LAZARET
Beseder Gallery, Prague, Czech Republic, 2023
Museum of Free Belarus, Warsaw, Poland, 2023
Alive / Жыве
Mixed media (plaster bandage, oil, resin coating) on framed canvas
194 × 77 cm
2023
A spectral white figure, its upper contours mirroring the map of Belarus, conceals a deep, bleeding wound beneath flawless drapery. Framed within a decolonial perspective, this phantom embodies a collective body trapped outside linear time, subjected to centuries of imperial and authoritarian erasure. Yet, referencing the slogan "Long Live Belarus!" (Zhyve Belarus), the canvas transforms a mutilated society into a site of resistance. The wound, placed intentionally on the right, signifies that the heart of the nation remains untouched. It maps the tension between the violent imposition of external control and an autonomous spirit that refuses to disappear.
Victim
Oil on canvas in frame, bandage
85 × 75 cm
2022
Maiming
Oil on framed canvas, resin coating
102 × 81 cm
2022
Thick, suffocating layers of oil and tar physically distort the figure within the painting, conveying the horrific reality of somatic trauma. The mutilated body is stripped of individual features, transforming into a physical archive of collective pain. A glossy hematoma serves as a viscous metaphor for repressive biopolitics—a substance that violently restricts, consumes, and deforms human flesh, subjugating it entirely to a brutal authoritarian framework.
Under the sky of Belarus
Plexiglass mold, tar, oil
85 × 65 cm
2022
Executed in the national white-red-white colors currently banned in Belarus, the work captures the fading vision of a dying creature. The stork—a sacred symbol of Belarus—stares into the void with bloodied eyes, yet there is no submissive resignation in its gaze. The inflicted wounds (symbolized by an arrow) paradoxically render it even more conscious and "Alive."
"I see in his gaze a piercing look directed at humanity a humanity that has failed to learn from the Holocaust. I see in him reproach and sorrow, acceptance and departure, alienation and denial." — Written from prison by someone who saw this work at an exhibition.
Sores
Plexiglass mold, oil, resin coating
85 × 65 cm
2023
The smooth, refined surface, visually mimicking perfect, fragile porcelain, is violently interrupted by gaping sores. These wounds are left not by the relentless passage of time, but by blunt, external physical pressure. I intentionally destroy the illusion of a decorative ornament: the "flawless" form is no longer capable of concealing the traces of endured violence. For me, these defects are imprints of a traumatic experience breaking through the facade of well-being. The artwork speaks to the fragility of a psyche that remembers every blow, and to the illusory aesthetic of "stability" that disintegrates under repressive conditions.
Mark
Oil on canvas
93 × 64 cm
2022
"Scars are stronger than the skin itself; they are better able to withstand a blow." This famous quotation from Clarissa Pinkola Estés serves as the conceptual foundation for my work. Radically rejecting victimhood, I investigate trauma not as a zone of irreparable weakness, but as a site for the formation of unprecedented defense. Scarring is a biological reaction wherein tissue loses elasticity but gains unbreakable density. My painting visualizes this process: endured pain modifies the structure of the personality, transforming vulnerability into durable armor capable of withstanding the pressure of the surrounding world.
Lancets and Wings
Life is what happens to you while you dream that everything is under your control. Sad movement from cataclysm to catastrophe, from confusion to collapse, from ecstasy to hysteria... Short pauses between traumas are considered happiness. It is better not to look for troubles. They will find you themselves. For every wing, there is a lancet.
The best old-school pop culture tales tell about pain as a way to feel alive. Mad vivisectors are consistently assembling new creatures from the remains of former human beings — and Dr. Frankenstein's monsters are produced en masse. To be human through pain. Or to break fellow compatriots. However, there is another secret path. The path of the prisoner who hid the lancet in the sleeve of the hospital gown.
To seek medicines, you must first admit that you are sick. And then suddenly you realize that there is no cure for your disease yet. It is nowhere to be found. Because there are drafts and cracks in the window of your hospital ward. No miracles but bandages and brilliant green. Gloomy nurses just walked away. Medical cotton wool bleeds in solitude. A quiet word and deep ambient from a broken iPod save the captured picture.
Time is up. The clock will tell you the weather in Lisbon, but it will delicately remain silent about how messy you feel this morning. Today's fate is like an old laptop's "hanging" display. Reload? Yeah. But then you will lose everything open and unsaved. Where are you? Where am I? We are in the lazaret. Bring me iodine! And get plenty.
Lazaret is a waiting room in the anatomical theater. There are two ways out: to Hades or Shambhala. Alive — but not for sure. Dead — but not completely. What's next? Other options. Swing like a pendulum between despair and enlightenment. Learn to laugh when you can't. Try the ashes. Stick with the people so you don't go crazy. Stick with the people so they don't go crazy.
We are all lucky. We suffer in the first person view. We are dreaming of suitcases. Counting the losses. And we want to get rid of the mad rescuers.
Because the only reliable remedy in this lazaret is yourself. Your injuries. And what you can do to them. Iodine won't help. I have tried. But lancets and wings are always with us. The sharpness of mind and personal courage. Your personal shelter. Your personal rescue.
Maxim Zhbankov — cultural analyst, journalist, and film critic
Read more about the project on neweasterneurope.eu
