What If?

— Can you really believe in all those fairy tales?

                                                                                                                                       — Not in the good ones, no!

                                                                                                                                     But in the bad ones, certainly!

                                                                                                                                                               Stalker (1979)

In the 2007 book A Philosophy of Fear, Norwegian philosopher Lars Svendsen explores the psychology of modern people and comes to a disheartening conclusion that the entire culture today can be defined as the “space of fear.” We simply do not notice how false threats and our own concerns, reasonable or unreasonable, are gradually changing our perception of the world and nudging our behavior. “It can fill you with nostalgia to think back to the time, only a few years ago, when you could more or less walk straight through, once you had emptied your pockets of coins and keys,” exclaims the author, recapping how airport security was tightened on the intelligence of a series of terrorist attacks that never came to be… It appears to have been a non-existent threat, but what if it wasn’t? This question “What If?“ that doubles as the exhibition title refers not so much to specific issues of the day, i.e., threat of terrorism, global climate change and geopolitical disasters, but rather to the sense of anxiety and constant doubt, which has grown to be part and parcel of our soul. Maria Safronova’s What If? the project combines two cycles of her work, created over the last few years: the post-apocalyptic Cabinets and the Civil Defense inspired by posters in this awareness-raising genre. Depicting abandoned school classrooms with visual aids scattered on the tables, the artist intentionally omits to provide us with a reliable system of reference. What is it: the aftermath of the explosion at one of the reactors of the Chernobyl plant or the slow demise of rural schools? The real question here is what is more terrible? A nuclear apocalypse or a slow but sustained process that leads to catastrophic consequences. The question remains open. We only get to see the result: destroyed classrooms, paint peeling off the walls, cracked tiles, books left on the floor… Prominently foregrounding lined up compositions made of apparently-forgotten things, Maria Safronova achieves a peculiar, almost surrealistic effect of presence–absence. This strange state when you are and are not at the same time. What if it’s just a visualization of our nostalgia, sprinkled with the ashes of our memories from long forgotten school years… In the Civil Defense series, ghostly visions of deserted classrooms give way to images of civil defense classes. Although in this series objects and people acquire materiality and density, this does not make them more real. We see children diligently performing drills for putting on gas masks and hazmat suits, and learning to set up tents or do basic first aid. Amazing accuracy of details and relatable states make us perceive these scenes based on our personal experiences and memories. Suddenly, you can smell the chlorine in the swimming pool; your eyes light up with pride from reassembling an AK-47 in 15 seconds. But the uncanny postures, localized coloring and stillness of composition all serve as reference to the artificial vocabulary of visual aids. As if the posters took an unsanctioned leave from the walls of the deserted classrooms to occupy gallery walls. Things and human characters turn into signs but also remain the same symbols that have no meaning… United by the subject matter of the school, these two series in the shared exhibition space create a complex dramatic effect. The viewer perceives it not only as a nostalgic metaphor of childhood long gone, but also as a multifaceted artistic reflection on the modern world. 8 9 Lars Svendsen notes that the nature of human fears has undergone major change in recent years. This proposition is supported by sociological studies. Surveys show that modern first graders are almost not frightened by nightmare dreams anymore, or by toothache and darkness, they are now afraid of fires, war or getting mugged. Children are gradually drawn into this general mythology of horror. “Before and after” the catastrophe is probably a fitting definition for the space in Maria’s work. The school world of civil defense classes and deserted abandoned classrooms exists somewhere on the border between realities. Employing simple pictorial motifs, the artist deliberately avoids narrative as well as spectacle. Paintings by Maria Safronova manifest connections with the German New Objectivity—the same rigor and impartiality of outlook, which can easily turn a human being into an object. The characters in her paintings are mere objects, signs of an incomprehensible, unknown threat which is constantly giving signs of its presence. Her canvases breathe with aggressive peace, the silence of the paintings is menacing and disconcerting. The ultimate objectivity of eyesight is now elevated to a composition technique. Simplicity of forms and lack of dynamism create a particular psychological effect, where the pathos of “frozen time” triumphs. The main character in Safronova’s project is the Kierkegaardian angst—a metaphysical fear, a vague sense of threat. It is no longer linked to any specific event and has turned into the “what if…” up in the air, having become an essence of the human psyche in a constant state of anxiety. Here, the atmosphere itself is surprisingly similar to the Room from Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker, the much coveted location amidst the post-apocalyptic zone. A space where we find ourselves face to face with our own fears and innermost desires. The very place where we are made, oftentimes unwillingly, to be ourselves. Which is one of the greatest trials.

                                                                                                                                                        Alexandra Danilova