Influence scope. Clouds
Texts for the Exhibition
4
4
The Fifteenth of March, Friday
I spent a long time looking out the window again. The tide had gone out beyond the line of the dunes, and now only small whitecaps covered the water surface: they formed in the shallows, and only the most stubborn reached the shore—and were very ragged by the time they got there.
Although the sky was overcast, there were plenty of locals and holidaymakers on the beach: they were all bent over as they slowly moved along the water’s edge, occasionally getting stuck in the large clumps of seaweed that had been washed up on the beach by the recent storm. The lucky ones uncovered fine specimens of amber in the slimy muck, although everyone was perfectly aware that the real treasures would be found by the early risers, who despite the freezing cold water had been digging in the seabed with their shovels since the morning.
The wind that had been raging all night, disturbing my sleep, had now calmed down. When I went for a walk in the afternoon to see if the storks’ nests are already occupied, as I had got into the habit of doing, I was pleased to find that some families had already begun to rebuild their dwellings, and that their neighbours were flying high in the sky, as if accompanied by the timid sun. This sight brought a smile to my face, and I immediately headed to the forest clearing: I was eager to see if the delicate flowers of snowdrops had sprouted from under the fallen leaves of hornbeams and yews, which were still green, for some unknown reason.
The Twenty-Eighth of June, Thursday
The morning was fresh, but the scent of roses that enveloped me as I entered the garden promised a hot day. Indeed, the long absence of rain and wind had already warmed up the sea as well as the air. By noon there were plenty of people on the beach. Although I was not eager to join them, it gave me a great deal of pleasure to observe this rather motley company. After bathing, the shivering ladies wrapped themselves in brightly coloured stoles, and their pretty but rather ridiculous Swiss straw hats were carried away by the wind, though it left no trace on the surface of the sea. Running after hats on the half-deserted beach seemed to be their main amusement.
On my evening walk I went to the fishing pier. The figures of the fishermen against the lilac sky seemed poignantly sad, though judging from the fish that were piling up next to them, their efforts were quite successful. Turning my back on the sea and heading toward home, I saw a lone flounder lying on the planks, futilely flexing the rays of its fins towards the sea.
The Twenty-Fourth of September, Wednesday
By the time I had finished breakfast, the garden was already a hive of activity. The nut collecting was ended, and the scent of their natural iodine mixed intoxicatingly with the density of the autumn sea, hanging in the air on these still warm days. The shelled walnuts were placed in bottles filled with vodka, to make an aromatic liquor that would be ready by Christmas.
Although nature still delighted us with walnuts and chestnuts, and the boars in the woods feasted on fresh acorns, there was every sign that a downpour was about to begin. All day the clouds in the sky had shifted from pale grey to steel, and then to hopeless anthracite, but by evening, to my incredible delight, the sun peeped through them—and the horizon was coloured with a delicate agate haze.
The Ninth of December, Tuesday
By dawn the wind had stopped lashing the windows, and I managed to get some sleep. Later, feeling rather the worse for wear, I ventured out for a walk and was amazed at what I saw: the tide had gone out much further than usual. Where the waves had raged at night, there was now a gloomy expanse of grey sand, and yesterday’s beach was covered with a crust of ice. I stepped on it fearfully, though I knew that this strange sandy ice was never slippery.
There was a vast panorama from the water’s edge, and everywhere in the distance you could see the sky continuing to unleash precipitation. But everything was quiet—only the seagulls were squawking as they circled in search of easy prey after the storm.
I spent a long time looking out the window again. The tide had gone out beyond the line of the dunes, and now only small whitecaps covered the water surface: they formed in the shallows, and only the most stubborn reached the shore—and were very ragged by the time they got there.
Although the sky was overcast, there were plenty of locals and holidaymakers on the beach: they were all bent over as they slowly moved along the water’s edge, occasionally getting stuck in the large clumps of seaweed that had been washed up on the beach by the recent storm. The lucky ones uncovered fine specimens of amber in the slimy muck, although everyone was perfectly aware that the real treasures would be found by the early risers, who despite the freezing cold water had been digging in the seabed with their shovels since the morning.
The wind that had been raging all night, disturbing my sleep, had now calmed down. When I went for a walk in the afternoon to see if the storks’ nests are already occupied, as I had got into the habit of doing, I was pleased to find that some families had already begun to rebuild their dwellings, and that their neighbours were flying high in the sky, as if accompanied by the timid sun. This sight brought a smile to my face, and I immediately headed to the forest clearing: I was eager to see if the delicate flowers of snowdrops had sprouted from under the fallen leaves of hornbeams and yews, which were still green, for some unknown reason.
The Twenty-Eighth of June, Thursday
The morning was fresh, but the scent of roses that enveloped me as I entered the garden promised a hot day. Indeed, the long absence of rain and wind had already warmed up the sea as well as the air. By noon there were plenty of people on the beach. Although I was not eager to join them, it gave me a great deal of pleasure to observe this rather motley company. After bathing, the shivering ladies wrapped themselves in brightly coloured stoles, and their pretty but rather ridiculous Swiss straw hats were carried away by the wind, though it left no trace on the surface of the sea. Running after hats on the half-deserted beach seemed to be their main amusement.
On my evening walk I went to the fishing pier. The figures of the fishermen against the lilac sky seemed poignantly sad, though judging from the fish that were piling up next to them, their efforts were quite successful. Turning my back on the sea and heading toward home, I saw a lone flounder lying on the planks, futilely flexing the rays of its fins towards the sea.
The Twenty-Fourth of September, Wednesday
By the time I had finished breakfast, the garden was already a hive of activity. The nut collecting was ended, and the scent of their natural iodine mixed intoxicatingly with the density of the autumn sea, hanging in the air on these still warm days. The shelled walnuts were placed in bottles filled with vodka, to make an aromatic liquor that would be ready by Christmas.
Although nature still delighted us with walnuts and chestnuts, and the boars in the woods feasted on fresh acorns, there was every sign that a downpour was about to begin. All day the clouds in the sky had shifted from pale grey to steel, and then to hopeless anthracite, but by evening, to my incredible delight, the sun peeped through them—and the horizon was coloured with a delicate agate haze.
The Ninth of December, Tuesday
By dawn the wind had stopped lashing the windows, and I managed to get some sleep. Later, feeling rather the worse for wear, I ventured out for a walk and was amazed at what I saw: the tide had gone out much further than usual. Where the waves had raged at night, there was now a gloomy expanse of grey sand, and yesterday’s beach was covered with a crust of ice. I stepped on it fearfully, though I knew that this strange sandy ice was never slippery.
There was a vast panorama from the water’s edge, and everywhere in the distance you could see the sky continuing to unleash precipitation. But everything was quiet—only the seagulls were squawking as they circled in search of easy prey after the storm.
Женя Чайка (1986, Екатеринбург)
Куратор, исследователь. Сфера интересов — философия, эстетика, арт-резиденции, альтернативные образовательные форматы, теория выставок. Четырежды была номинирована на государственную премию в области современного искусства «Инновация» (2012, 2018, 2019. 2021), один раз становилась лауреатом (2018) за кураторство программы Арт-резиденций 4-й Уральской индустриальной биеннале. Куратор арт-резиденции «Шишимская горка» (2019-2021). Со-основатель и председатель Ассоциации арт-резиденций России. Автор книги «Арт-резиденции и как их готовить» (V-A-C Press, 2025).
Недавние проекты: «Весь этот мир» (Ямал, 2023-2024), «Зазор влияния» (ГЭС-2, Москва, 2023-2024).
Женя Гаврилов (1985, Новосибирск)
Аудиовизуальный художник, музыкант.
Куратор, исследователь. Сфера интересов — философия, эстетика, арт-резиденции, альтернативные образовательные форматы, теория выставок. Четырежды была номинирована на государственную премию в области современного искусства «Инновация» (2012, 2018, 2019. 2021), один раз становилась лауреатом (2018) за кураторство программы Арт-резиденций 4-й Уральской индустриальной биеннале. Куратор арт-резиденции «Шишимская горка» (2019-2021). Со-основатель и председатель Ассоциации арт-резиденций России. Автор книги «Арт-резиденции и как их готовить» (V-A-C Press, 2025).
Недавние проекты: «Весь этот мир» (Ямал, 2023-2024), «Зазор влияния» (ГЭС-2, Москва, 2023-2024).
Женя Гаврилов (1985, Новосибирск)
Аудиовизуальный художник, музыкант.
