Arthur Klinov: The Journey to the ‘Sun City’ Began When Vodka Became Nasty

Arthur Klinov: The Journey to the ‘Sun City’ Began When Vodka Became Nasty

Arthur Klinov is one of those artists who managed to break free from the conventional confines of canvas and paint. He was the first to present Minsk as a city of Soviet utopia and embodied this concept in the album “Sun City.” He also achieved success in literature, writing books such as “Shklatara” and “Shalom.” Now, Klinov is planning to build an art village 200 kilometers away from Minsk. We met with him to reminisce about how it all began in Minsk and how bad vodka is connected to new artistic concepts.

The 90s: A Time of Change

Many people from my circle of communication dove headfirst into business during the late perestroika and early 90s. It was like a virus. Often, the business was utterly silly—buy and sell, without a clear understanding of what to buy and whom to sell to. I also jumped into this, doing absolutely everything. Thankfully, I quit because I realized it wasn’t for me. When there was excitement and interest, everything worked out. When it became tedious, it didn’t.

Art and Education

I graduated from the architectural faculty of the Belarusian National Technical University. One could say it’s a related field. However, in the artistic community, I was initially an outsider because I didn’t have the “right” diploma.

In Soviet times, the diploma was crucial. It was a beautiful piece of paper that legitimized you as an artist or writer. The “Unions” were mandatory. Although I decided to become an artist before entering the institute. As a child, I studied for four years at art school No. 1. I attended various studios. After school, I actually applied to the theater institute but didn’t get in on the first try—the competition was fierce. To avoid losing a year, I went into architecture. This was in 1982.

The Art Market in the Post-Soviet Era

Many artists felt that their work became interesting in the West after the collapse of the USSR. This trend started in Moscow and St. Petersburg. In Minsk, it arrived as a weak echo. Everything happened on a smaller scale and with less pay. However, the result was the same—everything was taken away. All the art created by masters from the late 80s to the early 90s was shipped to the West in echelons and wagons. To Germany, France, Israel. It was possible to make quick money, but everything was bought at low prices. We didn’t have Moscow price tags. Although, for those times, it was decent money.

The Concept of the “Sun City”

I struggled to approach this topic for a long time. It all started banally: I traveled a lot to the West for exhibitions and had nothing to bring with me as a gift for friends. Previously, people used to bring vodka, but in the 90s, it became simply awful. I remember arriving at a friend’s place in Germany, and there was a bottle on the shelf that I had brought a year ago, barely touched. I realized: I won’t bring vodka as a gift anymore. The best gift would be an album about Minsk—I already felt that it was a unique city. But all our albums were canonically Soviet, without any artistic meaning. I kept waiting for something new and interesting to appear. And then I suddenly realized that I had to make such an album myself. So, I took a camera and started shooting. Although I hadn’t shot for about 12 years before that. I shot on film; digital was just emerging, expensive, and of poor quality. And suddenly, I faced the fact that I couldn’t capture this city.

The Challenges of Photographing Minsk

Not because I didn’t master the photography technique. Minsk itself turned out to be very unphotogenic; it simply didn’t yield. And then I understood why there were no good albums: Minsk is very difficult to photograph. After all, it is essentially a city of correct geometry; try to photograph two parallel walls to make it interesting. As a result, I shot for about four years but still found an approach. Minsk needs to be caught, waiting for the moment. It won’t reveal itself immediately; you need to feel it. It’s an almost mystical process. Out of several thousand photos I took, only a hundred were truly good. Twenty of them were excellent, and ten were simply genius. They went into the album.

From Photography to Literature

While I was shooting, I began to think: what is the uniqueness of this city? It’s not so easy to explain in words. Since I am an architect by education, I tried to look at it from a professional perspective. Thus, a small essay “City of the SUN” appeared, and a few years later, I developed it into a book—”Guide to the Sun City,” which later became a non-seller and was translated into seven European languages.

The Literary Journey

I became a writer after this work. Before that, there were no literary works of mine to be found. My path into literature began with the “Sun City.” And the path to the “Sun City” began with the fact that vodka became nasty. Hence, I needed to make a gift album, and I got involved. Just kidding!

The Cultural Scene in Minsk

Today, the center of cultural life is the “Ў Gallery.” But what was there before it? Where did creative people spend their leisure time, where did they meet and socialize?

Before the 90s, there were no venues. There were halls of the Union of Artists. Independent halls began to appear in the late 80s—early 90s. Two such places opened in Minsk at that time. The “Sixth Line” gallery on Yakub Kolas Street, which was previously called the Sixth Line. The second gallery—”Vita Nova” on Kropotkin Street. These were the two centers where everything interesting happened. But they worked differently. “Vita Nova” had sponsors; they organized large projects and invited guests. They worked according to the Western model. Their stars were mostly from Moscow. And the “Sixth Line” was an absolutely alternative venue with no money. It was located in one of the gyms of the Polytechnic Institute. These places hosted the brightest and most interesting events in contemporary Minsk art in the early 90s. But by the mid-90s, everything was closed.

The Influence of Authority

The authorities put pressure on the artists, but it wasn’t straightforward. The “Sixth Line” closed because the premises in the city center became expensive. In the second case, the sponsors of “Vita Nova” could no longer finance the gallery. The authorities gradually cut off the financial flows to undesirable businesses. Like Peter Martsev, who is now widely discussed. By the way, I knew him personally. I was acquainted with the editorial board of the “Name” newspaper; they wrote a lot about me because I was quite active at that time. The alternative scene was always under the close attention of this newspaper.

Literary Adaptations

A book about Martsev was recently published. In your opinion, is his image there more fantastical or real?

In principle, it is probably close to reality, but even though I knew him personally, I didn’t think he was that “cool” (laughs). The book “Martsev” by Romanova is also good because it fits well into the cinema. It can be interestingly screened.

Belarusian Literature on Screen

Which works of classical Belarusian literature could be adapted for the screen?

If we talk about classics, then almost all of Korotkevich’s works. As for contemporary literature… I don’t even know; I need to think. There is such a moment in Belarusian literature: there are few books that contain a story and have a bright plot. Belarusian literature is very existential. Such plots are difficult to translate.