Gazelka
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- Gazelka
- 2015
- iron, steel
- 283 × 125 × 33 cm
Nikita Kadan’s work “Gazelka” is a flag made from parts of an abandoned GAZ-3302 delivery truck (affectionately known as the “Gazelka” – a small gazelle). These vehicles were produced by the GAZ plant in Nizhny Novgorod at the turn of the 20th to the 21st century. This model was not only in demand but also widely available. Shortly following the Soviet Union’s collapse, it became a veritable symbol of small businesses as well as of resourcefulness. Kadan—who investigates entropy and the unhealed wounds of the post-Soviet bloc—found the remains of one “Gazelka” in the city of Sievierodonetsk, a chemical industry center that was occupied by pro-Russian military forces in May of 2014.
After a fierce two-month battle (which did major damage to the city, including demolition of the strategically significant across the Donets River), the city was retaken by the Ukrainian army. Sievierodonetsk, like many other cities that found themselves in the line of fire during the so-called Russian Spring (Russkaya Vesna), is still dotted with ruins and wrecked cars. The city’s people, animals, plants, and architecture all suffered. Kadan’s iron flag, pierced by shrapnel while under fire, is a testament to a time of uncertainty, to the loss of continuity in daily rituals, and to death that comes suddenly and seems even more senseless than it normally would. This object brings to mind the traditions of Western art based on working with industrial waste (e.g. John Chamberlain and Gustav Metzger) while also recalling items collected by researchers who approach the not-so-distant past by way of critical archaeology, such as by analyzing the infrastructure of refugee camps.
Amidst the agitation and social breakthroughs of recent years, the visual codes assigned to various forms of social mobilization have also been systematized. One could say that a specific visual game (as the Polish architect and educator Oskar Hansen would call it) involving the use of colors and shapes is playing out in the public space, manifestation of which include the Orange Revolution in Ukraine, yellow umbrellas in Hong Kong, or the green scarves of the pro-choice movement in Latin America. What revolution would bring to its banners the colors of a clouded sky preceding a storm? The colors of the corroding iron of the GAZ-3302 roadside wreck? The colors of the scorched remains of a Boeing 777 shot down by separatists? We can imagine Nikita Kadan’s banner raised above the street, facing the ravaged city—as heavy as the history it lived. It would be the materialization of a “reciprocal readymade,” taking up Duchamp’s perverse proposition of using a Rembrandt canvas as an ironing board. Why are disobedient objects so powerful? In Nikita Kadan’s art, objects regain their agency, becoming both witnesses as well as accusers. S.C.
After a fierce two-month battle (which did major damage to the city, including demolition of the strategically significant across the Donets River), the city was retaken by the Ukrainian army. Sievierodonetsk, like many other cities that found themselves in the line of fire during the so-called Russian Spring (Russkaya Vesna), is still dotted with ruins and wrecked cars. The city’s people, animals, plants, and architecture all suffered. Kadan’s iron flag, pierced by shrapnel while under fire, is a testament to a time of uncertainty, to the loss of continuity in daily rituals, and to death that comes suddenly and seems even more senseless than it normally would. This object brings to mind the traditions of Western art based on working with industrial waste (e.g. John Chamberlain and Gustav Metzger) while also recalling items collected by researchers who approach the not-so-distant past by way of critical archaeology, such as by analyzing the infrastructure of refugee camps.
Amidst the agitation and social breakthroughs of recent years, the visual codes assigned to various forms of social mobilization have also been systematized. One could say that a specific visual game (as the Polish architect and educator Oskar Hansen would call it) involving the use of colors and shapes is playing out in the public space, manifestation of which include the Orange Revolution in Ukraine, yellow umbrellas in Hong Kong, or the green scarves of the pro-choice movement in Latin America. What revolution would bring to its banners the colors of a clouded sky preceding a storm? The colors of the corroding iron of the GAZ-3302 roadside wreck? The colors of the scorched remains of a Boeing 777 shot down by separatists? We can imagine Nikita Kadan’s banner raised above the street, facing the ravaged city—as heavy as the history it lived. It would be the materialization of a “reciprocal readymade,” taking up Duchamp’s perverse proposition of using a Rembrandt canvas as an ironing board. Why are disobedient objects so powerful? In Nikita Kadan’s art, objects regain their agency, becoming both witnesses as well as accusers. S.C.