selected pieces 2023-2026 □ǍḒ∏#‡€*≠™

Aspectpainting, 2026, oil on canvas, mixed-media on painter’s fleece, 160 x 135 cm

This painting continues a series of works investigating the medium’s identity in contemporary art. Like earlier pieces, it does so through questions of authorship, agency, free will, originality, and work.

The upper section is an original painting depicting an abandoned village, a common sight in Eastern Europe caused by urbanization and population aging. Similar to the landscapes of the eighteenth-century picturesque tradition, it presents a type of ruin: run-down barns, a plot, and a road overgrown with wildflowers and tall grass. This ruin is the result of environmental agency taking over after human withdrawal. It evokes a sense of mystery, aligning with W. J. T. Mitchell’s interpretation of the picturesque as a found object.

A found object, to qualify as such, must be ordinary and encountered accidentally rather than sought out. In my view, painting—many times pronounced dead since the arrival of photography, yet still ubiquitous and the default mental image of “art”—can be relevant today only as a found object: something discovered and made meaningful through recontextualization rather than through traditional notions of craft or intentional creation.

The landscape also engenders what I call the workers’ sublime—the awe at the sheer labor embedded in the piece: the detail, the craft, the time. This effect is amplified by the shock of witnessing its “spoilage” through paint smudges and drips. In this sense, the landscape is a double ruin.

The lower section is a found object proper—a painter’s fleece used in a studio to protect floors and tables from paint and primer. Discarded as a byproduct of the art-making process, it nevertheless possesses, in my opinion, aesthetic qualities surpassing those of intentional artworks. This reframes art-making through Jon Elster’s notion of states that are essentially by-products—something that only occurs as a result of actions taken for other purposes, and cannot be intentionally created because attempting to do so prevents the state from being achieved.

To have both processes present in a single work, I left the landscape in a studio where painting workshops regularly take place. I wanted the people using the space to treat the canvas as protective covering. After nearly a year, however, there was little progress. People were self-conscious. The smudges and marks they left were sparse and unconvincing. The opposite of what I had hoped for happened—the landscape, being recognized as art, lost its capacity to become a by-product.

To make it evident, I stitched the canvas together with a real painter’s fleece, exposing the clash between the agency of an autonomous artist and the agency of a subjugated environment. The resulting simultaneous contrast invites a duck‑rabbit perceptual shift, challenging assumptions about work, artwork, freedom and originality.

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Wut und Ekel an der Hochschule (Anger and Disgust on Campus), 2025, acryl on canvas, 260 x 250 cm

An incident at a German art academy, in which an art professor (allegedly) attacked and damaged two student artworks during the winter exhibition, triggered student protests and led the administration to attempt forms of censorship.

Inspired by the events, the artwork consists of two segments: one titled Does This Painting Make You Angry? and the other one Does This Painting Make You Disgusted? Depicted are the equations used in the 2007 study by Paul J. Silvia and Elizabeth M. Brown to test an appraisal model predicting strong negative reactions of anger and disgust in response to visual art.

Anger and disgust are common responses to art: people with traditional tastes can be disgusted and angered by confrontational works, and people with “advanced tastes” can get angry at derivative, conceptually weak or overly commercial art.

The study focused specifically on this under-researched area of psychology of art to underscore the importance of understanding the role negative aesthetic reactions play in censorship, self-censorship, attacks on artworks and artists by members of the public, political persecution and defunding. The models were tested on 58 participants and the results confirmed the appraisals of the images to be strong predictors of emotional responses to the images: anger was associated with appraisals of goal incongruence (threat to important goals or values) and intentionality, and disgust was associated with appraisals of goal incongruence and unpleasantness. In other words, negative aesthetic emotions come from evaluations of how art relates to one's goals and values—people can make themselves angry even over harmless and cheery art.

According to sociologist Georg Simmel, such reactions are especially strong within the group affiliation, because they threaten the existence of the group itself and it’s harder to dehumanize someone with whom one has a strong association. One artwork used in the Silvia and Brown study was the Piss Christ (1987) by Andres Serrano, which caused a widespread outrage worldwide culminating in defunding campaigns and the 90s “Culture Wars” in the United States. One could argue that the intensity of the reaction stemmed precisely from the combination of its blasphemous content and Serrano’s own claim of being a lifelong catholic.

This framework could offer a clue as to why an art professor—of all people, a beacon of enlightened consciousness— would (allegedly) unapologetically resort to such a violent act.

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Rawdogging a Painting, 2025, rotating pull-up bar, 120 x 50 x 40 cm, original oil painting, 30 x 40 cm, private collection 

A scam is a deceptive scheme, an attempt to trick a person into giving up something valuable. This horizontal bar scam simulation pits several deceptive practices, buzzwords and fads against each other. In the true spirit of meritocracy: may the best able-bodied man win!

Attention extractivism—forcing participants to look at a painting (that would normally get only a quick glance) for 120 seconds under a pretense of giving them a shot at symbolic stoic resistance to instant gratification of disordered attention, amounts to a blatant appropriation of their time and labor, potentially increasing artwork’s worth hundredfold. Moreover, this worth grows almost exponentially, since assigning value in form of attention makes others pay attention too.

Engagement exploitation—spectator becomes an active participant in the spectacle, legitimizing it and laboring at it for free, literalizing the concept of spectatorship labor. Not only by performing (literally) manual labor, but also as an inadvertent recruiter and brand ambassador for the scam. In the neoliberal framework of instrumentalized relations every activity, including non-activity or anti-activity can be extracted, appropriated, and commodified.

Meritocracy—the myth of being rewarded according to talent and effort rather than inherited privilege, which neoliberal ideology actively promotes to justify social inequality. Try reaching the bar without a foot stool.

Behaviorist experiment—a basic tool in the avant-garde arsenal that reinforces the myth of the enlightened, conceptually masterful savior-of-the-common-people artist-genius. Such cheap-thrill, unsolicited shock therapy often makes the public even more convinced that contemporary art is a shameless fraud, a money-laundering or tax-evasion scheme, a rage-baiting self-promotion.

Only the representational art is true, modest and honest. The strong, silent type. Stoic. Minding its own business. A winter oil landscape signifies timelessness of tradition—a kind look full of wisdom. It demands no surplus labor of interpretation; on the contrary, it offers a safe space, a peace of mind, a dream of just appropriation, free of locals and hidden agendas. Conversely, contemporary art is just a fleeting fad, like the rawdogging trend of 2024. So step right up, for a chance to have a timeless peace of mind.

Thank you for your attention! 

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Hybrid Sermon, 2025, video installation, 30:06, 8:26, metal cross with Picatinny rails                                                   

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-20 €⁰, 2024, oil on canvas, 70 x 80 cm. Acquired for -40 € (20€ went to the “buyer”, and 20€ to the organizers), private collection

Negative pricing occurs when supply drastically exceeds demand. When it happens, it is “cheaper” to pay for the product to be taken off one’s hands, than to endure storage, processing, packaging and shipping costs.

If we apply the conservative estimate that 1.6% of U.S. workers are professional artists to the global working-age population, we arrive at approximately 85 million active artists. Considering that being a professional artist is a privilege not attainable in many parts of the world, we can broaden the estimate to include both professional and “amateur” artists and still regard it as a very conservative number. If we speculate further that every artist makes roughly 50 artworks annually, we end up with over 4 billion artworks produced every year. Given the widespread accessibility of artistic production since the Technological Revolution, we can safely assume that the total number of artworks produced (and available today) over the past 100-150 years far exceeds the estimated annual output of 4 billion. Combined with shrinking demand due to ongoing dynamic in wealth concentration (with the top 10% holding 85% of world’s total wealth), ever-increasing market accessibility, and lowering entry costs due to social media, e-commerce, and international shipping this puts us into the oversupply area potentially bringing about conditions leading to flooded market and—in extreme cases—negative prices.

Negative pricing is a liminal space, where capitalism can become anti-capitalist. In Jean Baudrillard’s Symbolic Exchange and Death acts of giving, sacrifice, festivity and destruction are theorized to be more innate human behaviors than the capitalist notions of permanent competition, survival of the fittest and the “selfish gene.” These acts offer alternatives to the dominant practices and values of capitalist society.

For me, this action symbolizes an escape from conventional forms of production. The painting is not a product in the strictest sense—it wasn’t made to be a commodity. Furthermore, the paints, brushes, primer, stretcher, and canvas were gifted or recycled. There is no surplus value. There is no direct or monetary profit. In terms of rationality—there is no rational or common sense in selling a painting at a negative price. As for meaning, the painting is merely a flawed attempt at copying a photograph—on its own, it is not an example of artwork producing meaning.

Thus, giving the painting away along with a “convenience fee” is a small act of symbolic resistance, rejecting both capitalist production and capitalist logic.

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Art is Busywork, 2023, mixed media on canvas, 180 x 280 cm

In this piece, I explore the relationship between artwork and work. The issue received broader attention during the pandemic, when it seemed that, in some countries, artists were receiving more support than essential workers—who, precisely because of their essential role, found themselves drastically restricted in their rights. At the same time, social media was filled with calls like “artwork is work,” “artwork deserves to be compensated,” and “support your local artists.” This entitlement to wider recognition (be it symbolic or monetary) stems from the elitist nature of art and the genius-artist myth rooted in Enlightenment thought, where artists, with their radical freedom and transformed consciousness, serve as models for citizens of future utopias, and by the consequent iteration of this aesthetic autonomy tradition that positions the avant-garde artist as a revolutionary visionary bringing that utopia to life.

A piece by a relatively established Belarusian artist (who once represented the country at a Venice Biennale) offers an example of that attitude. As a commentary on the lack of recognition for contemporary artists in Belarus, he staged a performance where he dressed himself in a factory uniform, smudged his face with black paint, and posed for photos later posted on an Employee-of-the-Month-type board. People attending the performance were encouraged to participate. Curators, business and IT professionals, bloggers, journalists and other artists cheerfully followed suit.

A more prominent example would be the Gramsci Monument by the self-styled “worker-soldier-artist” Thomas Hirschhorn. The outdoor sculpture was presented as an altruistic and collaborative project bringing a glimpse of utopia to an underprivileged community in the Bronx. However, some critics saw it as a virtue-signaling and patronizing act of exploitation amounting to cynical reproduction of extractivism—a successful white male artist comes to a predominantly non-white low-income community, offers short-term employment to a small group in that community to help him build an outdoor installation using intentionally cheap and non-construction materials that houses the same services and offers the same experiences that local community centers provide year-round, claims it to be a creative collaboration, and after 77 days takes off to sell the installation piece by piece for tens of thousands of dollars.

I find the optics of such narratives at the very least to be class-insensitive: while some artists merely cosplay the proletariat, others reproduce and reinforce the same oppressive system they claim to transcend and (at least ephemerally) abolish—often in the name of workers. Artists are not the proletariat. Artists own their means of production, they are rarely alienated from their work, they can decide what to do with the revenue, and they are often employing assistants and artisans. The proletariat possesses only its labor.

When a professional artist takes on a worker identity, there is always a suspicion that they are either blinded by their privilege and engage in a class blackface or are trying to symbolically or financially profit from the class struggle.

I state, therefore, that if and when art is work, it must be busywork.

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The Original Referent, 2023, mixed media on canvas, 150 x 200 cm, private collection

Michael: ...I don't make copies, I'm the boss. Got it? I make originals.

Ryan: Yeah I make originals too.

The Office: Season 5, Episode 23

This painting is the result of work. It affirms that originality is only truly possible in the absence of an author—not by creating, but rather in the process of doing. I asked my fellow artists to write a sentence that holds an important meaning for them, that represents their individuality or originality, something so personal that it would “hurt” if I painted it over. Each sentence, quote, or saying they contributed was a signifier of a complex abstract idea—one that was itself a derivative or appropriated expression of their individualities. Each text is neither the idea it represents, nor the person using that idea to express themselves.

I wanted to see if it was possible to reverse that dynamic and get something original from references—a referent. At first glance, the process may seem like just another example of pastiche—a collage of symbolic texts. But each time something is written, I overpaint it to disrupt immediate intertextuality—simultaneous contrast of meanings, that might suggest an author’s intent.

By overpainting those short texts, I also erased meaning from the painting—designified it. In doing so I ended up with something original, “unique”vsomething that is not a copy. The work aims to challenge the separation of theory and praxis, mind and body, and by extension—intellectual and manual labor. The over-painting can be regarded as an act of destruction, which according to Jean Baudrillard is a more innate behavior (together with gift-giving, festivities and sacrificing) than production. One can make something original by destroying the copy. To break signification (Shklovsky’s defamilarization, Brecht’s Verfremdung, Derrida’s différance, Wittgenstein's aspect perception), is to break free from habituation and become/experience original for the first time. Again.

Of course it is impossible to completely escape signification. The end result here will still be recognizable as a painting, seemingly inspired by Abstract-Expressionism, with all the semantic baggage that come with it, such as the lone “genius-artist”, a vanguard theorist, an investment vehicle, an interior design staple, and so on.

However, the real inspiration comes not from 1940s New York studios, but from the streets—specifically, from buffing—the overpainting of graffiti by municipal workers. It is fascinating on two levels: first, by graffiti being an act of resistance to capitalist branding and urbanism (to signification); and second, as a visualization of a dialogical activity between graffiti artists and the city. It can be regarded as a trace of city’s own agency—the totality of city planning and clean walls provokes its inhabitants to act by spray-painting it with tags and graffiti, which in turn forces the city to react by covering them up with abstract shapes. Neither strives to make art, yet the resulting images often have that striking Dionysian “drunken master” elegance, something most of the celebrated examples of Abstract-Expressionism lack.

In this case texts break the totality of painting and painting resists an imposition of meaning onto it. By overpainting the meanings, I also erase authorship, and by doing the work almost mechanically I abstain from mine. I’m not just copying a buffing. It’s not a simulation of overpainted graffiti, it is an overpainted graffiti.

It’s not an artwork—it’s an original.

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