Pussy Riot's Nadya on Using Art to Fight Oppression
Nadya Tolokonnikova, artist, activist and creator of the global feminist protest art movement Pussy Riot, has devoted her life to pursuing social justice—no matter the consequences.
In 2012, she was sentenced to two years in prison for her role in staging Pussy Riot's anti-Putin performance piece "A Punk Prayer" at a Moscow cathedral. She spent much of that time in a remote penal colony before she was pardoned in 2013.
More recently, "Virgin Mary, Please Become a Feminist"—a piece featuring artwork hand-drawn on a digitized copy of her 2012 prison sentencing documents—and the short art film "Putin's Ashes" landed her on the Russian Interior Ministry's wanted list for 2023.
Here, Nadya, who is headlining a sold out benefit for New York City's American Folk Art Museum on May 16, discusses Pussy Riot's origins, her upcoming museum show at Austria's OK Linz and what gives her hope.
Muse: Why did you want to headline the American Folk Art Museum benefit?
Nadya Tolokonnikova: I love the idea of uplifting self-taught artists, so AFAM is a very cool fit. In my early art action days with [the art collective] VOINA and early Pussy Riot, we raged against the "wine and cheese" openings of galleries and museums. We wanted to show more raw expression, so we did art in the subway, the streets, courtrooms, released things on YouTube, and generally got kicked out of fancy galleries and museums. But what came with that was a self-taught and DIY ethos. Of course, we honored the lineage of artists who came before us and inspired us. But there were no graduate programs at the time on how to upset the government so much with your art that they threw you in jail one day.
AFAM displays and champions the work of self-taught artists like yourself. What do such artists have to offer?
We always joke that in early Pussy Riot days, the only thing we had to offer was the chance of getting arrested. We had no money, we had no support from galleries or museums, we were on our own. If you wanted to take part you were welcome. If you hesitated at all, or asked for too much, you were out. We were very serious about our mission and our vision.
Can you tell me about your new art series "Dark Matter," which will be featured along with some of your other work at an exhibit called "RAGE" opening in June at OK Linz?
This new series is a reflection on what I've lost. My upbringing was in a snowy town north of the Arctic Circle. It was so polluted that the snow was black and the rivers were red. These pieces are a nostalgia, a trauma bond with those places, of which I still have visions that remind me of the things I've lost.
Not everyone may think a power plant next to an orthodox cathedral is the subject of warm nostalgia, but it is my experience. These are still part of my identity, and I explore those things in this series. They are based on photographs I took while in my country, or things that spiritually remind me of it, engraved onto wood, black with ink and inlaid with calligraphic work. It's an old Slavanic language and style used in icons/churches known as Vyaz. Yes, the same church that accused me of religious hatred or blasphemy. So, again, this is a reclamation of an identity.
The OK Linz exhibit marks your first solo museum exhibition. What does it mean to have your own show in a museum?
We won't be having wine and cheese. We will open the event with black metal and rage, and, of course, imagery of Putin burning.
It was heartening that the curators and director Alfred Weidinger were not afraid of being political or for taking a stance against Putin and against the war. In fact, he encouraged me to lean in. I wish more people in positions of power in the art world encouraged political art, promoting feminism and freedom and all those good things, even if it might upset some people.
In a press release, you are quoted as saying, "Politically and culturally, we're entering the new Dark Ages, but I believe that better times will come—I believe, because it is absurd." Part of me was surprised to read that you believe better times will come. But then I thought, why should I be surprised? A person who has devoted their life to resisting an oppressive regime wouldn't do so if they didn't have hope. What gives you hope?
On a broader scale, it's hard to find. But on a personal level, when people can come together, united against a common enemy, that can bring hope. We did a fundraiser for Ukraine at the beginning of the war, which people from all over supported. Then, when I was planning the "Putin's Ashes" action and video, I was joined by women from Ukraine, Belarus and Russia who felt an acute hatred towards Putin. We came from different places, but we were united in our symbolic resistance. This meant a lot to me.
Beyond your art about fighting for social justice, do you make personal art that you don't share with the world? Art that is just for yourself?
I'm very self-critical, so some art I do never sees the light of day. But in my practice, sharing art is as essential as creating it. In that sense, those pieces that I never shared are dead because they failed to inspire others.
How can art change the world?
By inspiring others to not self-censor, show you can be brave and loud and scream against oppression. Hopefully, someone else will see that and say, "I can do that, too."
