Maxim Ksuta

russian artist, contemporary art, sculpture, installation, photography

Tag: Maxim Ksuta

February 8, 2025

An Essay from the Perspective of Alain Badiou

Essay by Alain Badiou: “Form, Event, Truth”

This photograph does not ask us what we see but rather how seeing itself is structured. Here, at the center of an open landscape, stands an empty frame—devoid of its own content, yet transformed into a site for truth. It is not merely a frame but an event, one that organizes space and compels us to question its naturalness.

In the tradition of Platonic philosophy, truth is never given to us directly—it requires construction, mediation. This frame is a structure that marks an absence, yet through this very absence, it reveals the process of distinction itself: what is inside, and what is outside? Does the field within the frame differ from what surrounds it? No, and yet we begin to see it differently.

This is how an event is born—a sudden rupture in the order of the visible. We find ourselves in a situation where the artificial creates the conditions for a new perception of the real. The field, which has always been a field, is now transformed into a sign. The boundary between landscape and its representation becomes unstable, and we find ourselves inside this duality, unable to determine where exactly the line between art and the world is drawn.

What matters here is not only what is depicted but also the very act of framing. This is not a gesture of authority, not an ordering of chaos, but rather a challenge—an invitation for the viewer to recognize that all vision is a choice, that truth is never given to us directly but always emerges through rupture, through an event that reorganizes our structures of perception.

In this sense, photography does not merely document reality; it plays with it, revealing what would otherwise remain unnoticed in everyday life. It becomes an act of thought and, therefore, a space for truth.

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February 6, 2025

New Exhibition at Wynwood Hotel

Lost in Transition: A New Exhibition at Wynwood Hotel

The *Lost in Transition* exhibition at Wynwood Hotel plays with the concept of a hotel as a place that bears witness to the inner transformation and emotional renewal of a traveler in a new city. Impressions are directly tied to heightened senses: the “other” awakens a gaze that keenly captures unusual details, sharpens hearing attuned to forgotten melodies. All these scattered images, accumulated chaotically throughout the day, intersect in the imagination and seep into dreams, blending with reality in the first moments after waking. The instant before memory reconstructs the events of the past day and threads them to the present is nearly imperceptible—yet it lingers, close to the sensation of being lost, to that fleeting moment of disorientation.

The works displayed throughout the hotel reflect artists’ experiences at specific moments of contemplative self-perception within their surroundings. Anatoly Akue’s *Harvest* series stems from his study of two esoteric systems—Western astrology and ancient Chinese BaZi—and their influence on human life. Over the course of a year, the artist analyzed life events, interpreted them through these mystical traditions, and translated the resulting insights and subjective understanding into semi-abstract compositions. Maxim Ksuta’s monochromatic landscapes from the *Tectonic Painting* series seem to emerge from a universal mystical rhythm, inviting the viewer to engage with it through the observation of light reflections. A similar effect is present in Andrey Berger’s work, where he paints with acrylic on a reflective road sign marked *100 m*, visible only at a specific angle of light. This piece, titled *Lost in Transition*, became the foundation for the exhibition’s concept, metaphorically referring to the hidden path of life, unseen by the casual glance.

Eva Helki’s objects and Misha Nikatin’s paintings operate like ironic riddles, assembled from everyday items. By revealing the poetry of the mundane, their imagery projects onto the viewer’s memories, rearranging itself like a deck of cards, unfolding anew in different minds.

Anka Akhalaya, in creating her abstract compositions, turns to the surrealist technique of automatic writing, capturing fleeting emotional states in her works. A different impression—one that leans toward permanence and the idea of eternal return—emerges in Olga Aksyonova’s pieces, where barely visible figures shimmer in golden light, bound by a mysterious shared encounter. At the intersection of reality and fiction, in the quiet blur of watercolor strokes, Arthur Samofalov seeks a point of stability in his *Inhabited Ruins* series. His indistinct forms become allegories of uncertain knowledge—chaos obscures the clear contours of objects, evoking unease.

The challenge for each of us is to overcome the desire for rigid clarity and instead embrace contemplation—an approach that fosters inner transformation and reveals a new vision of the world. Even the smallest journey shifts the rhythm of life, lifting the veil from our eyes and allowing for transition, for inner metamorphosis, and for the formation of a renewed dialogue with both the self and the world around us.

Alisa Prokhorova

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February 6, 2025

An Essay from the Perspective of Thomas Veski

Essay by Thomas Veski:

“Suspended Moment”

This photograph possesses a rare ability to hold the viewer in an in-between state. There is no obvious movement, no human presence, yet this very absence fills the image with potentiality. We stand before tram tracks, before concrete slabs that, covered in fine cracks and stains, resemble traces of time. This frame captures something beyond a mere street or a tram stop—it becomes a metaphor for waiting, for transition from one state to another.

The division of space plays a crucial role here. The foreground is sharply defined, with detailed textures of asphalt and metal, while the background dissolves into a diffuse haze. The glass of the tram stop acts as a boundary between a world of clarity and a world of blurred contours. The trees behind this glass no longer belong to reality in the usual sense. They become shadows, memories, hints of something alive yet unreachable.

This technique echoes aesthetic principles found in documentary photography, where a simple scene reveals itself as something greater than the sum of its parts. We do not see people, yet their absence only amplifies the feeling of their possible arrival. We wait for them, just as we wait for the approaching tram that remains beyond the frame.

The use of perspective is also significant. The tracks lead our gaze deeper into the image, yet they provide no clear destination. They stop at the edge of the frame, leaving us suspended. Like the photograph itself, we remain on the threshold of something elusive.

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January 26, 2025

Essay from the Perspective of Georges Bataille

Essay from the Perspective of Georges Bataille: “Foam as the Language of Chance”

In this image, foam takes center stage—a language of chaos spread across the dark surface of asphalt. Its presence raises questions: where did it come from? What caused its flow? Foam is something fleeting, ephemeral, yet here it finds a way to make itself known, leaving traces that speak of the interplay between nature and human action.

It resembles clouds that have descended to the earth to spill across the material foundation of our world. Each line and stain it creates is the result of a random flow, beyond our control. In this, it reveals the truth of chance—the same truth that governs our thoughts, desires, and fears. Foam lives a brief but intense life cycle, seeping into every crack, every crevice, as though filling the voids we prefer to ignore.

The parked cars stand as symbols of our pursuit of control, order, a fixed system. They are like boundaries that the foam seeks to disrupt, penetrating their shadows, merging the material with the ephemeral. The wet, porous asphalt becomes a canvas for this force, where foam is not merely a substance but a gesture, an action that blurs rigid borders.

The shadows of cars and the corners of buildings also play their roles. They absorb the foam, interact with its shapes, creating an illusion of depth and layers. This reminds us how often our perception of reality is shaped by the intersection of the material and the immaterial. In this interplay of light and form, there is something almost sacred, as in every process of decay or creation.

Foam symbolizes the uncontrollable, the unstructured. It seeks to expose the absurdity of our efforts to impose order on chaos. This image speaks to the transience and the perpetual struggle between structure and anarchy. Foam is the trace of an action that leaves behind no meaning, yet in this absence, it reminds us of our own vulnerability to the forces of time and oblivion.

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January 24, 2025

An Essay from the Perspective of Vilém Flusser

An Essay from the Perspective of Vilém Flusser

The photograph presented to me is a challenge to the dialogical nature of the image and the objecthood of the surrounding world. This shot is not merely the result of the photographer’s gesture but also a testament to the relationship between human and apparatus, between creator and tool.

Here, in this image, the pipe, wall, and plant cease to be “real” things. They become elements of a conceptual universe, visual symbols that “point” to meaning rather than contain it. The camera is not simply a device that records reality but an interface capable of transforming objects into concepts.

The image of the pipe, slightly tilted and marked with a graphic symbol, is a metaphor for functionality turned into cultural text. The act of someone drawing on the pipe is an example of the “play” humans engage in with objects of the industrial world. The graffiti transforms the pipe into a bearer of meaning, a medium of communication. Meanwhile, the plant growing against the backdrop of the brick wall challenges this very industry, presenting a contrast between the organic and the artificial, the living and the static.

The brick wall, even and orderly, symbolizes human-created structure, yet its cracks reveal the chaotic force of nature, whose power cannot be entirely subdued. This tension between the authentic, the natural, and the industrial introduces us to a new world, where the familiar desire for control is dismantled by its own logic.

What is significant here, however, is the act of photographing itself. The photographer is a “programmer” working with the “memory” of the apparatus. The choice of angle, framing, and the relationships between objects is a process that extracts the image from the flow of randomness and imbues it with meaning. The apparatus, despite its cold functionality, becomes a tool for cultural expression, and the photographer, interacting with it, does not merely record but creates.

This work reveals the essence of photography as communication. It speaks not only about the objects within the frame but also about the gaze that perceived them, the person behind the camera, and us, the viewers of this photograph. We become part of this visual dialogue, transforming from passive spectators into interpreters.

This photograph is not simply an object; it is a text we read. And therein lies its true value.

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January 23, 2025

An essay written as if by Roland Barthes

“The Death of the Author, the Birth of the Sign”

An essay written as if by Roland Barthes

This photograph is not merely an image but a text I read in my imagination. It unfolds before me as a field of signs, endlessly layered, each calling me to interpret, deconstruct, and immerse myself in its ambiguity. The image becomes a space of meanings, where the author vanishes, leaving us alone with the object—a sign that demands to be read.

At the center of the composition, we see a sign with the inscription: “Do not block the passage to the boiler room.” At first glance, it is a simple utilitarian directive, a warning, a relic of the industrial age. But its placement, its wear, and its interaction with nature create a unique semiotic tension. This object is no longer functional in its literal sense. It has become a symbol of the past, which, through oblivion, transforms into poetry.

The rust on the sign speaks of time—of its destructive and, paradoxically, creative power. This is not merely loss but a new level of presence. The metal, corroded by decay, tells a story that, as a viewer, I can only imagine. The aesthetics of desolation turn into an invitation to reflect: what was this passage, to whom or to what did it lead?

The cracked wall is texture, a palimpsest, hiding countless past layers beneath it. It does not remain silent; on the contrary, it whispers of time, the passing of eras, of human labor and its traces. The wild grape leaves creeping along the wall challenge time itself. Nature asserts its dominion, softening the ruins with its organic persistence.

And yet, despite this wealth of meaning, the photograph resists a definitive interpretation. It remains open, like a sign that perpetually eludes a final reading. This is where its power lies. The photographer retreats into the shadows, allowing the objects to speak. I see only what already exists: the sign, the wall, the leaves. But these elements transform within the space of the photograph, becoming independent of their original purpose.

The photograph becomes a space where culture and nature, time and its decay, memory and its loss converge. It evokes in me, the viewer, a desire to immerse myself in its signs, returning again and again to read them differently. The “death of the author” here becomes the birth of new meaning.

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January 22, 2025

An essay written as if by Susan Sontag

“Contrast and Harmony: The Metaphysics of Visual Language”

An essay written as if by Susan Sontag

Looking at this photograph, I am involuntarily drawn into a dialogue between art and reality. This is not merely an image of a wall, colors, and fallen leaves. It is an expression of the metaphysics of visual language, through which photography speaks to us, even if we are not prepared to listen.

Every element of this composition is a statement, a gesture. The red field, piercing and vibrant, asserts its strength, its dominance. Yet its intensity and insistence are balanced by the greenish calm of the lower segment, as if a fragment of nature has infiltrated the sterile space of urban geometry. The horizontal line—a dark barrier between the two colors—becomes not just a boundary but a point of contact, a space where the human and the natural meet to form a new, strange alliance.

Photography is always a choice: focusing on details, stripping away context, replacing the vast with the small, the complex with the simple. These are the tools through which the photographer crafts their statement. In this case, the choice is minimalist: just color, just structure, just nature breaking the rhythm of human strictness. The leaves, with their organic chaos, and the sprouting plants stand against the system, reminding the viewer that nature is not merely a backdrop. It actively intervenes; it resists.

I cannot help but recall writing once: “Photography is not just the reproduction of reality. It is interpretation, and, therefore, it is a moral statement.” Here, the moral statement speaks to boundaries—of power and submission, geometry and the organic, humanity and nature. Yet the photographer skillfully avoids sentimentality. There is no call to return to nature or reject progress. On the contrary, this work is about coexistence, about confrontation that does not destroy but creates something new.

This photograph speaks to us in the way that the canvases of Mark Rothko or Donald Judd might. Their abstract fields of color are meditations on the state of being. Here, we see the same meditation, but transposed into an urban landscape. Yet, unlike their works, a narrative emerges. The leaves, the young shoots of plants, weave themselves into the story, creating the texture of time.

Photography has always been and remains an art form that balances between reality and symbolism. It invites us into a world that is simultaneously real and wholly artificial. This is its magic. We see a wall, earth, and leaves, but in truth, it is something more. These are symbols. Red is energy, ambition. Green is calm, nature. Their collision is life itself.

And so, in this simple scene, the photographer compels us to reflect. Perhaps what we perceive as order is merely a thin veil under which nature slowly and inexorably reclaims its place. Perhaps this work is not about contrasts but about harmony—harmony that we must learn to see in these seeming oppositions.

Photography never provides answers. It asks questions. It leaves us alone with ourselves, urging us to seek meaning where none seems to exist. And this is its greatest power.

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January 22, 2025

An essay composed as if by Walter Benjamin

“Fragments of Memory and the Ruins of Time”

An essay composed as if by Walter Benjamin

This photograph, in its deceptive simplicity, speaks of something greater than just an image of a wall, trees, and snow. It is a testimony to time—time that simultaneously disintegrates and restores itself. Here, we see an imprint of being, frozen in a moment yet unable to conceal the traces of its own history.

The wall is a text that we read. Its colors, cracked surface, and white patches—all are fragments of what once was whole. Now, it exists as a ruin, as evidence of loss that nevertheless remains imbued with meaning. It is the lost aura of a place that the photograph seeks to capture, transforming it into something new, into an artifact.

The trees—bare, fragile, yet persistently reaching upward—become symbols of resistance. They stand in opposition to the lifeless cold of the snow and the artificiality of the wall. They are nature, refusing to retreat despite all constraints. These branches, with their few remaining orange leaves, serve as a reminder that even amid decay and disconnection, life endures.

The snow below is a temporary veil. It conceals the ground, but not entirely. It is a reminder of the cyclical nature of time—that everything changes but always returns. The snow will turn to water, the water will seep into the earth, and everything will begin anew.

But what does the photograph do with this image? It halts motion, transforming fragments into textures, into symbols. Hidden within this act of freezing time is a unique tension. As viewers, we sense that what we face is more than mere documentary evidence. It is an image that carries within it a dialectic: between past and present, between nature and artificiality, between the passage of time and the persistence of memory.

Photography is a form of “mediated experience,” as I have discussed before. It detaches us from the direct perception of a place, replacing it with a “copy.” Yet in this detachment lies the potential for reflection. Before us is not merely a wall, nor simply trees or snow. What lies before us is their meaning. We see this as testimony to a historical process that is interrupted but not complete.

Finally, this work poses a question: What is aura in an age when everything can be reproduced? Perhaps its aura lies in the uniqueness of this very moment, this particular combination of forms and textures. We view it not as a part of a larger context but as a completed whole. And in this way, photography—despite its reproductive nature—becomes art.

This photograph is an archive, but not in the traditional sense. It is not a repository of facts. It is a repository of emotions, history, and struggle. It reminds us of time we have lost, yet which continues to exist in remnants and fragments. Perhaps its greatest power lies in compelling us to reflect on our own position in time—on how we relate to this world of fragments and ruins.

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December 20, 2024

Quantum Project



















The presented artwork is part of the series “Quantum Project,” which combines the artist’s meticulous technique and conceptual depth. The painting, created entirely with a No. 2 brush, draws inspiration from the intricate beauty of Roman micro-mosaics. Each brushstroke becomes a fragment of a greater whole, forming a cohesive image with a tactile, mosaic-like texture.

The artist has meticulously developed a custom palette, based on the principles of index color. This approach allows the artwork to achieve a harmonious balance of hues and a systematic structure, reminiscent of digital pixelation yet maintaining the organic essence of traditional painting. The deliberate selection and application of color transform each element into a symbol of precision, suggesting the interconnectivity of the micro and macro.

“Quantum Painting,” as a technique, bridges the worlds of science and art. The title “Quantum Project” encapsulates the conceptual underpinning of this series. Each painting reflects the complexity of quantum processes, where order and chaos coexist, and the smallest particles form the fabric of the universe. This innovative approach encourages viewers to delve into the relationship between structure, randomness, and perception.

The series invites contemplation of time and space, offering a meditative experience akin to observing the infinite detail in nature or the cosmos. It is a celebration of the intricate and the monumental, achieved through the smallest gestures of the brush, echoing the timeless traditions of ancient mosaic craftsmanship while pushing the boundaries of contemporary art.

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December 19, 2024

Architecture and Astronomy- “Archipelago of Utopias”

Architecture and Astronomy
At the exhibition “Archipelago of Utopias”, which can still be visited today and tomorrow at the KultProekt gallery, there is an intriguing example of architectural painting inspired by architectural installations. Maxim Ksuta’s painting “Orion Observatory” stands as an independent piece of art while simultaneously drawing connections to the work of one of the pioneers of land art—a name that seems relatively unknown in our country. Thanks to the artist for the detailed story about his source of inspiration and for creating a meditative painting that reconstructs architecture connected to the cosmos while convincingly conveying the essence of its materials and environment.

Maxim Ksuta:
“I created this piece under the influence of projects by Hannsjörg Voth—a renowned German artist and sculptor, born in 1940 in Baden-Baden. Voth gained fame for his monumental land art projects, which blend elements of architecture, sculpture, and symbolism. In his works, Voth seeks to bridge human culture with nature, often exploring themes of time, space, and the cosmos.

In the 1960s and 1970s, Voth actively investigated ways to integrate art into public spaces, creating installations that responded to questions about humanity’s place in the world and its interaction with the surrounding environment. However, his true fame came with projects located in remote and harsh settings, such as the deserts of Morocco, where he worked with natural materials like clay and sand.

One of Voth’s most famous projects is the “City of Orion” (1998–2003), located in the vast deserts of Morocco. In this work, Voth united his interests in astronomy, ancient cultures, and large-scale architectural forms. His aim was not merely to construct sculptural objects but to create structures that interact with nature and cosmic phenomena, such as the movement of stars. The City of Orion project reflects the Orion constellation through towers precisely positioned to mirror the stars’ placement in the sky.

City of Orion (1998–2003):
The seven primary stars of Orion—Rigel, Saiph, the three “belt stars” Mintaka, Alnitak, and Alnilam, as well as Bellatrix and Betelgeuse—are most prominently visible worldwide during winter months due to their location on the celestial equator. The concept of the project was to represent these seven stars on Earth with the same number of observation towers made from compacted clay. Each tower symbolizes one of the seven stars, and their arrangement within the complex (approximately 40 x 100 meters) corresponds to the constellation’s layout. The towers’ dimensions (ranging from 6 to 15 meters in height, width, and depth) reflect the stars’ brightness and size.

In the upper third of each tower, observation platforms were constructed, accessible via external staircases. Narrow openings in the towers’ walls, carefully calculated for their height, width, and orientation, allow for the observation of specific stars and constellations at certain times. The Orion Nebula (M42)—a star-forming region surrounded by vast clouds of gas—is represented in the complex by a fountain, marking the grouping of stars known as Orion’s “sword.” Seven smaller stars forming parts of Orion, such as its “head,” are also represented by additional compacted-earth towers.

The City of Orion was located in southeastern Morocco. Guided tours, lasting about 90 minutes at specific times, led visitors through all the towers, allowing them to observe the stars in sequence. While the seven large towers serve as astronomical structures illustrating the movement of specific celestial bodies through their positioning and orientation, the artist’s primary intent was to depict the Orion constellation in three dimensions as a large-scale sculpture on Earth.*

▪︎ Orion Observatory. Maxim Ksuta. Canvas, oil. 100 x 100 cm.

https://t.me/archigraphicarts/1270

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