Sid Iandovka

Made from surviving early 1990s 'hi8' videotape of "schwimmen," a teenage industrial/noise band from the (then-Soviet) city of Novosibirsk, and comprising footage shot entirely within and/or from the seventh-floor apartment where they lived and worked communally, "phenomenon" radiates a sense of cinematic immediacy, capturing the lost world of immanence of being and ultimately tapping into vital, uncertain energy of the ephemeral “paranormal” space - both historical and metaphorical - where the only metaphor is optical. The camera pans along frozen squares and zooms into details of the immediate surroundings - innocently reinventing tropes from video-art of the preceding two decades: the unit of “what happens” not an event, but an experience, as it falls oblivion together with the anonymous dreaming collective to which it occurred.

The birth of a new era in the first years of perestroika with its enthusiasm for clairvoyance and the dying practice of shooting on film are both contained within a single minute of screen time, during which a mnemonist ‘recalls’ an infinitely large number displayed on a board behind him.

A random seventies newsreel from the artists’ hometown in Soviet Siberia forms the substratum for a relentless exploration of representational and narrative strategies: without ever collapsing into a ‘story’ or abstraction, the film recants the relationship between analogue and digital, surface and reference, sense and experience, past and present. –Thomas Zummer

Six minutes of dancing and trances, a spontaneous orgiastic performance slowed down and drowned in digital effects and overlays. The music heard off screen is written by Sid Iandovka and is as rhythmic as it is viscous. The movements of bodies and costumes hint at both playful carnivals and mysterious rituals.

By intertwining different visual layers, the artists introduce pluralities in processing sensory information. They engage in new forms of visualisation in the configuration of possible worlds. With escape goat they want the work to create itself 'on its own terms': unsteady and strange, untethered to familiar orders of mediated perception.

“The surface of a thing is not part of it. Thus the surface of water does not form part of the water, nor does it consequently form part of the atmosphere. Then what divides water from air?” To Leonardo da Vinci’s question, the poet Daniil Charms answered: "The water is like a wheel."

Made from surviving early 1990s 'hi8' videotape of "schwimmen," a teenage industrial/noise band from the (then-Soviet) city of Novosibirsk, and comprising footage shot entirely within and/or from the seventh-floor apartment where they lived and worked communally, "phenomenon" radiates a sense of cinematic immediacy, capturing the lost world of immanence of being and ultimately tapping into vital, uncertain energy of the ephemeral “paranormal” space - both historical and metaphorical - where the only metaphor is optical. The camera pans along frozen squares and zooms into details of the immediate surroundings - innocently reinventing tropes from video-art of the preceding two decades: the unit of “what happens” not an event, but an experience, as it falls oblivion together with the anonymous dreaming collective to which it occurred.

The birth of a new era in the first years of perestroika with its enthusiasm for clairvoyance and the dying practice of shooting on film are both contained within a single minute of screen time, during which a mnemonist ‘recalls’ an infinitely large number displayed on a board behind him.

A random seventies newsreel from the artists’ hometown in Soviet Siberia forms the substratum for a relentless exploration of representational and narrative strategies: without ever collapsing into a ‘story’ or abstraction, the film recants the relationship between analogue and digital, surface and reference, sense and experience, past and present. –Thomas Zummer

Six minutes of dancing and trances, a spontaneous orgiastic performance slowed down and drowned in digital effects and overlays. The music heard off screen is written by Sid Iandovka and is as rhythmic as it is viscous. The movements of bodies and costumes hint at both playful carnivals and mysterious rituals.

By intertwining different visual layers, the artists introduce pluralities in processing sensory information. They engage in new forms of visualisation in the configuration of possible worlds. With escape goat they want the work to create itself 'on its own terms': unsteady and strange, untethered to familiar orders of mediated perception.

“The surface of a thing is not part of it. Thus the surface of water does not form part of the water, nor does it consequently form part of the atmosphere. Then what divides water from air?” To Leonardo da Vinci’s question, the poet Daniil Charms answered: "The water is like a wheel."

Computer sounds and programmed movements erase the boundary between document and fiction. A constructed, almost magical environment is superimposed onto everyday images, imbuing them with an elusive sense of the otherworldly. Mysteries exists in murky dialogue with Signal to Noise, whose subjects appear here ten years later.

The most recent work presented in the retrospective, assembled primarily from the directors’ own archives and depicting Novosibirsk’s music scene of the 1990s. A fragmented form and shifting rhythm characterise the visual element of the film as well as its auditory dimension. Guitar noise dissolves into hauntological film loops and indistinct speech merges with fragments of radio and television broadcasts.

jason from the lake is an imaginary, nomadic electro-industrial band that has existed forever, yet debuted live in 2024 at the legendary Bad Bonn Kilbi Festival. Emerging from the Siberian experimental noise scene of the 90s, their performances weave dense electro soundscapes with visuals, creating immersive night rituals, haunting collages and visceral audiovisual experiences that bridge memory and technology.

jason from the lake is an imaginary, nomadic electro-industrial band that has existed forever, yet debuted live in 2024 at the legendary Bad Bonn Kilbi Festival. Emerging from the Siberian experimental noise scene of the 90s, their performances weave dense electro soundscapes with visuals, creating immersive night rituals, haunting collages and visceral audiovisual experiences that bridge memory and technology.

Video work from collaborative exhibition "once in a hundred years" at Kunsthalle Friart Fribourg and Lumiar Cité, Lisbon, featuring artists Sid Iandovka, Anya Tsyrlina, Leslie Thornton, and Thomas Zummer.

Taking as a starting point an artist's own paintings, long lost, and recasting what a work can be with interventions of digital post-cinematic processes, a minor piece of damage explores the space between the vanished place of referential origin and its re-presentation as a cinematic 'artefact'.

The Lumières’ classic was shot in three takes. Statistically, over a working life, each worker leaves the factory some 9,000 times.

Perhaps the spiritual prequel to Live the Life You LOVE, Peter the Wolf is one of the earliest extant video works by Iandovka & Tsyrlina. Featuring footage shot during a spontaneous trip to the first Detroit Electronic Music Festival in 2000, the filmmakers’ voyeuristic camerawork drinks in the scene, alternating between close-ups and wide shots of unaware partygoers and police monitoring the proceedings. Besides the obvious differences between the two works — the Y2K-era ravewear and the absence of phones — Peter the Wolf utilizes music to similarly displace the visuals from mere reportage. In this case, the video’s 8-bit soundtrack was recorded from a group jam session on hacked Nintendos. The gaiety and nostalgia in our contemporary viewing of this dawn-of-the-millennium happening is tempered by the suggestion of surveillance in the camera’s perspective, induced more explicitly by the brief shot of satellite dishes and radio aerials in the film’s final seconds.

Blurry figures multiply in the darkness, an otherworldly light breaks through melting textures, a monkey stares intently at something outside the frame, and disturbing landscapes are buried in digital noise. Yeah might be the most ominous work in the retrospective.