Main Collection

Acquired from Anton Kozlov

Acquired from a private collection

Acquired from Paruir Davtyan

A key figure of Moscow Conceptualism, Ilya Kabakov worked for many years as a children’s book illustrator. Having begun his career as an illustrator while still a student at the Surikov Art Institute, he collaborated with the publishing houses Detgiz (renamed Children’s Literature in 1963) and Malysh and the magazines Murzilka and Veselye Kartinki (Merry Pictures). The work on children’s books provided him—as for other unofficial artists—with a stable income, while also offering a space of relative freedom for formal experimentation and access to a very young audience.
For some artists, working with books was interesting and attractive, as in the case of Viktor Pivovarov; for others, such as Erik Bulatov and Oleg Vassiliev, it was tedious but demanded a conscientious approach; and for some it provoked outright aversion. Ilya Kabakov noted: “I did not like making illustrations, it did not come easily to me… I believed that I had to act slyly, to adapt myself as if the work had been done by a character—a typical Soviet artist who draws and produces exactly what is expected by the publishing house.” This detachment and the desire to deconstruct the figure of the author informed the artist’s stylistic choices. While in his conceptual albums Kabakov turned to the Soviet bureaucratic visual language of schedules, notice boards, and posters, in book illustration he mimicked the standardized “Detgiz style,” combining the artistic solutions of recognized, editorially approved masters such as Vladimir Konashevich or Boris Dekhterev. “The most paradoxical thing about this approved Soviet canon was that it revived exactly the style, form, and subject matter of the ‘children’s room’ which had been abolished by the spirit of the revolution. Illustration was dominated by a nineteenth‑century spirit, with its ‘realistic,’ nearly naturalistic manner of depiction,” Kabakov later recalled.
As for underground artists, collaboration with children’s publishing houses was a necessary step for Soviet writers. While the avant‑garde poetry of Genrikh Sapgir circulated in the USSR only in samizdat form until the late 1980s, his children’s books began to be published in the early 1960s, some of them illustrated by friends from the unofficial circle, including Ilya Kabakov. In Four Envelopes (Children’s Literature, 1976), Kabakov combined the realistic manner of Konashevich‑style fine hatching with a virtuoso play of horizontals and verticals. Here, lines form picture frames adorned with intertwining ornamental stems, banners for titles, and film‑strip frames for the drawings, in each case creating unique relationships between word and image. The text itself acquires a visual dimension: rendered in an artistic typeface, it gains volume and becomes enlivened with dynamic hatching and ornament. At times, verbal fragments turn into abstracted graphemes—such as the floating Fi, Fu, Nu, Vo—recalling artistic devices employed by Kabakov in his conceptual albums and paintings.

A key figure of Moscow Conceptualism, Ilya Kabakov worked for many years as a children’s book illustrator. Having begun his career as an illustrator while still a student at the Surikov Art Institute, he collaborated with the publishing houses Detgiz (renamed Children’s Literature in 1963) and Malysh and the magazines Murzilka and Veselye Kartinki (Merry Pictures). The work on children’s books provided him—as for other unofficial artists—with a stable income, while also offering a space of relative freedom for formal experimentation and access to a very young audience.
For some artists, working with books was interesting and attractive, as in the case of Viktor Pivovarov; for others, such as Erik Bulatov and Oleg Vassiliev, it was tedious but demanded a conscientious approach; and for some it provoked outright aversion. Ilya Kabakov noted: “I did not like making illustrations, it did not come easily to me… I believed that I had to act slyly, to adapt myself as if the work had been done by a character—a typical Soviet artist who draws and produces exactly what is expected by the publishing house.” This detachment and the desire to deconstruct the figure of the author informed the artist’s stylistic choices. While in his conceptual albums Kabakov turned to the Soviet bureaucratic visual language of schedules, notice boards, and posters, in book illustration he mimicked the standardized “Detgiz style,” combining the artistic solutions of recognized, editorially approved masters such as Vladimir Konashevich or Boris Dekhterev. “The most paradoxical thing about this approved Soviet canon was that it revived exactly the style, form, and subject matter of the ‘children’s room’ which had been abolished by the spirit of the revolution. Illustration was dominated by a nineteenth‑century spirit, with its ‘realistic,’ nearly naturalistic manner of depiction,” Kabakov later recalled.
As for underground artists, collaboration with children’s publishing houses was a necessary step for Soviet writers. While the avant‑garde poetry of Genrikh Sapgir circulated in the USSR only in samizdat form until the late 1980s, his children’s books began to be published in the early 1960s, some of them illustrated by friends from the unofficial circle, including Ilya Kabakov. In Four Envelopes (Children’s Literature, 1976), Kabakov combined the realistic manner of Konashevich‑style fine hatching with a virtuoso play of horizontals and verticals. Here, lines form picture frames adorned with intertwining ornamental stems, banners for titles, and film‑strip frames for the drawings, in each case creating unique relationships between word and image. The text itself acquires a visual dimension: rendered in an artistic typeface, it gains volume and becomes enlivened with dynamic hatching and ornament. At times, verbal fragments turn into abstracted graphemes—such as the floating Fi, Fu, Nu, Vo—recalling artistic devices employed by Kabakov in his conceptual albums and paintings.

Football. Fi, Fu, Nu, Vo. Sketch for an Illustration for Genrikh Sapgir’s poetry collection Four Envelopes

A key figure of Moscow Conceptualism, Ilya Kabakov worked for many years as a children’s book illustrator. Having begun his career as an illustrator while still a student at the Surikov Art Institute, he collaborated with the publishing houses Detgiz (renamed Children’s Literature in 1963) and Malysh and the magazines Murzilka and Veselye Kartinki (Merry Pictures). The work on children’s books provided him—as for other unofficial artists—with a stable income, while also offering a space of relative freedom for formal experimentation and access to a very young audience.
For some artists, working with books was interesting and attractive, as in the case of Viktor Pivovarov; for others, such as Erik Bulatov and Oleg Vassiliev, it was tedious but demanded a conscientious approach; and for some it provoked outright aversion. Ilya Kabakov noted: “I did not like making illustrations, it did not come easily to me… I believed that I had to act slyly, to adapt myself as if the work had been done by a character—a typical Soviet artist who draws and produces exactly what is expected by the publishing house.” This detachment and the desire to deconstruct the figure of the author informed the artist’s stylistic choices. While in his conceptual albums Kabakov turned to the Soviet bureaucratic visual language of schedules, notice boards, and posters, in book illustration he mimicked the standardized “Detgiz style,” combining the artistic solutions of recognized, editorially approved masters such as Vladimir Konashevich or Boris Dekhterev. “The most paradoxical thing about this approved Soviet canon was that it revived exactly the style, form, and subject matter of the ‘children’s room’ which had been abolished by the spirit of the revolution. Illustration was dominated by a nineteenth‑century spirit, with its ‘realistic,’ nearly naturalistic manner of depiction,” Kabakov later recalled.
As for underground artists, collaboration with children’s publishing houses was a necessary step for Soviet writers. While the avant‑garde poetry of Genrikh Sapgir circulated in the USSR only in samizdat form until the late 1980s, his children’s books began to be published in the early 1960s, some of them illustrated by friends from the unofficial circle, including Ilya Kabakov. In Four Envelopes (Children’s Literature, 1976), Kabakov combined the realistic manner of Konashevich‑style fine hatching with a virtuoso play of horizontals and verticals. Here, lines form picture frames adorned with intertwining ornamental stems, banners for titles, and film‑strip frames for the drawings, in each case creating unique relationships between word and image. Often spatially separated, they nevertheless continuously “appropriate” features from one another. The illustrations resemble rapid text messages, while the text acquires a visual dimension through typography: notably, even the page number is designed as a drawing.

A key figure of Moscow Conceptualism, Ilya Kabakov worked for many years as a children’s book illustrator. Having begun his career as an illustrator while still a student at the Surikov Art Institute, he collaborated with the publishing houses Detgiz (renamed Children’s Literature in 1963) and Malysh and the magazines Murzilka and Veselye Kartinki (Merry Pictures). The work on children’s books provided him—as for other unofficial artists—with a stable income, while also offering a space of relative freedom for formal experimentation and access to a very young audience.
For some artists, working with books was interesting and attractive, as in the case of Viktor Pivovarov; for others, such as Erik Bulatov and Oleg Vassiliev, it was tedious but demanded a conscientious approach; and for some it provoked outright aversion. Ilya Kabakov noted: “I did not like making illustrations, it did not come easily to me… I believed that I had to act slyly, to adapt myself as if the work had been done by a character—a typical Soviet artist who draws and produces exactly what is expected by the publishing house.” This detachment and the desire to deconstruct the figure of the author informed the artist’s stylistic choices. While in his conceptual albums Kabakov turned to the Soviet bureaucratic visual language of schedules, notice boards, and posters, in book illustration he mimicked the standardized “Detgiz style,” combining the artistic solutions of recognized, editorially approved masters such as Vladimir Konashevich or Boris Dekhterev. “The most paradoxical thing about this approved Soviet canon was that it revived exactly the style, form, and subject matter of the ‘children’s room’ which had been abolished by the spirit of the revolution. Illustration was dominated by a nineteenth‑century spirit, with its ‘realistic,’ nearly naturalistic manner of depiction,” Kabakov later recalled.
As for underground artists, collaboration with children’s publishing houses was a necessary step for Soviet writers. While the avant‑garde poetry of Genrikh Sapgir circulated in the USSR only in samizdat form until the late 1980s, his children’s books began to be published in the early 1960s, some of them illustrated by friends from the unofficial circle, including Ilya Kabakov. In Four Envelopes (Children’s Literature, 1976), Kabakov combined the realistic manner of Konashevich‑style fine hatching with a virtuoso play of horizontals and verticals. Here, lines form picture frames adorned with intertwining ornamental stems, banners for titles, and film‑strip frames for the drawings, in each case creating unique relationships between word and image. Often spatially separated, they nevertheless continuously “appropriate” features from one another. The illustrations resemble rapid text messages, while the text acquires a visual dimension through typography: notably, even the page number is designed as a drawing.

Counting Rhymes. Tongue Twisters. Sketch for an Illustration for Genrikh Sapgir’s poetry collection Four Envelopes

A key figure of Moscow Conceptualism, Ilya Kabakov worked for many years as a children’s book illustrator. Having begun his career as an illustrator while still a student at the Surikov Art Institute, he collaborated with the publishing houses Detgiz (renamed Children’s Literature in 1963) and Malysh and the magazines Murzilka and Veselye Kartinki (Merry Pictures). The work on children’s books provided him—as for other unofficial artists—with a stable income, while also offering a space of relative freedom for formal experimentation and access to a very young audience.
For some artists, working with books was interesting and attractive, as in the case of Viktor Pivovarov; for others, such as Erik Bulatov and Oleg Vassiliev, it was tedious but demanded a conscientious approach; and for some it provoked outright aversion. Ilya Kabakov noted: “I did not like making illustrations, it did not come easily to me… I believed that I had to act slyly, to adapt myself as if the work had been done by a character—a typical Soviet artist who draws and produces exactly what is expected by the publishing house.” This detachment and the desire to deconstruct the figure of the author informed the artist’s stylistic choices. While in his conceptual albums Kabakov turned to the Soviet bureaucratic visual language of schedules, notice boards, and posters, in book illustration he mimicked the standardized “Detgiz style,” combining the artistic solutions of recognized, editorially approved masters such as Vladimir Konashevich or Boris Dekhterev. “The most paradoxical thing about this approved Soviet canon was that it revived exactly the style, form, and subject matter of the ‘children’s room’ which had been abolished by the spirit of the revolution. Illustration was dominated by a nineteenth‑century spirit, with its ‘realistic,’ nearly naturalistic manner of depiction,” Kabakov later recalled.
As for underground artists, collaboration with children’s publishing houses was a necessary step for Soviet writers. While the avant‑garde poetry of Genrikh Sapgir circulated in the USSR only in samizdat form until the late 1980s, his children’s books began to be published in the early 1960s, some of them illustrated by friends from the unofficial circle, including Ilya Kabakov. In Four Envelopes (Children’s Literature, 1976), Kabakov combined the realistic manner of Konashevich‑style fine hatching with a virtuoso play of horizontals and verticals. Here, lines form picture frames adorned with intertwining ornamental stems, banners for titles, and film‑strip frames for the drawings, in each case creating unique relationships between word and image. In Crocodile and Rooster, for example, the image balances between two spatial states: as a background overlapped by a block of text, and as a complex ornamental frame surrounding it. The characters are divided by a vertical line, beyond which the Rooster’s head slightly protrudes. By breaking through the boundaries drawn by the artist’s hand, they enter into dialogue and, as the poem says, “Having exchanged such words, / they exchanged their heads.”

A key figure of Moscow Conceptualism, Ilya Kabakov worked for many years as a children’s book illustrator. Having begun his career as an illustrator while still a student at the Surikov Art Institute, he collaborated with the publishing houses Detgiz (renamed Children’s Literature in 1963) and Malysh and the magazines Murzilka and Veselye Kartinki (Merry Pictures). The work on children’s books provided him—as for other unofficial artists—with a stable income, while also offering a space of relative freedom for formal experimentation and access to a very young audience.
For some artists, working with books was interesting and attractive, as in the case of Viktor Pivovarov; for others, such as Erik Bulatov and Oleg Vassiliev, it was tedious but demanded a conscientious approach; and for some it provoked outright aversion. Ilya Kabakov noted: “I did not like making illustrations, it did not come easily to me… I believed that I had to act slyly, to adapt myself as if the work had been done by a character—a typical Soviet artist who draws and produces exactly what is expected by the publishing house.” This detachment and the desire to deconstruct the figure of the author informed the artist’s stylistic choices. While in his conceptual albums Kabakov turned to the Soviet bureaucratic visual language of schedules, notice boards, and posters, in book illustration he mimicked the standardized “Detgiz style,” combining the artistic solutions of recognized, editorially approved masters such as Vladimir Konashevich or Boris Dekhterev. “The most paradoxical thing about this approved Soviet canon was that it revived exactly the style, form, and subject matter of the ‘children’s room’ which had been abolished by the spirit of the revolution. Illustration was dominated by a nineteenth‑century spirit, with its ‘realistic,’ nearly naturalistic manner of depiction,” Kabakov later recalled.
As for underground artists, collaboration with children’s publishing houses was a necessary step for Soviet writers. While the avant‑garde poetry of Genrikh Sapgir circulated in the USSR only in samizdat form until the late 1980s, his children’s books began to be published in the early 1960s, some of them illustrated by friends from the unofficial circle, including Ilya Kabakov. In Four Envelopes (Children’s Literature, 1976), Kabakov combined the realistic manner of Konashevich‑style fine hatching with a virtuoso play of horizontals and verticals. Here, lines form picture frames adorned with intertwining ornamental stems, banners for titles, and film‑strip frames for the drawings, in each case creating unique relationships between word and image. In Crocodile and Rooster, for example, the image balances between two spatial states: as a background overlapped by a block of text, and as a complex ornamental frame surrounding it. The characters are divided by a vertical line, beyond which the Rooster’s head slightly protrudes. By breaking through the boundaries drawn by the artist’s hand, they enter into dialogue and, as the poem says, “Having exchanged such words, / they exchanged their heads.”

Crocodile and Rooster. Sketch for an illustration for Genrikh Sapgir’s poetry collection Four Envelopes

A leading figure and co‑founder of Moscow Conceptualism Ilya Kabakov worked for many years as an illustrator, collaborating with the publishing houses Detgiz (renamed Children’s Literature in 1963) and Malysh, as well as the magazines Murzilka and Veselye Kartinki (Merry Pictures). Forced to become an illustrator, Kabakov regarded his occupation with indifference: creating drawings on behalf of a character—a typical Soviet artist—he combined solutions approved by publishing editors with canonical design techniques. An important reference point for Kabakov was Vladimir Konashevich, about whom he wrote: “I was significantly influenced by the work of the ‘father of illustration,’ Vladimir Konashevich—a remarkable artist of the 1920s and 1930s, a member of the World of Art group who continued working into the 1950s. He created a style of sentimental drawing for children… When a situation arose at the publishing house and something urgently needed to be done in connection with Konashevich’s illustrations, they might call me and offer me the job.” That is precisely what happened with Korney Chukovsky’s Miracle Tree and Other Tales (1970), published by Children’s Literature: the book already featured illustrations by Konashevich, while the cover and several small drawings were commissioned from Kabakov, which is how “teacher” and “imitator” met in the same publication. Without fully copying the original style, Kabakov preserved Konashevich’s signature manner, “stemming from World of Art, with its hatched drawing style, sentimental and cozy.”

A leading figure and co‑founder of Moscow Conceptualism Ilya Kabakov worked for many years as an illustrator, collaborating with the publishing houses Detgiz (renamed Children’s Literature in 1963) and Malysh, as well as the magazines Murzilka and Veselye Kartinki (Merry Pictures). Forced to become an illustrator, Kabakov regarded his occupation with indifference: creating drawings on behalf of a character—a typical Soviet artist—he combined solutions approved by publishing editors with canonical design techniques. An important reference point for Kabakov was Vladimir Konashevich, about whom he wrote: “I was significantly influenced by the work of the ‘father of illustration,’ Vladimir Konashevich—a remarkable artist of the 1920s and 1930s, a member of the World of Art group who continued working into the 1950s. He created a style of sentimental drawing for children… When a situation arose at the publishing house and something urgently needed to be done in connection with Konashevich’s illustrations, they might call me and offer me the job.” That is precisely what happened with Korney Chukovsky’s Miracle Tree and Other Tales (1970), published by Children’s Literature: the book already featured illustrations by Konashevich, while the cover and several small drawings were commissioned from Kabakov, which is how “teacher” and “imitator” met in the same publication. Without fully copying the original style, Kabakov preserved Konashevich’s signature manner, “stemming from World of Art, with its hatched drawing style, sentimental and cozy.”

Riddle-Answer Drawings. Illustrations for Korney Chukovsky’s book Miracle Tree and Other Tales

Drawings: 5.6 × 5.1 cm, 6.2 × 4.6 cm, 6.7 × 6.2 cm, 5.4 × 4.8 cm, 5.2 × 5.8 cm; passe-partout: 21 × 15 cm

В жизни московского концептуалиста Виктора Пивоварова тесно переплетались неофициальное искусство и детская книжная иллюстрация. Выработанные в издательствах приемы становились частью концептуальных экспериментов художника и, наоборот, черты неофициального искусства появлялись на страницах детских книг. Символично, что художник часто соединял разные измерения в живописи и графике. В многослойных композициях Пивоварова мир переворачивается с ног на голову: фон и фигура меняются местами, в невесомости парят окна, внутри очертаний предметов разворачиваются целые сценки.

В жизни московского концептуалиста Виктора Пивоварова тесно переплетались неофициальное искусство и детская книжная иллюстрация. Выработанные в издательствах приемы становились частью концептуальных экспериментов художника и, наоборот, черты неофициального искусства появлялись на страницах детских книг. Символично, что художник часто соединял разные измерения в живописи и графике. В многослойных композициях Пивоварова мир переворачивается с ног на голову: фон и фигура меняются местами, в невесомости парят окна, внутри очертаний предметов разворачиваются целые сценки.

Untitled

Like many Soviet unofficial artists, Irina Nakhova worked as a book illustrator. Her mother was an editor at the Detgiz publishing house, which played an important role in Irina’s professional development, from meeting other authors to receiving commissions. She recalls: “One day, my mother was invited to Viktor Pivovarov’s studio and took me along. At the age of 14 I was introduced to a living artist and saw real paintings for the first time. We became friends… Mom helped me get my first book commission back when I was still a first‑year student at the Moscow Printing Institute.” Even though as an illustrator earning money was paramount, Nakhova’s work with books left its mark on her artistic practice. According to art historian Barbara Wally, “the most important result of illustrating books for her own art (beyond combining text and image) was to keep the viewer constantly in mind and to involve him or her in the creative process.”

Nakhova’s illustrations for Pavel Bazhenov’s fairy tale Silver Hoof, published by Detgiz, in many ways echo her paintings and works on paper of the 1970s. These works—for example, General’s Funeral (1970) or The Mountain and the Sea (1974)—are notable for their muted colors and composition techniques informed by surrealist aesthetics. However, the artist adapted her language for children’s books. Here, the color palette is based on the shades of malachite, chrysolite, and other minerals important to Bazhov's fairytale world. Abstract plant patterns evoke the structure of rock, and instead of surreal figures, the landscapes are filled with images of animals and people.

Like many Soviet unofficial artists, Irina Nakhova worked as a book illustrator. Her mother was an editor at the Detgiz publishing house, which played an important role in Irina’s professional development, from meeting other authors to receiving commissions. She recalls: “One day, my mother was invited to Viktor Pivovarov’s studio and took me along. At the age of 14 I was introduced to a living artist and saw real paintings for the first time. We became friends… Mom helped me get my first book commission back when I was still a first‑year student at the Moscow Printing Institute.” Even though as an illustrator earning money was paramount, Nakhova’s work with books left its mark on her artistic practice. According to art historian Barbara Wally, “the most important result of illustrating books for her own art (beyond combining text and image) was to keep the viewer constantly in mind and to involve him or her in the creative process.”

Nakhova’s illustrations for Pavel Bazhenov’s fairy tale Silver Hoof, published by Detgiz, in many ways echo her paintings and works on paper of the 1970s. These works—for example, General’s Funeral (1970) or The Mountain and the Sea (1974)—are notable for their muted colors and composition techniques informed by surrealist aesthetics. However, the artist adapted her language for children’s books. Here, the color palette is based on the shades of malachite, chrysolite, and other minerals important to Bazhov's fairytale world. Abstract plant patterns evoke the structure of rock, and instead of surreal figures, the landscapes are filled with images of animals and people.

Illustration for the fairy-tale Silver Hoof by Pavel Bazhov

4 drawings, 28,5 × 20 cm each; 8 drawings, 28 × 40 cm each

Римма и Валерий Герловины — ключевые фигуры московской художественной сцены 1970‑х годов и одни из пионеров концептуального искусства в СССР. С 1972 года они создают совместные работы, в которых лингвистическая игра переплетается с философской рефлексией. Их произведения — от авторских книг и визуально‑поэтических «концептов» до инсталляций и перформансов (знаменитых «Костюмов» или «Зоо — Homo Sapiens», 1977) — отличает особая «кодированная простота», как они сами называют свой художественный язык: лаконичный, но многозначный, ироничный, но не сатирический, аналитический, но не рационалистический.
В коллекцию Музея «Гараж» входит ранняя работа, созданная в Москве незадолго до эмиграции художников в США в 1979 году. На листе бумаги представлено схематическое изображение коробки с надписью: «В этом герметическом футляре содержится мысль: „Сегодня час с 13.00 до 14.00 был короче часа с 14.00 до 15.00“». Над чертежом размещен машинописный комментарий с уточнением: «Консервация произведена 27.I.I978 г. Риммой и Валерием Герловиными».
С середины 1970‑х годов Герловины разрабатывают практику «консервации» — не столько как метод сохранения объектов, сколько как художественную стратегию фиксации нематериального: мыслей, ощущений, парадоксов восприятия. Художники собирали или создавали объекты, демонстрируя их в застекленных витринах, коробках и пробирках как музейные экспонаты. Однако в концепте «В этом герметическом футляре…» предметом консервации становится не вещь, а мысль. Этот подход тесно связан с их знаменитыми «кубиками» — портативными концептуальными объектами, появившимися в 1974 году. Первоначально они возникли из визуальных экспериментов с машинописным текстом, организованным в геометрические структуры; позже они обрели форму малых картонных кубов с надписями снаружи и внутри, часто содержащих миниатюрные деревянные кубики с концептуальными вердиктами. Как писали сами художники, «в них эзопова капля постепенно точит сизифов камень». 
Графический лист «В этом герметическом футляре…» продолжает эту линию: мысль о субъективной длительности времени — о том, что один час может быть «короче» другого, — помещается в условную капсулу, как экспонат в музее. Пустота внутри коробки — не отсутствие, а сосредоточение внимания на самом акте мышления. В этом смысле работа становится визуальной метафорой относительности восприятия, указывая на условность привычных координат бытия.

Римма и Валерий Герловины — ключевые фигуры московской художественной сцены 1970‑х годов и одни из пионеров концептуального искусства в СССР. С 1972 года они создают совместные работы, в которых лингвистическая игра переплетается с философской рефлексией. Их произведения — от авторских книг и визуально‑поэтических «концептов» до инсталляций и перформансов (знаменитых «Костюмов» или «Зоо — Homo Sapiens», 1977) — отличает особая «кодированная простота», как они сами называют свой художественный язык: лаконичный, но многозначный, ироничный, но не сатирический, аналитический, но не рационалистический.
В коллекцию Музея «Гараж» входит ранняя работа, созданная в Москве незадолго до эмиграции художников в США в 1979 году. На листе бумаги представлено схематическое изображение коробки с надписью: «В этом герметическом футляре содержится мысль: „Сегодня час с 13.00 до 14.00 был короче часа с 14.00 до 15.00“». Над чертежом размещен машинописный комментарий с уточнением: «Консервация произведена 27.I.I978 г. Риммой и Валерием Герловиными».
С середины 1970‑х годов Герловины разрабатывают практику «консервации» — не столько как метод сохранения объектов, сколько как художественную стратегию фиксации нематериального: мыслей, ощущений, парадоксов восприятия. Художники собирали или создавали объекты, демонстрируя их в застекленных витринах, коробках и пробирках как музейные экспонаты. Однако в концепте «В этом герметическом футляре…» предметом консервации становится не вещь, а мысль. Этот подход тесно связан с их знаменитыми «кубиками» — портативными концептуальными объектами, появившимися в 1974 году. Первоначально они возникли из визуальных экспериментов с машинописным текстом, организованным в геометрические структуры; позже они обрели форму малых картонных кубов с надписями снаружи и внутри, часто содержащих миниатюрные деревянные кубики с концептуальными вердиктами. Как писали сами художники, «в них эзопова капля постепенно точит сизифов камень». 
Графический лист «В этом герметическом футляре…» продолжает эту линию: мысль о субъективной длительности времени — о том, что один час может быть «короче» другого, — помещается в условную капсулу, как экспонат в музее. Пустота внутри коробки — не отсутствие, а сосредоточение внимания на самом акте мышления. В этом смысле работа становится визуальной метафорой относительности восприятия, указывая на условность привычных координат бытия.

В этом герметическом футляре содержится мысль

A key figure of Moscow Conceptualism, Ilya Kabakov worked for many years as a children’s book illustrator. Having begun his career as an illustrator while still a student at the Surikov Art Institute, he collaborated with the publishing houses Detgiz (renamed Children’s Literature in 1963) and Malysh and the magazines Murzilka and Veselye Kartinki (Merry Pictures). The work on children’s books provided him—as for other unofficial artists—with a stable income, while also offering a space of relative freedom for formal experimentation and access to a very young audience.
For some artists, working with books was interesting and attractive, as in the case of Viktor Pivovarov; for others, such as Erik Bulatov and Oleg Vassiliev, it was tedious but demanded a conscientious approach; and for some it provoked outright aversion. Ilya Kabakov noted: “I did not like making illustrations, it did not come easily to me… I believed that I had to act slyly, to adapt myself as if the work had been done by a character—a typical Soviet artist who draws and produces exactly what is expected by the publishing house.” This detachment and the desire to deconstruct the figure of the author informed the artist’s stylistic choices. While in his conceptual albums Kabakov turned to the Soviet bureaucratic visual language of schedules, notice boards, and posters, in book illustration he mimicked the standardized “Detgiz style,” combining the artistic solutions of recognized, editorially approved masters such as Vladimir Konashevich or Boris Dekhterev. “The most paradoxical thing about this approved Soviet canon was that it revived exactly the style, form, and subject matter of the ‘children’s room’ which had been abolished by the spirit of the revolution. Illustration was dominated by a nineteenth‑century spirit, with its ‘realistic,’ nearly naturalistic manner of depiction,” Kabakov later recalled.
As for underground artists, collaboration with children’s publishing houses was a necessary step for Soviet writers. While the avant‑garde poetry of Genrikh Sapgir circulated in the USSR only in samizdat form until the late 1980s, his children’s books began to be published in the early 1960s, some of them illustrated by friends from the unofficial circle, including Ilya Kabakov. In Four Envelopes (Children’s Literature, 1976), Kabakov combined the realistic manner of Konashevich‑style fine hatching with a virtuoso play of horizontals and verticals. Here, lines form picture frames adorned with intertwining ornamental stems, banners for titles, and film‑strip frames for the drawings, in each case creating unique relationships between word and image For example, the illustration for the poem Grasshopper is divided into three parts, with the image occupying a strictly allotted place, not invading the space of the text. Above them rises the title, also framed and resembling a banner. Cheerfully fluttering among the birds, the protagonist recalls the famous figures from Kabakov’s conceptual albums—those striving toward the sky, dissolving into emptiness, and flying off into space. “If only I could / put on a green jacket / and jump / into the sky — / just like that!” writes Sapgir.

A key figure of Moscow Conceptualism, Ilya Kabakov worked for many years as a children’s book illustrator. Having begun his career as an illustrator while still a student at the Surikov Art Institute, he collaborated with the publishing houses Detgiz (renamed Children’s Literature in 1963) and Malysh and the magazines Murzilka and Veselye Kartinki (Merry Pictures). The work on children’s books provided him—as for other unofficial artists—with a stable income, while also offering a space of relative freedom for formal experimentation and access to a very young audience.
For some artists, working with books was interesting and attractive, as in the case of Viktor Pivovarov; for others, such as Erik Bulatov and Oleg Vassiliev, it was tedious but demanded a conscientious approach; and for some it provoked outright aversion. Ilya Kabakov noted: “I did not like making illustrations, it did not come easily to me… I believed that I had to act slyly, to adapt myself as if the work had been done by a character—a typical Soviet artist who draws and produces exactly what is expected by the publishing house.” This detachment and the desire to deconstruct the figure of the author informed the artist’s stylistic choices. While in his conceptual albums Kabakov turned to the Soviet bureaucratic visual language of schedules, notice boards, and posters, in book illustration he mimicked the standardized “Detgiz style,” combining the artistic solutions of recognized, editorially approved masters such as Vladimir Konashevich or Boris Dekhterev. “The most paradoxical thing about this approved Soviet canon was that it revived exactly the style, form, and subject matter of the ‘children’s room’ which had been abolished by the spirit of the revolution. Illustration was dominated by a nineteenth‑century spirit, with its ‘realistic,’ nearly naturalistic manner of depiction,” Kabakov later recalled.
As for underground artists, collaboration with children’s publishing houses was a necessary step for Soviet writers. While the avant‑garde poetry of Genrikh Sapgir circulated in the USSR only in samizdat form until the late 1980s, his children’s books began to be published in the early 1960s, some of them illustrated by friends from the unofficial circle, including Ilya Kabakov. In Four Envelopes (Children’s Literature, 1976), Kabakov combined the realistic manner of Konashevich‑style fine hatching with a virtuoso play of horizontals and verticals. Here, lines form picture frames adorned with intertwining ornamental stems, banners for titles, and film‑strip frames for the drawings, in each case creating unique relationships between word and image For example, the illustration for the poem Grasshopper is divided into three parts, with the image occupying a strictly allotted place, not invading the space of the text. Above them rises the title, also framed and resembling a banner. Cheerfully fluttering among the birds, the protagonist recalls the famous figures from Kabakov’s conceptual albums—those striving toward the sky, dissolving into emptiness, and flying off into space. “If only I could / put on a green jacket / and jump / into the sky — / just like that!” writes Sapgir.

Grasshopper. Sketch for an Illustration for Genrikh Sapgir’s poetry collection Four Envelopes

A key figure of Moscow Conceptualism, Ilya Kabakov worked for many years as a children’s book illustrator. Having begun his career as an illustrator while still a student at the Surikov Art Institute, he collaborated with the publishing houses Detgiz (renamed Children’s Literature in 1963) and Malysh and the magazines Murzilka and Veselye Kartinki (Merry Pictures). The work on children’s books provided him—as for other unofficial artists—with a stable income, while also offering a space of relative freedom for formal experimentation and access to a very young audience.
For some artists, working with books was interesting and attractive, as in the case of Viktor Pivovarov; for others, such as Erik Bulatov and Oleg Vassiliev, it was tedious but demanded a conscientious approach; and for some it provoked outright aversion. Ilya Kabakov noted: “I did not like making illustrations, it did not come easily to me… I believed that I had to act slyly, to adapt myself as if the work had been done by a character—a typical Soviet artist who draws and produces exactly what is expected by the publishing house.” This detachment and the desire to deconstruct the figure of the author informed the artist’s stylistic choices. While in his conceptual albums Kabakov turned to the Soviet bureaucratic visual language of schedules, notice boards, and posters, in book illustration he mimicked the standardized “Detgiz style,” combining the artistic solutions of recognized, editorially approved masters such as Vladimir Konashevich or Boris Dekhterev. “The most paradoxical thing about this approved Soviet canon was that it revived exactly the style, form, and subject matter of the ‘children’s room’ which had been abolished by the spirit of the revolution. Illustration was dominated by a nineteenth‑century spirit, with its ‘realistic,’ nearly naturalistic manner of depiction,” Kabakov later recalled.
As for underground artists, collaboration with children’s publishing houses was a necessary step for Soviet writers. While the avant‑garde poetry of Genrikh Sapgir circulated in the USSR only in samizdat form until the late 1980s, his children’s books began to be published in the early 1960s, some of them illustrated by friends from the unofficial circle, including Ilya Kabakov. In Four Envelopes (Children’s Literature, 1976), Kabakov combined the realistic manner of Konashevich‑style fine hatching with a virtuoso play of horizontals and verticals. Here, lines form picture frames adorned with intertwining ornamental stems, banners for titles, and film‑strip frames for the drawings, in each case creating unique relationships between word and image. In Counting Rhymes, everything is distributed into cells and strictly aligned on the page, with each block of text corresponding to its visual counterpart: the image comments on the written word and vice versa. Yet small details disrupt this strict division: expressive strokes break through the boundaries, and isolated figures emerge in the white emptiness of the page, having escaped beyond the limits of the grid.

A key figure of Moscow Conceptualism, Ilya Kabakov worked for many years as a children’s book illustrator. Having begun his career as an illustrator while still a student at the Surikov Art Institute, he collaborated with the publishing houses Detgiz (renamed Children’s Literature in 1963) and Malysh and the magazines Murzilka and Veselye Kartinki (Merry Pictures). The work on children’s books provided him—as for other unofficial artists—with a stable income, while also offering a space of relative freedom for formal experimentation and access to a very young audience.
For some artists, working with books was interesting and attractive, as in the case of Viktor Pivovarov; for others, such as Erik Bulatov and Oleg Vassiliev, it was tedious but demanded a conscientious approach; and for some it provoked outright aversion. Ilya Kabakov noted: “I did not like making illustrations, it did not come easily to me… I believed that I had to act slyly, to adapt myself as if the work had been done by a character—a typical Soviet artist who draws and produces exactly what is expected by the publishing house.” This detachment and the desire to deconstruct the figure of the author informed the artist’s stylistic choices. While in his conceptual albums Kabakov turned to the Soviet bureaucratic visual language of schedules, notice boards, and posters, in book illustration he mimicked the standardized “Detgiz style,” combining the artistic solutions of recognized, editorially approved masters such as Vladimir Konashevich or Boris Dekhterev. “The most paradoxical thing about this approved Soviet canon was that it revived exactly the style, form, and subject matter of the ‘children’s room’ which had been abolished by the spirit of the revolution. Illustration was dominated by a nineteenth‑century spirit, with its ‘realistic,’ nearly naturalistic manner of depiction,” Kabakov later recalled.
As for underground artists, collaboration with children’s publishing houses was a necessary step for Soviet writers. While the avant‑garde poetry of Genrikh Sapgir circulated in the USSR only in samizdat form until the late 1980s, his children’s books began to be published in the early 1960s, some of them illustrated by friends from the unofficial circle, including Ilya Kabakov. In Four Envelopes (Children’s Literature, 1976), Kabakov combined the realistic manner of Konashevich‑style fine hatching with a virtuoso play of horizontals and verticals. Here, lines form picture frames adorned with intertwining ornamental stems, banners for titles, and film‑strip frames for the drawings, in each case creating unique relationships between word and image. In Counting Rhymes, everything is distributed into cells and strictly aligned on the page, with each block of text corresponding to its visual counterpart: the image comments on the written word and vice versa. Yet small details disrupt this strict division: expressive strokes break through the boundaries, and isolated figures emerge in the white emptiness of the page, having escaped beyond the limits of the grid.

Counting Rhymes. Sketch for an Illustration for Genrikh Sapgir’s poetry collection Four Envelopes

1. Открытый доступ

Мастер

Родилась в Москве. Живописец, график, художник книги, мастер масштабных инсталляций и энвайронментов. Окончила Московский полиграфический институт (1978). С 1978‑го — участник Клуба авангардистов (КЛАВА). В начале 1980‑х входила в круг МАНИ (Московского архива нового искусства) и художественной группы «Коллективные действия». В 2015‑м — экспонент Павильона России на 56‑й Венецианской биеннале.

Nakhova Irina

Gerlovin Valeriy

Gerlovina Rimma

Родился в Днепропетровске. Ведущий представитель московского концептуализма, создатель жанра тотальной инсталляции. Окончил отделение графики Московского государственного художественного института им. В. И. Сурикова (1951). После окончания вуза занимался иллюстрацией книг для издательств «Малыш» и «Детская литература». Со второй половины 1950‑х стал заниматься собственными художественными проектами. В 1988 году переехал в Нью‑Йорк, с 1989 года работал в соавторстве с женой Эмилией Кабаковой. Многократный участник крупных международных проектов в России и за рубежом: documenta IX (1993), Венецианской биеннале (1977 — Биеннале диссидентов; 1993 — павильон СНГ; 1988, 1997, 2001, 2003, 2007 — основной проект) и др.

Kabakov Ilya

Viktor Pivovarov was born in Moscow. He studied at Kalinin Moscow Art and Industrial College and in the Graphics Department of Moscow Printing Institute from 1957 to 1962. He took part in the Biennale of Dissent (Venice, 1977). He is a recipient of the Innovation Prize in the nomination For Contribution to the Development of Contemporary Art (2017).

Catalogue of the Collection

Sort by