All artworks by Victor Sydorenko
Levitation. сидоренко виктор. • 15 artworks
View allDepersonalization. сидоренко виктор. • 15 artworks
View allAuthentification. сидоренко виктор. • 15 artworks
View allNew Art • 11 artworks
View allMillstones of time • 15 artworks
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MILLSTONES OF TIME
Victor Sydorenko
It was after the concept occurred and the title of the project[...]
MILLSTONES OF TIME
Victor Sydorenko
It was after the concept occurred and the title of the project was conceived, when I suddenly remembered a story, which is a part of my family's history. My grandfather was a miller. After he came back home from war, an accident happened to him. Grandfather fell into millstones and got literally grinded - in few days he died.
Something similar is happening to all of us. The main idea of the project is everlasting, tediously dragging time, which grids, frays, destroys people, involves them into exhausting movement in circles, goes away and returns… Monotony of this revolving is not senseless - after all it brings something about… In film "The Sacrifice" by Andrey Tarkovsky there is a moment when a boy stubbornly pours the dry tree - and it blossoms. For those, who see us from above, we probably remind for ever fussing ants. Routine, stupid sameness - nevertheless this is life. However, inanity of life becomes obvious only when we seek in it the higher sense. From pragmatic point of view our monotonous work is rewarded with the hillock of grinded flour - some have bigger, some have smaller…
Everyone grinds his/her own, but we all do all the same. We are lonely and indifferent to each other, forced to co-exist together yet separately - friends, enemies, betrayers and the betrayed. This is the point from which originated the idea of quoting "The Last Supper". This plot is among eternal, because it provides an opportunity to express the inanity of our existence.
Once I recognized this plot on the photograph in the old album. I like thumb through the old albums, but not incidental, only those, where I can see familiar faces. On their pages one can perfectly trace the recurrence of being - constant flow of births, weddings, banquets, funerals… Only wars, unnaturally intervening into this causation, are breaking it - unfortunately there were too many of these breakups… In this way I came across hospital pictures - it was either prison hospital, or hospital for rehabilitation of those who came back after serious wounds. I was interested by not people only, but as well by the bizzare selfdone orthopedic constructions, which reminded more of torture instruments - some kind of spheres, crosses, props - in terms of plastics they are extremely interesting...The comprehention of their precise practical use is under the doubt, and in this sence the objects are abstract, - which does not deprive them of beeing completely "realistic" in philosophical, metaphysical sence.
People in white underwear look more stripped of identity. Drawers worn in totalitaristic XXth century by everyone, - soldiers, prisoners and citizens - are the sign of equality, generality of the destiny. As well, I have tryed to express more general situation, where always and every place, while totalitarism or democracy; now, as five thousand years ago, people find themselves - the duel with time. Beeing in presentiment, in waiting and uncertainty each personage of the action is envolved into monotonous, passive race. None of the pictured can not escape the participation in somehow already known, but yet unpercieved by them ritual...
Victor Sydorenko
It was after the concept occurred and the title of the project was conceived, when I suddenly remembered a story, which is a part of my family's history. My grandfather was a miller. After he came back home from war, an accident happened to him. Grandfather fell into millstones and got literally grinded - in few days he died.
Something similar is happening to all of us. The main idea of the project is everlasting, tediously dragging time, which grids, frays, destroys people, involves them into exhausting movement in circles, goes away and returns… Monotony of this revolving is not senseless - after all it brings something about… In film "The Sacrifice" by Andrey Tarkovsky there is a moment when a boy stubbornly pours the dry tree - and it blossoms. For those, who see us from above, we probably remind for ever fussing ants. Routine, stupid sameness - nevertheless this is life. However, inanity of life becomes obvious only when we seek in it the higher sense. From pragmatic point of view our monotonous work is rewarded with the hillock of grinded flour - some have bigger, some have smaller…
Everyone grinds his/her own, but we all do all the same. We are lonely and indifferent to each other, forced to co-exist together yet separately - friends, enemies, betrayers and the betrayed. This is the point from which originated the idea of quoting "The Last Supper". This plot is among eternal, because it provides an opportunity to express the inanity of our existence.
Once I recognized this plot on the photograph in the old album. I like thumb through the old albums, but not incidental, only those, where I can see familiar faces. On their pages one can perfectly trace the recurrence of being - constant flow of births, weddings, banquets, funerals… Only wars, unnaturally intervening into this causation, are breaking it - unfortunately there were too many of these breakups… In this way I came across hospital pictures - it was either prison hospital, or hospital for rehabilitation of those who came back after serious wounds. I was interested by not people only, but as well by the bizzare selfdone orthopedic constructions, which reminded more of torture instruments - some kind of spheres, crosses, props - in terms of plastics they are extremely interesting...The comprehention of their precise practical use is under the doubt, and in this sence the objects are abstract, - which does not deprive them of beeing completely "realistic" in philosophical, metaphysical sence.
People in white underwear look more stripped of identity. Drawers worn in totalitaristic XXth century by everyone, - soldiers, prisoners and citizens - are the sign of equality, generality of the destiny. As well, I have tryed to express more general situation, where always and every place, while totalitarism or democracy; now, as five thousand years ago, people find themselves - the duel with time. Beeing in presentiment, in waiting and uncertainty each personage of the action is envolved into monotonous, passive race. None of the pictured can not escape the participation in somehow already known, but yet unpercieved by them ritual...
Ritual Dances • 8 artworks
View allCytochronismus • 5 artworks
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The phantom of art has а capacity for physical effect – it influences the surrounding space in the material[...]
The phantom of art has а capacity for physical effect – it influences the surrounding space in the material way. Its influence is felt by the surrounding world, by the artist and by the family. The influence is perceptible, and traces are always left. There is nothing in art that dissappears into the air.
Something must be wrong with artistic cycles – harmony has been ruined.
Man ruins harmony.
But in this series I have made an attempt to touch а new theme which has been neglected by painters so far – the theme of interconnection between microstructure and the real world. And how the inner, immaterial world affects the real world?
Works of art an artist creates have а ptofound effect both on himself and on his relationship with his family.
My creations have an influence on me, on my relatives and associates.
When we create something, we are setting free а phantom with the power to spiritually influence the world.
The phantom of art has а capacity for physical effect – it influences the surrounding space in the material way. Its influence is felt by the surrounding world, by the artist and by the family. The influence is perceptible, and traces are always left. There is nothing in art that dissappears into the air.
An artist absorbs everything around him – it is а process within him.
It is а process which resembles the swing of the pendulum moving from primitive art to the art of desintegration. The art pendulum has а definite swinging range. Th present time is ideal for the creative process.
The development of related visual arts, as well as the use of computers in visual arts offers ample opportunities for an artist to express himself. He can now accomplish miracles with form. The best direction of movement that art can take is along untrodden paths.
When people ask me, “What are you painting?” – I myself do not know what it will be, because the process of painting goes as if by itself. It is as if some kind of spiritual power directs а painter’s brush.
An artist’s creative work is а kind of vehicle for spiritual power to influence the world.
But an artist does not set himself to do this consciously.
An artist cannot be а missionary, he must not act as а missionary. Art does not fulfil а missionary function – even if it is compelled or tempted to do it.
I am an artist.
What else can I say?
Something must be wrong with artistic cycles – harmony has been ruined.
Man ruins harmony.
But in this series I have made an attempt to touch а new theme which has been neglected by painters so far – the theme of interconnection between microstructure and the real world. And how the inner, immaterial world affects the real world?
Works of art an artist creates have а ptofound effect both on himself and on his relationship with his family.
My creations have an influence on me, on my relatives and associates.
When we create something, we are setting free а phantom with the power to spiritually influence the world.
The phantom of art has а capacity for physical effect – it influences the surrounding space in the material way. Its influence is felt by the surrounding world, by the artist and by the family. The influence is perceptible, and traces are always left. There is nothing in art that dissappears into the air.
An artist absorbs everything around him – it is а process within him.
It is а process which resembles the swing of the pendulum moving from primitive art to the art of desintegration. The art pendulum has а definite swinging range. Th present time is ideal for the creative process.
The development of related visual arts, as well as the use of computers in visual arts offers ample opportunities for an artist to express himself. He can now accomplish miracles with form. The best direction of movement that art can take is along untrodden paths.
When people ask me, “What are you painting?” – I myself do not know what it will be, because the process of painting goes as if by itself. It is as if some kind of spiritual power directs а painter’s brush.
An artist’s creative work is а kind of vehicle for spiritual power to influence the world.
But an artist does not set himself to do this consciously.
An artist cannot be а missionary, he must not act as а missionary. Art does not fulfil а missionary function – even if it is compelled or tempted to do it.
I am an artist.
What else can I say?
Amnesia • 15 artworks
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All of us feel nostalgic for what has gone irrevocably. I wanted to devote this series of my pictures[...]
All of us feel nostalgic for what has gone irrevocably. I wanted to devote this series of my pictures to the events of my past – the events whose impact on me is still felt.
The past lingers on in images and feelings; there are not many sounds left from the past.
I wanted to devote this series of my pictures to the events of my past – the events whose impact on me is still felt.
I wanted to revive fragments of the past in my memory.
One remembers from one’s childhood mostly natural phenomena such as thunderstorms. I remember my grandmother standing in the doorway and crossing herself each time а peal of thunder rolled or the lighting flashed, shaking my imagination.
Among the mountains а ravine ran; I wanted so much to break free and, running down the ravine, to find out what is there beyond those mountains – I pictured in my imagination а wonderful land lying there. In the spring the mountains were covered with scarlet poppies – but only for а short time, while the rest of the year one could see only the ochre or dusty ochre colours everywhere.
All of us feel nostalgic for what has gone irrevocably.
I remember the railway with а single track running along the ravine; only one train at а time could go on the track – I wondered: to what distant country the train was going.
When one closes one’s eyes, some vague pictures arise in one’s imagination.
I wonder – is there the place where all those events were happening in my childhood? I do not know for certain.
But it is of no importance now. I see only aniline paints; yes, there are always those aniline dyes. The sensation of something mythical but unhappy lingers in my recollections of those days.
My recollections – they are somewhat lifeless; I see my past as if it were painted by someone.
My recollections are my dreams.
It is hard to put all this into words – I feel as if I myself painted those dreams.
The past lingers on in images and feelings; there are not many sounds left from the past.
I wanted to devote this series of my pictures to the events of my past – the events whose impact on me is still felt.
I wanted to revive fragments of the past in my memory.
One remembers from one’s childhood mostly natural phenomena such as thunderstorms. I remember my grandmother standing in the doorway and crossing herself each time а peal of thunder rolled or the lighting flashed, shaking my imagination.
Among the mountains а ravine ran; I wanted so much to break free and, running down the ravine, to find out what is there beyond those mountains – I pictured in my imagination а wonderful land lying there. In the spring the mountains were covered with scarlet poppies – but only for а short time, while the rest of the year one could see only the ochre or dusty ochre colours everywhere.
All of us feel nostalgic for what has gone irrevocably.
I remember the railway with а single track running along the ravine; only one train at а time could go on the track – I wondered: to what distant country the train was going.
When one closes one’s eyes, some vague pictures arise in one’s imagination.
I wonder – is there the place where all those events were happening in my childhood? I do not know for certain.
But it is of no importance now. I see only aniline paints; yes, there are always those aniline dyes. The sensation of something mythical but unhappy lingers in my recollections of those days.
My recollections – they are somewhat lifeless; I see my past as if it were painted by someone.
My recollections are my dreams.
It is hard to put all this into words – I feel as if I myself painted those dreams.
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