The exhibit will open Thursday, April 5th and run until the Sunday, April 8th and will take place in an industrial space, 278 Greenpoint Ave, into a kaleidoscopic seven-room home with each room holding one monochromatic color, ensuring the viewer’s experience to be quite a vibrant one.
Paige Silveria: Let’s start at the beginning. Where are you from?
Slava Vorontsov: I was born in a country that doesn't exist anymore. What was written in my passport was the USSR. I remember when I was trying to open a bank account here, they told me that there is no existing country like mine in their computer program. So yeah, I was born above the Arctic Circle in Siberia in the USSR. But I don't really remember it. After the Soviet Union fell, we moved to the Moscow region and that’s pretty much where I grew up.
What was it like to be young in Moscow at this time?
It was the ’90s and it was really fun, it was like total freedom. There was this feeling of euphoria everywhere after the Soviet Union fell. Everything was shitty, because nothing was working. But still everything was acceptable. It was a new life for everyone. As kids, we didn’t fully recognize what was happening; it was just really fun. Everything was new and in the ’90s everything was about America; all of our childhood idols were Michael Jackson, Mike Tyson, Michael Jordan and Tupac.
So funny to think of, with all of the historical tensions between the two countries.
Yes, but the thing is Russians are the biggest American fans, even still now, and probably forever, really. I think it’s also for all countries in a way, because everyone is living in a US media world.
Yeah that’s true. It’s the country’s largest export. Have you ever been to the US?
Actually yes, when I was 18, I did an exchange program in North Carolina. It was a crazy place. I still really liked the United States; it's like you're in a movie. I was shocked. It's literally like in the movies. Everything: the cars, all the characters. I spent only 24 hours in New York, but people are looking weird, wearing whatever they want to wear, singing, and listening to music. I remember when I was buying a subway ticket and a middle-aged woman in the kiosk who was selling these tickets, she was beatboxing to herself. And I was like, “Oh my God, she's my idol.” Hip-hop was everywhere. I really loved it.
Ah that must have been so fun. Let’s go back to Russia when you were younger, what activities did you get into?
I was always drawing. When I was a teenager, I started doing graffiti. I started leaving home early in the morning, at like four or five. When it’s just starting to get bright outside, that’s when I’d be painting over the kiosk and different stuff.
What was your tag?
It was “emcee.” I wanted to be an emcee because I was listening to rap all the time. I was on the professional junior basketball team and that's when I started listening to rap music and got into hip-hop culture. And this is also when I began to make music, at around 15 or 16 years old.
Did you have equipment to record at home? How did you go about making tracks exactly?
At first I found a guy who had a professional setup for recording and I made a few tracks there. I think they’re still in my mama’s house. They were all in English because I only listened to American hip-hop, so I thought it was only possible in the English language. But then it was really expensive and I realized I could do it on my own. There wasn’t too much equipment, just like a microphone, mixer, headphones, etc. And I set up my own home studio. I started learning all the programs to make beats, these early simple ones.
Was it just on your own or did you collaborate with friends as well?
I was the only one who had this setup and my mom would work the whole day. So I had these older friends who came over to my place one day every week for a summer. And we smoked hash and recorded tracks, just freestyling and learning from each other.
That sounds so fun. And you won an MTV award at some point?
Yeah, it was really fun. So within the Russian music industry, there were a few rap artists and I realized I could rap in Russian. And it sounds really cool. There was this one particular super popular, big star Russian rapper who was my age at the time and he really inspired me. I dreamed to be like him. So I started rapping in Russian too. And then I met this rapper guy and we became friends and made a track collaboration. With that track and the music video we shot, we won an MTV award. He really gave me a huge boost for my career.
What was MTV like back then in Russia?
I grew up watching MTV Russia and it was really cool because there were all these jokes, there was free speech and the hosts were young people. Now people can’t really speak their minds like they could then. Maybe topics are forbidden by the government. But back then we also had all the American shows like Pimp My Ride and Cribs. Everything felt so modern and new. I remember being at the awards show and being high as fuck and I’m like, Where even am I?
How did things progress after the award?
I continued with my music career because I felt the potential in it, that there was something new and against the system that we could do. Because we were the first ones to be doing it; we were part of a new movement. Now it’s more of a mainstream thing, the rap movement. It’s not rebellious anymore. It’s too sweet, you know? I’m not hating on what’s happening now. But back then it was different. So it was really inspiring to be a part of this and I had a whole vision for it.
What made you shift away from it?
The thing is, I have 25 million streams on Apple Music, and I never get paid off of it because nothing works in Russia. Everyone is stealing, pirating. Everything is free for everyone. Why would you pay? So musicians get the minimum price. That’s obviously a huge topic for a lot of artists. Times have changed with all of the platforms and you can never get that reach like in US or Europe, like in the West.
What was it like in Russia as things changed through the ’90s and early ’00s?
The early 2000s were really good because the ’90s were over and people were finally being relieved of poverty. Things started working properly and people were making good money. Things were nice. I made a mixed tape in ’09 where I was speaking out against the government and nobody cared. These were the last good moments for freedom of speech and everything … Then people started getting in trouble for things they said.
And you got into trouble yourself, speaking out on a radio station.
Yeah I was doing an interview right about when the war started — I mean, actually it started in 2014. But when this part of the tragedy began in 2022, it was so crazy because I had just made a music video in Ukraine a year beforehand. I’d spent months there with my family shooting in Kiev and Odessa. It was really nice and people recognized me. Everyone was so friendly. But then yeah, the war started a few months later and I had this interview on a national live-stream radio station. At the end of it, they asked me if there was anything I’d like to say before it was over and I said, “Yeah, I wish there would be an end to everyone’s suffering. I wish everyone love and peace.” And then I said, “Fuck the war,” in Russian. Everyone was shocked. The guy was looking at me in total disbelief. They just shut everything down immediately and the program director ran into our room. He was screaming at me, “What the fuck are you doing? You are going to jail. We are going to jail. We’re fucked!” I asked, “Can I go?” And he’s like, “Yeah, leave now.”
So you’re pretty scared at this point.
Of course I was scared. I was like, Why the fuck did I do that? I mean, I wanted to show my position, to say something to support the people — but the way I did it, it still makes no sense. I mean, it helps nobody. So I went outside and I sat in my car in silence just trying to process what had just happened. Like, What do I do now? I opened Instagram and people were messaging me, sending their respect, telling me how brave I was. Others were saying that they hated me because there was only one hip-hop station and now it’ll be closed because of me and I’m a motherfucker … And you know, actually, “Fuck the war,” when said in Russian, sounds much worse. And it’s almost like a motto, a saying that was invented by the band t.A.T.u. They actually put it on t-shirts and made it a famous, popular saying.
Oh wow. Yeah we all know the “All the Things You Said” song for sure. But had no idea about the other part! So what happened next?
I had a concert coming up a month or so later and the director called saying he might cancel it. He was afraid that the military might show up and check everyone for drugs or something. So we decided to still do the show but came up with a plan: we hired more security and made a second exit for everyone to leave in case the military arrived. And of course, we had weed but everything was controlled; we knew how to get rid of it quickly if we needed to … Anyways, things were fine, but I realized that I might want to just take a break and let things calm down for a bit. So I went to Georgia. I’d been there before and it’s such a beautiful place, super friendly people, nice food, nice weather, everything. So I decided to go for a few months in the summer. I brought a small suitcase of shorts, t-shirts, my music setup, some pencils for making art, etc. Just a handful of essentials for a casual month-long trip. But then they started the army draft mobilization in Russia and I was put on the wanted list. They went to my place where I was registered to find me. The other people living there while I was gone were so shocked when the army guys showed up looking for me with guns. They left some stamped official papers for me that say that if I avoid the draft, I’m breaking the law and will have to go to jail. They went three times in total and suspicious stuff happened as well. Like there was a guy who would stand all night next to the door and switch lights off. My neighbors were messaging me, saying that maybe I shouldn’t go back.
Yeah, you never know what’s actually going to happen to you at this point?
Yeah, I was like, Okay where am I going to go now? I wanted to improve my career, to move forward and do new things. But how do you get a visa anywhere when you’re Russian? France was the only country accepting artists who’d gained some success in their home countries. They opened a special humanitarian visa program for them. And this is what I applied for while still in Georgia. I had so many doubts. I had no idea if it was going to work out. What else would I do with my life? What would my life be like? But they approved me quickly. I was shocked. I was at this French embassy, with all these beautiful trees, in this super calm place, and there were birds singing outside. And they just gave me a French visa for a year. I couldn’t believe it.
How was Paris when you first arrived?
It’s so funny. The first place I lived in was a neighborhood called Stalingrad. And there are just crackheads screaming and laying around and peeing in the streets there. It’s the shittiest place in Paris, named after a city in Russia and I arrived here after being in beautiful Georgia with the birds singing in the trees. Georgia isn’t the wealthiest country, but it’s really wonderful. It’s a very happy place.
When did you join Beaux-Arts?
I had this dream to apply for many years, but I thought it was really impossible. I couldn't imagine learning French at this level and doing all the things. But when I was here, I realized that they accept many artists like me from all over the world.
What’s your experience been like so far?
I’ve always been drawing and painting, since I was young, just for myself. I always had this dream to be an artist. But I had this kind of identity crisis, which is better now than before. I love making music, still do, but I want to use the Russian language and now is not a good time for it. It’s of course always a good time to support people with your words, your ideas, whatever, but it’s not as effective right now, getting through. So I’m focusing on painting instead, which has a different audience. It’s not the same people that were listening to my music. It’s much harder too. It’s just an image, 2D. This is a new challenge for me. And being in a new country, not being able to speak their language, I am every day focusing entirely on making images to express myself. I’m also doing some ceramic sculptures and thinking of installation ideas. Looking at works I made just two years ago, I can see really good progress. I’m proud of myself. I’m happy. I’m trying to improve every day, with every new work. Trying new techniques, new lines, whatever.
I want to go back quickly to why you’re not making music anymore.
There are a few points. One of them is that it’s like leaving a relationship; in the beginning it’s too painful and you don’t want to relive some things, you don’t want to be reminded too much about it. And I guess that’s what I have with the music now. It’s so tied to Russia for me. So for now I really need to break that connection and start my new life, doing new things and meeting new people. The other point is that music is still this form of entertainment, even with a conscious message. With the war happening, you don’t want to pretend like it’s not. You need to address the reality. But I want to entertain people. I like to include a message, but I also like stupid music, that’s just for having fun. And it doesn’t feel like a time for this. I actually recorded an album while being here in Paris, but I want to wait until after the war is over to release it — which is probably never, but there's still that hope.
She and Pollack struck early, making the pioneering move to respond with art. The duo debuted a sprawling, star studded online group show, then moved along to digital solo shows spotlighting artists like New York painter Judith Bernstein. By summer, ATLT presented their first public art project—20 billboards across the five boroughs in partnership with Save Art Space, animated by artist-activists such as Helina Metaferia, who has since joined the organization’s advisory board.
Part of ATLT’s staying power stems from its timeless central question: “How can we think of art at a time like this?” Turns out that’s always valid. “We're throwing the question back to artists,” Pollack, who birthed the name, explained. “How can we rethink art at a time like this? How does crisis make us think about art differently? What kind of art can we make in response to crisis?”
Verhallen told me ATLT considers artists thought leaders. “We wanted to create a space where we can view their works in a nonprofit setting, and really let their works speaks for themselves.”
These days, ATLT is going coast to coast, taking on mass incarceration and climate change—and harnessing collaboration. In 2023, they partnered with the Natural Resource Defense Council to present “How On Earth” at EXPO Chicago, offering artworks by Metaferia, plus installation artist Jennifer Ma, performer Janet Biggs, and landscape architect Lily Kwong.
In this beat between ATLT’s blowout anniversary bash PUBLIC hotels' ART SPACE last month and their first gallery show (around censorship, this Autumn) I caught up with with three repeat conspirators to debrief on what they’ve learned these past five years, and where they’re going.
You first connected with ATLT when Barbara invited you to stage an online solo show. How did you choose which five paintings to put on digital view?
JUDITH BERNSTEIN - I chose them because they are all iconic works!!! The first and second pieces, Birth of the Universe #4 (Time, Space, and Infinity), 2012, and Golden Birth of the Universe, 2014, equate human birth with the birth of the universe and puts women at the center (where they should be!). The first work, Birth of the Universe was shown a few times and was the centerpiece for my solo exhibition at the New Museum in 2012. Golden Birth of the Universe was a commission for Studio Voltaire, London where it served as a humungous altar piece in the church turned exhibition space. The next three paintings, President, Money Shot/Yellow, and Money Shot/Blue Balls have been shown under blacklight for maximum impact, which is always a killer!! A retinal overload!
Online exhibitions have pretty much faded away since the old normal returned. But, did participating in your own alter how you looked at your work—or art in general—at all?
JB - In person viewing is always much more impactful. There is a lot that is lost online: the scale, details, textures, the hand of the artist, lighting, space, the presence of the work, etc. However, when that opportunity is not available, online still allows for engagement with the art and democratizes the viewing by providing more access.
Your art has been political for more than 50 years now. It feels like the same issues won’t go away. Has your opinion about art's role in society shifted? Why do you keep making?
JB - Making art is my passion and obsession. I make art for my own needs and not for the popular market. Art for me is a calling and not just a business. It’s my rage at injustice! The politics change, but there are many underlying issues that remain the same—economic and social inequity, political repression, gender bias, and the horrors of warfare.
What topics do you plan to tackle next?
JB - I just had a solo at Kasmin, New York with my “Death Head” series, which keeps evolving. These gestural paintings feature heads that appear at once transfixed in awe and in a state of active alarm, reflecting the tension fundamental to the poetic dyad of life and death—my contemporary response to Edvard Munch’s scream. This series addresses the horrific moment that we’re in. This time the strong men, I mean the dictators, are hijacking the political realm. The current timeframe is a reenactment of the 30s and we are now on the precipice of World War III.
Since your practice often involves talking to people and going places, and ATLT’s debut billboard installation took place during the pandemic, I was wondering—did you select an artwork you'd already made, or was this something that you produced during lockdown?
HELINA METAFERIA - I adapted something that I had made the year before. I've been making this work prior to the 2020 uprisings, and so it felt like a service of my work to utilize it for social justice and art spaces and public spaces. So yeah, I've been working at the intersection of art and activism with a focus on women and non-binary people, and thinking about ways in which archival research often doesn't fully encompass our labor within activist histories. I've been working with that theme for a while, and sometimes people are into it, some people feel like it might not be a pressing issue for them. But then, timing brings the work to the surface. Luckily, the work is there and accessible and ready for those moments. I mean, we're in another moment where the question of ‘Art at a Time Like This’ is very pressing. As artists, our job is to keep making the work. And we never know when we'll be called upon, but we should always be prepared and ready.
I love that you created a social practice rubric for your students at Brown to use. How would you evaluate this particular billboard activation, for instance?
HM - As if we're looking at a sculpture or a painting, there can be talking points. There can be ways we can organize a conversation. For the social practice element to this public art project, I would consider thinking about the ways in which it used the limited resources that were available in a way that’s its own creative pursuit. Like, curating is a creative practice in itself. I think they acted in a timely fashion. They engaged artists and community, and created activations around it. An organization was developed and was formed. Many social practice projects start with one show, one work. Then quickly the need starts to grow, and you want to formalize that, to have some sort of structure to support it. If you look at the work of Rick Lowe or Theaster Gates, they started as individual artists, and then it quickly emerged into organizations and nonprofits, and they become institutions within themselves. I think Art at a Time Like This has kept its grassroots feel, but it's quickly growing as an organization that is here to meet the needs of artists and cultural producers and art workers when there is precariousness—and there's always precariousness—so their value will always be there. But it started as a one-off project, and it just kept growing. And I think in that way, the scaling up of it reminds me of a lot of great social practice work.
People wonder if every original idea’s been had. Like, what can still happen with art? I do think social practice is it—especially because there's such a disconnect between the values the art world alleges to espouse versus the values it actually practices. Do you have thoughts about how social practice might grow in art over the next 50 years or so?
HM - The term itself is new—only like 20 years old—coined in 2005 through institutions, right? It takes art historians a decade or more to really articulate what artists are doing. So what we're doing now, it's yet to be defined, and we won't be able to define it readily until years to come. That's what history does, allows us to contextualize. So, I mean, it's quite unpredictable, because it's still brewing. It's gonna be related to what happens with our nation, the international, global art world, but also what's happening in the world, right? Artists respond. We don't make art in vacuums. We respond to our environments and our conditions, and we have a platform—a privilege—that allows us to speak to the most challenging aspects of society. That's what contemporary art does.
I think there are people who don't want to see contemporary art flourish because it has a critical voice, and artists have a lot of agency. Artists are always going to make, first of all, but the future of any art form will be determined by the greater geopolitical circumstances. It'll be determined by freedom and democracy and ability for free speech, whether it's overt or covert. Artists will always make, as I said. Whether it'll be concentrated in Europe or in Asia or in Africa or in the US will be determined by governments. I think the beauty of any art form is that so much is unknowable.
While we wait for history to be made, what are you working on?
HM - I'm in a group exhibition that Barbara Pollack curated at Jane Lombard Gallery in New York City. It's called Facial Recognition, and it's up through April 26. I have a solo exhibition at Project for Empty Space, which is a nonprofit in Newark, New Jersey. That’s open May 6 through the end of August, and it’s curated by another powerhouse curator group, Jasmine Wahi and Rebecca Pauline Jampol. The title of that show is “When Civilizations Heal.” It's an interdisciplinary exploration of 60 years of activist archives led by women of color. I'm premiering a work in progress of a feature film and showcasing new collages and sculpture and video and installation. I’m in some group shows now at Palais de Tokyo in Paris, called “Collective Joy.” At LACMA, called “Imagining Black Diasporas.” Oh, and at the Knoxville Museum of Art called “States of Becoming.”
You never know, as an activist artist, whether things are going to slow down for you when there's political turmoil, or if things are going to speed back up because people want the work. Time will tell. But my overall message to any artist who works at the intersection of art and activism is just to keep going, to keep making the work. The resources may expand, may shrink. The audience for your work may expand, may shrink. You really can't control that. All you can do is remain consistent and authentic and work through the studio practice, the community engagement, the performance, whatever it is. Work through that from a place of integrity, because that is more of an inner work that supersedes the outer circumstances. It's a continuous dialogue between you and you, in response to the world.
I love that you helped plant nature in the white cube at EXPO last year. Did conceptualizing “MOTHERFIRE” for the environmentally taxing fair context lend any new angles to your explorations around art and climate justice?
LILY KWONG - I have always felt that my mission is to reconnect people to nature and their community, both plant and human. My focus is to bring plant life to some of the most challenging environments in the hope of sparking awareness, curiosity, communion and connection. As a few examples, my team and I have built mountains in Grand Central Station, created a jungle in industrial Brooklyn and created urban greenspace in downtown Los Angeles. EXPO was the same—my intent was to plant the seeds of an ecosystemic and spiritual awakening to consider the more-than-human world. I focused on the circularity of what I could control, and our saplings were re-homed and the Shou Sugi Ban posts were returned to the fabricator for re-use. All we can do is our best.
Which plants did you pot in the work’s 55 Shou Sugi Ban posts? How did you choose and source them—and keep them alive throughout EXPO’s run?
LK - I worked with the incredible horticulture team at Theodore Payne Nursery, whose mission is to educate about the beauty and ecological benefits of California native plant landscapes. Through their resources, I’ve learned about wildfire resilience and California's fire ecology and wanted to create a monument to the regenerative possibilities of native plants in fire-prone regions. We contract grew saplings with Theodore Payne’s team: Ceanothus spinosus, Rhus integrifolia, Heteromeles arbutifolia, Juglans californica, Prunus ilicifolia, Pinus sabiniana and kept them alive through the loving care by our project manager Shannon Lai. Some of these trees are not only incredible food resources for mockingbirds, robins and even coyotes and bears, but they are also fire retardant like Toyon and Lemonadeberry. Others are considered fire-responsive like the ghost pine, which is actually highly flammable but its seed regeneration is favored post-burn and its germination increases with fire. Native plants are uniquely adapted to survive and thrive following a burn since they have co-evolved with fire for millennia. With MOTHERFIRE, I wanted to honor fire as a core element of our local ecology, both as a contributor to our rich biodiversity as well as an ever-looming threat
You had your first show at LA’s Night Gallery last fall, and debuted a public artwork in New York’s Madison Square Park this month. Out of all your roles—mother, architect, organizer—do you see “artist” growing fastest of all?
LK - I would say Mother is the fastest growing—a role that I have found fundamentally transformative to my psyche, spirit and body. Though ‘artist’ has expanded immensely alongside motherhood, or likely because of it. Having two children in three years has given me much more confidence as a creator—what is more artistic than growing a spine? An eyeball? Kidneys?? My show Solis with Night Gallery emerged from my maternity leave with my daughter, an explosion in a new medium created largely with her by my side. New Motherhood, my favorite piece from the exhibition, was in many ways my first artistic collaboration with baby Gaia, whose marks live all across that piece. I have found that for me, mother & artist are inextricably linked.
What’s your dream project?
LK - Gardens of Renewal at Madison Square Park is truly a dream project. It’s been an aspiration of mine to build something for the iconic park since I first took landscape design courses at New York Botanical Garden over a decade ago. Our Meditation Garden and Children’s Garden has been almost two years in the making. Gardens of Renewal is an offering, a prayer for humans to be brought back into harmony with nature and for balance, peaceful co-existence and reciprocity to be restored to our society and ecosystem.
