anvar musrepov

Anvar Musrepov a new media artist based in Almaty, Kazakhstan. Applying the practice of marginal journalism to his artwork, Anvar pushes the boundaries of socio-political correctness. His deviant projects study the psychology and nature of people, modern traditions, and cultural hypocrisy. We met up for a beer in an Almaty mall to talk about being a young contemporary artist in Kazakhstan, religious sects, traditions, and nationalism.

How did you get into art? What do you attribute to your success?

It started through work. I am from Almaty, and I worked in Esquire magazine and often had to visit fashion events – I didn’t like that world so much, so I based my work on my reactions to the reality I see around myself.

What was one of your first pieces?

I am more of a journalist and have been actively making art for about a year. I started making a series of works through a Soviet context, like this “dicks on a fence” sticker graffiti series– a naïve gesture of protest. A classmate would draw these on his desk to say that he is anti-math or something like that - an elementary format of protest. When I worked at these fashion magazines, it seemed the whole purpose of my life was to gather as many “likes” as possible, so that’s what inspired the “likes” graffiti icons. I sticker bombed this huge mall with luxury shops like Armani, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, which were removed the next day.

What were you protesting?

It wasn’t as much of a political protest as it was me being mischievous. My friends and I shot a documentary about the whole process, and we were wearing masks, but my boss saw my tattoo in a shot and called me into his office. He told me that those companies are our biggest sponsors, and it almost jeopardized my job. I just wanted to feel some form of freedom.

At what age did you start doing graffiti?

I started three years ago. When I was about 16, I ran a blog and was asked to be an editor of a creative website. Then I started working at a fashion startup and then at Harper’s Bazaar and Esquire. Currently, I am a student in Moscow. My specialty at Esquire was marginal journalism. That’s how I got into graffiti. I worked in a psychiatric clinic, so I wrote articles about that. Then I got into an extremist terrorist sect and wrote about my experience with them. One of my close friends filmed porn in America and is from a traditional Islamic family, and I wrote about her. There is not much freedom in journalism in Kazakhstan. When I wrote about the life of a trans person, I experienced colossal censorship. That’s why I gravitated towards art - to experience freedom.

Your piece “Pharanur” is another example of marginalism? What does it mean?

For the 23rd anniversary of Kazakhstan’s independence, I made 23 portraits of President Nazarbayev dressed as a pharaoh. When you get closer to the image, you see a group of pixels rather than a face. Kazakhstan has a law that states that Nazarbayev’s face is a national symbol and cannot be reproduced in any material without official permission. You could go to jail for five years. I skirted on a thin line because technically, this is not the president’s face but rather a selection of pixels.

Are you afraid to continue creating these works?

I don’t plan to get into politics. Art making is a type of freedom. Many artists are still forcing to delve into politics, but I’m not interested in that. Art and politics go in hand in hand most of the time already, so it’s hard to avoid.

Why are you doing these works then?

My work is a way for me to understand who I am, my thoughts, and my opinions. I work in new media, and it is also marginal. I cannot imagine being involved in traditional gallery arts because I am interested in outsider art and counter culture. I am not doing this for the business, nor am I looking for gallery representation since museum systems have not figured out ways to present these works. If you are making artwork with the purpose of sales, then there’s no freedom there.

What are the most significant difficulties in Kazakhstan?

I don’t see much difficulty making art. You can work with any budget and make media art. In regards to censorship, everyone speaks of some pressure and a totalitarian machine. I have made openly critical projects and haven’t experienced that much pressure. An example is a project I made in a gallery space called “Bailanys.” It is about a traditional silver skullcap that possessed powers to transfer information telepathically.  It also has the original DNA code etched into it. I paired it with 19th-century images of Kazakhs wearing this cap and mockumentary footage about an archaeologist hunting this cap down. When the police officials discovered it, they took it away from him, and president Nazarbayev is now using it to predict the future. I used images from the National Kazakh archive and footage from archaeological digs. It was criticism of the national myths. In schools, kids are being taught myths about batyrs and a golden man who led the people. In reality, it was a female shaman who does not have much to do with the Kazakh people. 

How do you openly get away with such criticism?

Art exists in a shadow. The officials aren’t in the know enough to understand what the work is about and pick up on the critical nuances.

What other projects have you been working?

Here is a project I made called “Buyrocco” - a play on the words Barocco, “buy,” and “bai,” which in Kazakh means wealth. When the USSR fell apart, many wealthy Kazakhs started making these kitschy baroque-inspired homes to find their roots in “royal society.” Those who could allow this would more or less build gilded palaces with oak furniture and parquet floors. I shot a series of staged portraits inspired by Caravaggio. In one of them, I put a famous homeless man from Almaty in place of Jesus. Another is a nature mort scene showing an abundant table with imported liquors. Even as recently as 100 years ago, people didn’t know what cognac or vodka was. It was all Kumyz. This project is an observation of globalization.

Does Islam play a significant role for you?

Yes, I am working closely with the Islamic context. The Islam that everyone is talking about, Salafism, hijabs, and everything, is a foreign religion. It appeared about 20 years ago and has nothing to do with Kazakh Islam. Salafists are sects. Then there is the idea of Tengrism, which exists as tradition and monuments. Tengri is not just a Kazakh idea; it’s more Central Asia. The spirit of Tengri is long dead. Salafists are against Tengrism because they see it as a cult – they are radically against local culture. Real Kazakhs were never Islamic. Kazakh Islam has always been mixed with Shamanism and Tengrism because they are nomads. There are so many sects in Almaty: Protestants, Buddhists, so many unofficial religions because there is no law regulating them. Lately, there have been Aryan sects that are anti-internet, pro ecology, and openly propagating racism. 

Is Kazakhstan trying to be more Western?

Right now, there is more tendency to copy America. But there is a determined direction towards nationalism. There has been an increase in the observance of nationalistic holidays. Kazakhs want to be free. It’s better now than during the Soviet regime. Now we have a totalitarian regime, and we need to fight it, but it’s a matter of time. The good thing about nationalism is that we get further away from Russia. In terms of nationalists, people in search of freedom go towards extremes.  You start seeing books like “Why did people appear from Kazakhs?” which is just ridiculous.

Are you into sci-fi?

I am mainly interested in it as a unique format to use as a criticism. I recently did a work called “Superbahataekwondist,” in a Moscow gallery called “Gallery in a closet.” 

People must be getting tired of white walls. What music do you like?

I listen to electronic music with no words. I feel like when you listen to words, you lose a logical train of thought. And techno.