While the exhibition is dominated by
“Inhabited Landscapes,” it also acquaints the viewer with 40 pieces from
Basyrov’s “Incubi” cycle, a series of small sculptures produced in the
mid-1990s. These take the form of discarded fragments of wood, some left
unworked, others carved into torsos or robed figures. They are adorned
with a range of miniature household junk: handles, hinges, bolts,
electrical parts, even a ring pull.
Unlike the sexually predatory
male demons of myth, Basyrov’s incubi are more reminiscent of idols, the
avatars of a multifarious, atomized new society built on the offcuts of
a vanished civilization.
Indeed, says Savinov, most of the social archetypes presented in Basyrov’s work disappeared with the USSR.
“What
resulted was the illustration of a vanished country. They remain
universal as characters, but their ‘entourage’ has changed a little,” he
says.
A universal idiom
Now, liberated from its
original social context and geography, his art stands outside space and
time: It has acquired a rare universality. These scenes have become
archetypal situations of human experience: isolation, introspection,
peace, complacency, the striving for liberty — conditions with which we can
all identify. The beauty of Basyrov’s art is that it is as capable of
speaking equally to a tribesman with no knowledge of the modern world as
it is to an inhabitant of the city.
And while the voids that
permeate Basyrov’s work may speak to many of loneliness, in a way this
space creates room for interpretation, for thought, and at times, for
hope.
In his picture “Sky and Stars,” a group of men wearing suits
and ties stand rooted to the ground, heads craned skyward. Above is a
vast gulf of empty space, but sprinkled across the very top of the
picture is a narrow band of stars. And as that well-known aphorism by
Oscar Wilde goes, we may all be in the gutter, but some of us are
staring at the stars.
