Interview with Levan Choghoshvili - Iru Jorjadze

Iru: Levan, how did you survive the 1990s?

Levan: Many artists died as soon as the 1990’s started. In my case it was different, and this is why: I was set to become an artist in my child- hood - my uncles were artist, the so-called ‘non - conformist* artists: The first was Shalva Makash- vili, the famous Maro Makashvili’s** brother, who was Gigo Gabashvili’s*** student and represented the traditional school of painting. Another was Otar Andronikashvili, who was David Kakabadze’s**** student. He was a dissident and he didn’t even work as an artist anymore, but worked as an animation artist instead. Lastly, it was my aunt Clara Kves*****, a representative of modernism in my family. It was them who inspired me to become an artist. As opposed to my aunt and uncles, my father wouldn’t consider art as a profession and would always say that i’d die out of hunger. As I was from the family of scientist, everyone in my family would expect for me to become a physicist. It was fashionable to into physics. All the smart and talented people would study physics in Soviet Union. I did not earn any money as an artist. In those times, no artist earned their living with art, unless they went on a compromise with the system and their beliefs. As I would’t compromise, I lived on my brother’s and my father’s money. But, then during the 1990’s, it was me who saved the family from starvation.

The times were difficult. Many artists died during the 1990’s. I remember how one day the president of the artist union, Lezhava, came with the list of artists who died during the past 1 - 2 years of crisis. The list was never ending. And during those times I survived. I was the only person in my family who was able to work, and by work I mean literary work with their hands, create something to sell. I would sell my paintings and buy food.

Certainly, no one wanted to buy those paintings in the times when the streets were full of tanks and shootings were to be heard all the time. One part of society was hoping for the better, especially during the first years. They would go to the protests and public gatherings. Some opposed the armed forces and killings would follow. Some part of the youth would create groups which would fight in the conflict zones, some would oppose these groups. So to sell a painting in such hostile situation was nearly impossible. But this dark and chaotic city was often being visited by tourists from Europe. They would take an Icarus bus, which was popular during those times, and could go as far as Tusheti for instance. Back then, I wondered why the rich people from Switzerland would travel to a war zone to have fun. I considered such tourism unethical and im- moral. But why not, some would argue, they also travel to Yugoslavia! It was then that I discovered that Traveling through war zones was a whole new genre of tourism, It was considered to be exotic. Despite my frustration, due to such tourists I was able to make some money. It was them whom I would sell my paintings to. Most certainly, the sales wouldn’t have happen, if not the special Georgian friendship traditions. In order to travel abroad, you needed to travel to Moscow first. This is how I went to Moscow in the beginning of the 1990’s. One Russian journalist learned about my successful sales in Spain and became interested in my work. They invited me to have a solo exhibition. As I behaved the same way in Moscow, as I would in Tbilisi - as a person disobeying the terror of the USSR. Instead of selling my paintings, I got kicked out, left without paintings and unpaid. It was then, that I learned that Zurab Nizharadze******, an acclaimed artist, who happened to be my relative was having an exhibition. Zurab and his colleague Gia Djapharidze welcomed me warmly. They learned about my story and promised they would introduce me to a Swiss collector. Back in Tbilisi the Swiss lady soon visited my studio. not only did she buy a painting from me and helped to earn some money to buy food, but soon she helped me with an invitation for visa to Switzerland. During that time an acclaimed Swiss artist Daniel Spehr visited Georgia. He was supposed to stay in Georgia for half a year. I couldn’t have let him live on his own in Tbilisi, so he stayed with me and my family instead. As long as, I never pretended that i was on the side of the government, being around me was always accompanied by trouble. For the whole period of his stay, I would follow him everywhere he would go as his personal guardian, never leaving him alone, as I was afraid that he would be killed if I did. When someone would attack as in the street, I was there to make sure they believed us that we owned nothing worth taking away. For couple of times I did save his life. Daniel had an expensive camera with him and would always document what was around us. His camera depicted public gatherings, the shootings, the bread lines and also the graveyards, which turned out to be the safest places in Georgia at the times.

Iru: So it turns out that the reason you survived the 1990’s is that you were an artist. But you also say that many artists died because of their false hopes of the times. You say your approach to the critical period was different, which is well represented in a vast number of your work, many of which include documentation. In what ways is your artistic approach to the times is different to that of your peers? What is the practical advice you would give to artists, based on your experience?

Levan: I always wrote down my ideas. Especially when I was not able to produce them. As soon as I got the camera, I started to record everything that was happening around me. I also wrote screen plays, which I would never then film, as I lacked the technical facilities. It is important to remember to produce the work, idea of which occurs to you during the period of crisis, especially if it is a painful idea. But make sure you produce it soon, in that particular moment, as it shall be a significant idea to that moment the most.

Go away from the conflict zone, as it makes no sense to stay there. Go to a place where you think you survive and present yourself the best. Look at Karlo Katcharava*******, a very close friend of mine, he died because he believed in the better times. I always knew what was happening and never hoped for the better. I knew that the political situation would worsen, that the crisis would never stop, as Russia was destroying the country, and ‘the West’ wouldn’t help. I lost many friends because my disbelief and negative approach. Many died out of the false hopes of the future. So did Karlo. He died during the period when I came back to Georgia from Switzerland. One of our colleagues, a member of the 10th floor artist collective********, Niko Lomashvili told me that during his last days of life, Karlo spoke of me as the smartest person among his peers. This made me smile, as I guess the reason why Karlo thought of me so, was that I left the country and wouldn’t come back. But this wasn’t true. I came back to my family after spending only six months in Switzerland. During my stay in Switzerland I restored an exchange program for art students between Switzerland and Georgia, which worked for fifteen years. It was very difficult as our government was not interested. All was supported by a foundation based in Basel. The Georgian party involved in the program claimed they were not interested in contemporary art and they managed to wreck the whole project. As I said it was then, when Karlo died. I was very pessimistic about Georgia. I think owe my survival to my pessimism and disbelief. One should not believe in a better future, one should remain a pessimist. I would advice others to do what Karlo thought I did, if the 1990’s crisis plays out again.

Iru: You say that friendship saved many. I was still a child of 9 - 10 years old. I remember my parents would take me with them when they would gather with their friends in the homes lit by the candle light in the darkened city. I don’t remember any pessimism and hopelessness but quite the opposite. The togetherness of the times is still one of the most valuable memories of my childhood. How did you manage to create such magical environment to your children?

Levan: The situation was very difficult. I would say even absurd. But still, the general conscious- ness was collective. Exhibitions would still open. There were a few initiatives for contemporary art too. There even was a night club on Kazbegi Street which was always busy. They would gather, dance, fight and shoot guns - everything happened at the same time. Sometimes the rich would help their ideological enemies. This is how some survived. Overall, life went on. People would visit each other’s homes. I remember I learnt how to play on the guitar and would sing funny and politically charged songs to children. 

Iru: During those memorable visits to my parents’ friends, I also remember loud arguments I would hear from the other rooms. How would you describe those arguments?

Levan: There was a big opposition between parties of friends. We were divided into groups in terms of our positions, which were not purely political, but of a moralistic character instead. The divisions were apparent among close friends and families. I was friends with physicists. It was a circle of people with an ability to analyze. The situation among colleagues at the Tbilisi State Academy of Arts was different, much serious in terms of division. Even though, we were divided into strong opposing groups, we decided to open a Thone********* and run the small business together. We had a place to start with, but I knew that independently, without an in- tervention from the government to have a bussiness like that would have been impossible. Among us some were pro-government and we used have terrible fights about it. In the end, the workers of the government asked for a bribe and everything ended with artists beating up someone at the parliament and crashing down the ini- tial business idea.

Iru: you say your general pessimism saved your life. Would you say it’s a self-defensive condition? How do you act when the condi- tion kicks in?

Levan: One should stop waiting for changes and analyze the perils of the situation instead. I believe it would have been possible to do more, if there was no hope for the better times. I was could not have taken any steps for further action during the crisis. Take my father for instance**********. To work on a project and ask for a financial support to support a scientist of his scale - it did not occur to me. I could not believe it was possible. Of course, I too was hoping for the better time. I remember thinking of Sokhumi and wondering why they who fought there would not leave the place. The war was lost from the very start and we all knew about it. I wondered why did they stay to kill each other. It was back then that I wrote ten commandments - for what not to believe in.

* Non - Conformist artists, were considered to be artists who resisted the USSR system during the USSR. The list of non-conformist artists is long and includes: Evegeny Rukhin, Nadegda Elskaja, Oscar Rabin and other. The term was coined following the Bulldozer Exhibition in Moscow 1974, which was forcefully closed down by police, using bulldozers.

** Mariam (Maro) Makashvili (1902 - 1921) Georgian national hero; she died fighting the Russian army in 1921.

*** Giorgi (Gigo) Gabashvili (1862 - 1936) - Symbolist artist.

**** David Kakabadze (1889 - 1952) - a significant figure of the Georgian Modernism; a theater and cinema stage and set designer, a glasses less stereo cinema founder.

***** Clara Kves (1903 - 1990) - a Modersnit artist, painter and a theatre stage designer. For being accused of ‘being fascinated by Modernist art’, she was expelled from the Academy of Fine Arts in 1930. 
 

****** Zurab Nizharadze (born 1928) artist. A new era of painting of 1950/60’s are connected to his name. 

******* Karlo Kacharava (1964 - 1994) artist, poet, essayist and art critic; A member of the 10th Floor artsist collective.

******** the 10th Floor  - A group of young artists who defined their practice as Avant-Garde founded an artist collective at the Tbilisi State Academy of Art in the 1980’s.