On art not always saving you — and on trying to simply carry on living.
I always thought art saved you. Lately it turns out a great deal needs rethinking before you can take in what's come down on us.
It's still hard to shift the terms you think in, to get your head back in order — and to describe even part of it without walking straight into the context of everything that's gone mad around us.
"Bit of a shame it was over so quickly. No, that's not it either…"
Summing up feels cheap and predictable and forced, so I'd rather just draw, the way Pirosmani did. Let it be a nice legend, the kind you're almost embarrassed to repeat.
Because there's no strength and no wish left to set a broken bone, and standing in judgement over it feels both painful and mean.
I put the deep meaning aside and try to simply carry on, though whatever was clean has been damaged for a long time and is out of reach — the way the place you want to be, or want to look like you're in, is out of reach.
Elia Suleiman made a film whose hero changes almost nothing — which is exactly what leaves you alone with your own conclusions.
Not a recommendation but an attempt to think it through — written straight after the run at the Lensoviet Theatre.
How "Robot Kostya" came about — Russia's first robotic theatre production, where it turned out Chekhovian passions were within a robot's range after all.
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