Art Is Protest
2022 is the year when we finally get rid of a comfortable, protective blanket we cover ourselves with, whenever the words “oh, I’m not so into politics” come out of our mouths. Yes, you have heard it right: the invincible guard of staying apolitical no longer makes it. We had a good one everybody. The times when bringing up something slightly political at a party only lands you a few weird stares and awkward silence are over, as now is simply not the time to stay out of controversial topics.
As everything is crumbling with an excruciating speed, we can often feel ourselves struggling to catch up. In a rampant mix of social media, news (which often feel like a punch in the gut), and having to somehow get on with our lives, it can be hard to fully process what our generation is going through; however, one thing is very apparent to me - for most of us there has not been a moment in our lifetimes when voice has been as vital as now.
There has also rarely been a moment when we have witnessed voice becoming a zero-sum game, as self-expression is getting ruthlessly suppressed by the governments across the world in ways that we thought are only possible in utopian novels. While most of us are running on a social media overdose, bombarded with bloody news, Russians are living in their own definition of informational hell - complete isolation and propagandist terrorism, with most of them failing to realize it - with any slightest act of incoherence with the government landing you in jail. Was Orwell to live in our time, he would be losing his sanity, trying to figure what is that Mr. Putin is taking to come up with all of this madness.
So when voice becomes a weapon that is turned against oneself, art takes a turn in revealing itself in surprising and yet powerful ways. Art is voice: when one is stripped away from their ability to use words, when the gravity of feelings one experiences can no longer be compressed into a conversation, an article, or a sad emoji.
In more ways than we might know about, art has always taken this role upon itself: from Picasso’s ‘Guernica’ (1937): a soul-drenching manifestation of human suffering in light of the Spanish civil war to Malevich’s Black Square, representing the changing world order, great painters have been sending timeless messages to us through their crafts. But as we were wandering around museums, admiring their art, we have also managed to miss a point in time when we circled back to what they were warning us against: the devastation of war, the depth of darkness of a human soul, the imminent, blink significance of hope.
Through subtle details or loud statements, via symbolics or outwards political statements, the use of colors, the use of light, artists throughout centuries and generations have found strength and bravery in themselves to create life’s reflection, as per their lens: in its most beautiful and ugliest moments.
We drowned the freedom of our children, and there is no shame. We only have a moment we are in
- FEMIDA, DEQUINE, Kazakhstan
Now, everything and nothing has changed since the times when a genius of Guernica first stroke Picasso or when Malevich has managed to compress the desperacy of World War I in a literal square. On one hand, we have what seems to be a permanent essence of human nature and its patterns: the ugly and the corrupt parts of it sometimes overtaking the beautiful and inspiring ones. Wrapping one’s mind around it almost equals to signing oneself up for a deep state of depression. Yet, as unjust regimes rise, there will always be an unceasing human will to resist them - no matter the costs. Artists in particular, revered or cursed with a talent and a worldview, have the power in their hands to send a message - without outwardly doing so.
At the same time, we have a generation brewed in an entirely different set of values and with an entirely different toolkit at their hands. Social platforms have effectively smudged the (already non-existent) lines we have previously had to differentiate us on a basis of nationalities, race, sexuality, or gender. We have people supporting each other across countries and continents, and artists today have a platform to share their works with a capacity to reach people in the furthest corners of the world. The messages that can go unheard of in their own countries, but which will also be misunderstood elsewhere.
When one’s desire for freedom gets confronted with a repressive reality of autocratic machinery which attempts to deprive people of individuality, in these dire, disastrous times, artists unleash themselves - on a canvas, in song lyrics, photographs, and film, beats, absolutely anything. They do it because there is nothing else to be done. Art becomes protest.
Together with the others you’ll get detained and handcuffed on the square. In the meantime, I am there hand-rolling a joint
- IC3PEAK, Russia
The risk that these artists take when sharing their work is not to be understated. For the anti-governmental political statements that the IC3PEAK has made, the electrical duo has been prosecuted, with their shows cancelled, and not only their career, but freedom - under threat. As of the last weeks, Russia has officially banned all artists who publicly spoke out against war from performing, resulting in most having to flee. In Kazakhstan, outwardly offending the president is a legal violation. That, however, once again highlights the importance of the message they are sending. Bringing back my (almost overdone by this point) Picasso reference, who has refused to bring Guernica back to Spain unless democracy is established, we can see the mass influence artists can have. The messages range often subtle, but cutting, leaving a shrinking feeling in one’s stomach to loud and clear, leaving one inspired to act. Regardless, it always appeals to emotion - great art twists something within you from the inside, making one feel the suffering one experiences in tragedies from afar.
I stand on my knees and pray to the skies - keep my president safe and closer to the clouds
- FEMIDA, DEQUINE, Kazakhstan