My works
Vitaly Kukresh Gallery
Behind the Canvas
At first, my thoughts—and then my works—were shrouded in black, just as that darkness had enveloped all of Russian society.
I was born into an ordinary family on January 10, 1955, in the Lithuanian seaport of Klaipėda. Before I share my story, my works, and their underlying philosophy, I feel it is important to mention my family. I come from a diverse, international background: my father is Byelorussian, born in Minsk, and my mother is Russian, hailing from the small city of Trubchevsk in the Bryansk region.
I have loved drawing since childhood and have dedicated countless hours to it. After finishing high school, I set out to pursue an art education, even preparing for entrance exams at an art university. However, I soon realized that I could not work within the rigid confines of Soviet painting—an art form dominated by themes such as Lenin interacting with the working class. True to my uncompromising nature, I abandoned formal art education and taught myself to paint.
In 1975, I discovered an art studio called «Guboy» in my hometown, located in a place known as the "Palace of Fishermen"—one of many such "palaces" in the USSR. The Guboy community was remarkably diverse: some were highly skilled professionals, while others were budding novices. It was there that I encountered authentic Soviet "brushes" and truly inspiring art. I also met a remarkably talented teacher, Aleksandras Ilginis, who led our community with a free-thinking spirit—an exceedingly rare attribute in the Soviet state, where artists were expected to conform to ideological norms.
At Guboy, there were no prohibitions or restrictions. Each month, every artist showcased their work, and we engaged in thoughtful discussions about composition, color, and technique. Regular exhibitions were held—locally, throughout the republic, and even abroad. Admittedly, not all of us had the opportunity to exhibit our work, since every show required us to pass the stringent censorship imposed by city authorities—a hurdle that, while formidable, we sometimes managed to overcome.
In 1995, circumstances forced me to relocate—an inevitable step driven by Perestroika, the sweeping reorganization of our country, the surge of nationalism in the new Lithuania, and other consequences of the USSR's disintegration. My wife, our children, and I found a new home in the small town of Tutaev in the Yaroslavl region. There, I continued my lifelong passion for painting, even though I lost almost all of my Soviet-era works. My first exhibition in the new chapter of my life only took place in the early 2000s.
Once again, my thoughts—and later my works—were draped in black, echoing the state of Russian society. Honestly, I found much that was unpleasant: rampant drunkenness, a coarsening of language, and corruption, especially among the elite. I believe that Russia has become a land where personal profit has eclipsed timeless values such as love for your children, respect for your neighbors, and loyalty to one's homeland. I witnessed terrifying distortions that eroded the once-powerful and pure spirit of the nation. Many citizens became mere numbers in offshore bank accounts, no longer serving as the vital heart of the country in which they were born and raised. This, I believe, is the greatest tragedy and sorrow of the Russian people—a subject I have long mirrored in my art in my own unique way.
I have always dreamed of a strong Russia, free from these and many other defects. Today, I often depict the darker aspects of Russian life in a stark manner—not as a cruel sneer, but as a wake-up call. I want anyone who views my paintings to understand that what we've come to accept as ordinary—our repressive government and a society tainted by corruption—is, in reality, a manifestation of true evil. These conditions are not normal, and we must confront them. Delivering this message is a difficult task that depends not only on the artist's skill and vision but also on the inspiration I have drawn from my favorite writers, such as Dostoevsky, Gogol, and Bulgakov, as well as from the works of artists like Hieronymus Bosch and Hans Grundig, among others. Their influence has profoundly shaped my creativity.
I believe that art should be versatile. In my paintings, you can discover a network of meanings, allowing each viewer to find something that resonates uniquely with them. I hope that my work captures the complexities of our post-Soviet reality in vivid, unforgettable images.
For example, let me explain the concept behind my painting "Running." In everyday life, many people behave as if they were immortal, engaging in superfluous and unnecessary activities while missing what is truly essential. In "Running," I represent two distinct phases of life—youth and old age. Above the head of the young figure, a bird with expansive wings symbolizes the boundless potential, vitality, and aspirations of youth. In contrast, I portray an old man—a symbol of age and decline—walking down a narrow, gloomy corridor with many doors, all of which are locked except for one that leads to nothingness. The inevitable passage of time is further emphasized by a smiling mask at the center of the composition, its curved smile representing fate's inescapable nature. An hourglass, another key element in the painting, suggests that nothing from the past can be altered and that human lives invariably follow a fixed, unchanging course. My other works explore similar themes with varying degrees of complexity.
Today, I continue to do what I have done for many years. Although time introduces its own corrections, my core method and philosophy remain unchanged. That is all—if you wish to know more about me, simply look at my paintings.
With all my regards,
Vitaly Kukresh
[email protected]
The President of Moscow Gallery "Union-Creativity" – Oleg Kalmikov
A Review of the Exhibition "The Overturn World" by Vitaly Kukresh
If I were not a psychologist, perhaps I wouldn't have paid much attention to this extraordinarily bold series of paintings brought into my gallery by a seemingly ordinary artist—Vitaly Kukresh. At first glance, his work did not immediately shock me with extravagant imagery, as I had seen similar approaches before. Our gallery has featured artists whose paintings, like Kukresh's, merge social commentary, exaggerated realism, and dark humor.
These artists analyze our existence—our reality—through distinct and unconventional perspectives. With their brushes, they attempt to grasp the complexity of the human condition, touching upon themes like politics, philosophy, and history. This branch of modern art is vital. Some works may seem brutal, others overtly erotic, while some dive deeply into the fabric of past human and social experiences.
Within this framework, Vitaly Kukresh's work stands out—captivating and perfectly suited to our gallery's vision.
Kukresh began painting during Perestroika, a time of transformation in our country. The simultaneous emergence of this social revolution and his distinctive artistic style was no coincidence. In the Soviet Union, where millions lived just two decades ago, expressing political or social dissent was nearly impossible. A few years earlier, the situation had been even worse. Speaking freely carried dire consequences—one could be sent to Siberian labor camps, treated not as a citizen but as a prisoner. It was from this oppressive atmosphere—where thought was suppressed—that we received masterpieces of underground literature, poetry, and art.
But when the Soviet Union collapsed, and Russia's newfound freedom spread across the nation, many artistic traditions suddenly vanished—just like our once-great literature. However, visual arts were more resilient. While other creative fields suffered decline, Kukresh's work preserved its individuality and thrived. His paintings remained deeply expressive, allowing him new opportunities to reveal his thoughts. Now, we can see his creations—works that mirror our reality through surreal depictions of human-animal hybrids and grotesque figures, born from his imagination.
Kukresh's art is a distinct form of Russian modern Soc-Pop (Social-Popular) art. His compositions are far from mechanical or fragmented—each element is alive, pulsating, breathing, woven into a singular, powerful vision. His works are intricate and layered with meaning, forming a visual language of their own. If a viewer fails to understand it, it is not a flaw in the art, but rather a limitation of their own perception. However, this is never irreversible—true understanding only requires overcoming intellectual laziness.
