Ilya Sin: The Alien Artist Bridging Worlds Through Performance and Literature

Exploring the Artistic Journey of Ilya Sin

If we were to measure contemporary Belarusian art in locomotives, Ilya Sin’s “artificial” steam engine would be one of the heaviest. His performances transport audiences to parallel dimensions, while his books serve as secret codes dictated by an alien intelligence. It’s no wonder many jokingly refer to Sin as “alien.” However, in reality, Ilya is a calm and thoughtful individual. We decided to delve into his artistic and literary journey.

A Voyage into Adulthood

Looking at your work, it reminds me of a mental journey back to childhood. Would you call yourself a big kid, or are your theatrical concepts strictly for adults?

Perhaps there’s a desire to reclaim lost childhood and mourn its loss, but it’s certainly not a journey back. Unfortunately, my art is adult to the core. I believe it’s not suitable for children; they shouldn’t be burdened with problems foreign to them. I usually set an age limit for my events, not just because there might be naked uncles running around.

That said, this might be overcautious. Children see whimsy and beauty in everything, not pain—it’s their natural perspective. At a festival in Slovenia, a five-year-old girl loved our performance so much that she drew a picture. In her depiction, the event looked cute and fun.

Childhood Memories

Tell us, since we’re on the topic, what are some vivid childhood memories that inspired you?

Most of my past memories are negative—perhaps a quirk of memory. For a long time, children seemed like incomplete adults to me. Only when I had my own kids did I realize that being small and vulnerable isn’t shameful. Moreover, I could better imagine how God relates to His creation—small and vulnerable.

Artistic Mediums

You’re known as a writer, performer, and even a musician. Are there any artistic realms you haven’t explored but would like to?

All art forms are media to me—vehicles for transmitting inner energy. I use the tools I possess: words, body, voice… If I could play the harp or make macramé, I’d find a use for those skills too.

What attracts you to text specifically?

Literature appeals to me because I can do whatever I want independently, without anyone’s help. I don’t have to make others do silly things, which is inevitable in theater or film.

I love performances for their organic and spontaneous nature—it’s always a process, not a public display of lab results. You never know exactly what will come out of it.

New Horizons

What haven’t you tried yet?

New facets arise mainly from collaborating with interesting people who speak different languages, like sound or visual. It’s cool but somewhat dangerous; it’s always nicer to feel like you’re on a deserted island—or a swampy hummock, in our case.

It might be a bit lonely, but you’re the boss. When several self-sufficient individuals gather on one hummock and everyone starts talking about themselves, your voice won’t solo in that cacophony. But I like it. I really enjoy what our group “Экзарцыстычны Gesamtkunstwerk” does—I could never do that alone.

Sometimes I perform with the unique death-jazz band Masque Noir—they don’t rehearse, only improvise, and you have to fit in. It can get pretty wild: you start reading a prose text, then get carried away with everyone—and out comes some wild punk.

Societal Conservatism

Belarusian society seems too conservative. I’d be afraid to make Yakub Kolas the hero of a play with a plot close to pornography. The intelligentsia might tear me apart. Do you think our society is conservative? Is that good or bad?

It’s hard to say. Society is a vague concept, and it’s unclear how to measure it. Moreover, conservatism in art and life are very different things. I never considered myself a postmodernist, but now that postmodernism is dead—at least in art—I somewhat regret it.

What was good about it was the awareness of a clear (or rather, blurred but present) boundary between text and reality. Or, for example, between media image, cultural hero, and living person. People must be handled carefully, but incorporeal images are great material for literary games.

I once wrote an anonymous quasi-scientific article claiming that Kolas and Kupala were Siamese twins. I’m sure the “pesnyary” themselves weren’t harmed—only their soulless monuments.

But can such things be taken seriously?

Today, such texts have little chance of being perceived adequately. Everything is too serious and one-dimensional. However, I don’t think the gap between literature and reality has shrunk even a millimeter.

It seems obvious and undeniable to me, as people are one thing, and letters arranged into words by someone for some purpose are another. Moreover, this deep chasm can be a fertile creative environment—the most exotic microorganisms usually live in deep crevices.

Conservatism: A Negative Trait?

The worst thing about the conservatism you mention is that it leads to one-dimensionality and simplification—sure precursors to mental stagnation. When I read journalistic articles or social media posts, I feel like little has changed since the beginning of perestroika.

You’d think that by now, our view of political or sociocultural reality and our history would have become more nuanced and detailed. We should have accepted that there are no simple answers or solutions. But no—opinion leaders still broadcast old slogans, and crowds eagerly applaud!

When a child starts school, the world is explained simply, without confusing subtleties. That’s correct. But when this worldview persists into adulthood, it’s alarming.

Memories of Perestroika

Tell us about your memories of perestroika in the USSR.

I have many memories; I caught the global paradigm shift. I was even a convinced supporter of communist ideology—the only one in my class. No one believed in it anymore, not even the teacher. However, by 10 or 11, I radically changed my views through a long internal evolution.

Yes, it was an incredibly eventful time, with more important events in a year than in a decade now. And not just because I was little. There was also no fear—though there was plenty to fear. The streets were full of madmen, thugs, and scary uncles.