROSPHOTO museum. In the project ‘Structures of Ántropos’ I spoke about the sides of human essence: mental and bodily. Some of the works were transferred to the museum's collection. This was an important event for me.

There were also group projects, such as an exhibition at the a-s-t-r-a gallery in Moscow. Under the curatorship of the newnow team, we presented the dialog project. It's an experimental edition of 20 copies, shown at the Circulation Graphics stand at Cosmoscow in October. From the nearest plans - we are working on a group exhibition in Italy with Promdesign.studio.

I would like to mention the role of collectors and experiences of self-organisation in an artist's life. For example, DioDia Night Gallery, a garage gallery in Moscow founded by collector Andrei Egorov, is a great starting point, a connecting link. Regardingself-organisations, in Nizhny Novgorod, for example, we organise independent exhibitions in Sofia Pogudina's studio. Such places help to work out ideas, gain curatorial experience, and attract the attention of an audience at the start.

— For me, as an author, unequivocally yes. As for the people I photograph, I can't tell you. Maybe. Everything is medicine, everything is poison. It depends on the dosage. It's a question of what a person needs at any given time. An acquaintance claimed she never has dreams, to which I countered that she simply doesn't remember them. Remembering a dream is like finding the edge of duct tape. Sometimes it seems like you can't find that edge, like it doesn't exist, but if you catch it, you'll unwind the whole tape. A few minutes after waking up there is just such a moment to get hold of this edge of the dream and remember it in its entirety. It worked, but was she happy when she told me that now the dreams never left her?

— Yes, yes. The city is familiar to many people from the TV series ‘Breaking Bad’ and ‘Better Call Saul’. During the exhibition in St. Petersburg, a man asked with interest: ‘Did you really go to Albuquerque?’ I said, ‘Y es, I did. ‘Is that where the series was filmed?’ And so I talked for a long time about the state, about the university, about the streets I walked there, about the abandoned factory near my house, which was a film set... That evening I signed a postcard for him: from an artist who lived and studied in the city where Walter Hartwell White lived and worked.

—The most important thing is the realisation that I can work and not act within limits other than those set by me. In general, I would not single out creativity as a special activity. Even in the responsibility to details, in the precise fulfilment of instructions, in punctuality - everywhere you can see a kind of creativity. Like in Wim Wenders' film ‘Perfect Days’ (2023).

— We were just talking about this recently and came to the conclusion that a child is extremely unfree, and the younger the child, the more so. So I would probably disagree with you. The hermit, you know, seems like an unfree person to me, too. It's a kind of illusion: to escape doesn't mean to be free. Who's free then? The artist? I don't know... Perhaps he can be a little more free than people in other professions. But then again, for one, freedom is freedom, for the other, anxiety and headaches.

Time in your images seems fluid and flowing, but you give it shape. Is this ‘capturing’ of time an attempt to capture something that is always slipping away or a way to recreate a certain state?

Your work explores states close to dreams and hallucinations. How do you understand the nature of these states and what significance do they have for your work?

How productive was your year? Any new ideas, plans?

Do you think your work can become a way of therapeutic influence?

Do you remember when you realised you wanted to become an artist?

You've tried many things and settled on photography. Why?

Oh, that Albuquerque?

What is the most important thing for you in creativity?What does it give you?

What kind of freedom is this? There is an opinion that perhaps a child or a hermit can be absolutely free. Which one do you consider yourself to be?

When looking at your work, there seems to be so much mysticism in it! It's as if they are a bit beyond our normal understanding. What is the reason for this interest in this subject?

The technique of chronophotography is over 100 years old. Today, many artists are turning to modern techniques. How do you see your place in this context?