Tarusa, homeland of Russian artists and intellectuals, has become a tourist attraction filled with loose ends. Its streets unfold the passing of the last thirty years, building history at the mercy of those who dictate the future, leaving minimal traces of what Russia once was, and creating a national identity that, by no means, resembles the reality that still survives and throbs on walls, unhung doors, and the faces of those who have witnessed their downfall. Life is an accomplice in photography, and in Facade, Ekaterina Perfilieva seeks to portray how it survives under the yoke of propagandistic interests, kept afloat by the individual stories of those who cope with it, and those who document it.
Hi Ekateriva, welcome to METAL! Before we dive into the interview, let’s get to know each other better. Tell us about your newly discovered obsessions.
I think, like many authors, my attention is currently focused on neural networks and what they can do. So far I'm trying to generate images in Midjourney, actively using neural networks for design work, and wanting to learn how to make video art. I’m amazed by their potential, especially for video, and I’m watching how different artists are mastering neural networks and expanding the possibilities of their work.
First things first, we need to familiarise ourselves with the person behind the lens. Tell us about your first steps in photography, your artistic roots. When did this passion began? Why photography?
My first degree was in Sociology. I think this is where my interest in visual studies of different phenomena and modernity began. I first picked up a camera at the age of sixteen on a course called Visual Sociology, where I studied urban landscapes and the environment around. I suppose that’s when I realised photography could serve a purpose beyond simply creating a family archive. That photography could be a part of research, a documentation of reality, that its subject matter was worth anything, not just portraits of people.
After a few years I lost my camera and started drawing and later moved into graphic design. I returned to photography about ten years later with a different experience and mindset. During my design studies, I realised that I had a hard time with the painstaking craft of working with physical matter. I like to work at other speeds, to test ideas and get results faster. And photography gives me that opportunity. Photography also implies an active interaction with the world, the surrounding reality becomes an accomplice, a co-creator. I prefer to create in dialogue rather than in complete solitude.
After a few years I lost my camera and started drawing and later moved into graphic design. I returned to photography about ten years later with a different experience and mindset. During my design studies, I realised that I had a hard time with the painstaking craft of working with physical matter. I like to work at other speeds, to test ideas and get results faster. And photography gives me that opportunity. Photography also implies an active interaction with the world, the surrounding reality becomes an accomplice, a co-creator. I prefer to create in dialogue rather than in complete solitude.
You’ve mentioned having a special interest in psychoanalysis, contemporary religions and liminal spaces of Post-Soviet territory. How has your background in these fields influenced your artistic vision?
My experience in psychoanalysis and psychotherapy allows me to create projects that explore personal emotions and uncover their universal meanings. For example, my project Session N9 is about how it is possible to preserve the states experienced during sessions and to look at therapy as a process.
I have always been fascinated by people and communities who are able to find and maintain a belief in the sacred within the paradigm of widespread Western materialism. I am interested in how traditions and religions are integrated into modernity. I did a photography project on the Wiccan community in Russia, a young religious movement that is very tolerant and allows you to choose your personal cult. I wonder how Orthodoxy exists in the post-Soviet context — how it integrates into the daily lives of people who were atheists just yesterday, how it operates within the new economy, and how it becomes a tool of state policy. Some of these observations are captured in the Facade project.
In the post-Soviet space, it’s impossible to ignore the environment. I’m interested in how people adapt to often alienating spaces, how modern urbanism functions, and how sterile, empty areas encroach upon historical buildings. I am currently finishing a project about Perlovka, a small town in the Moscow region, to reflect this contradiction. I have been living in Indonesia for more than two years, and now the focus of interest has shifted to local culture, the coexistence of different religions, traditional ways of life and modernity. The problems of nature, ecology, globalism, preservation of local culture are more relevant here. I am now exploring this themes.
I have always been fascinated by people and communities who are able to find and maintain a belief in the sacred within the paradigm of widespread Western materialism. I am interested in how traditions and religions are integrated into modernity. I did a photography project on the Wiccan community in Russia, a young religious movement that is very tolerant and allows you to choose your personal cult. I wonder how Orthodoxy exists in the post-Soviet context — how it integrates into the daily lives of people who were atheists just yesterday, how it operates within the new economy, and how it becomes a tool of state policy. Some of these observations are captured in the Facade project.
In the post-Soviet space, it’s impossible to ignore the environment. I’m interested in how people adapt to often alienating spaces, how modern urbanism functions, and how sterile, empty areas encroach upon historical buildings. I am currently finishing a project about Perlovka, a small town in the Moscow region, to reflect this contradiction. I have been living in Indonesia for more than two years, and now the focus of interest has shifted to local culture, the coexistence of different religions, traditional ways of life and modernity. The problems of nature, ecology, globalism, preservation of local culture are more relevant here. I am now exploring this themes.
In spite of your roots, what other artists would you define as your main influences in the field?
I am attracted to non-conformist Soviet and post-Soviet art. The sincerity of Moscow Conceptualism mixed with irony, interest in psychoanalysis and religious thought. Andrei Monastyrski, the Kabakovs, Viktor Pivovarov, Pavel Pepperstein. I am impressed by the straightforwardness and simplicity of the action of the New Stupid Group. I could mention the Düsseldorf School and New Topographics. The conceptual approach of Thomas Ruff, Andreas Gursky, Gerhard Richter, Stephen Shore. The humour and irony of Martin Parr.
Along with this, I am inspired by the emotionality and honesty of women’s and queer art. Nan Goldin, David Wojnarowicz. Fiction by Chris Kraus and Amy Liptrot. In my art, I strive to combine the impossible — the detached perspective of a researcher with deep, emotional engagement from within.
Along with this, I am inspired by the emotionality and honesty of women’s and queer art. Nan Goldin, David Wojnarowicz. Fiction by Chris Kraus and Amy Liptrot. In my art, I strive to combine the impossible — the detached perspective of a researcher with deep, emotional engagement from within.
What drew you to the representation of ‘Russianess’ through photography? Was there a turning point that led you to this specific topic?
First of all, I want to emphasise that ‘Russianness’ does not truly exist — it is a social construct sustained by the state and its propaganda in Russia. It consists of stereotypes about national identity that enable the government to justify authoritarian and repressive policies, compelling citizens to act in ways that serve its interests, such as going to war or having children regardless of their circumstances.
This is the silencing of inconvenient chapters in history. It’s the creation of a Slavic myth for export, which bears no connection to the real people of Russia, who belong to various ethnic groups, speak different languages, and have their own cultures and traditions. The search for and imposition of a fictitious ‘national idea’ has been a part of my country’s politics for over twenty-five years, so there was no specific turning point for me to begin researching this topic.
This is the silencing of inconvenient chapters in history. It’s the creation of a Slavic myth for export, which bears no connection to the real people of Russia, who belong to various ethnic groups, speak different languages, and have their own cultures and traditions. The search for and imposition of a fictitious ‘national idea’ has been a part of my country’s politics for over twenty-five years, so there was no specific turning point for me to begin researching this topic.
“I have always been fascinated by people and communities who are able to find and maintain a belief in the sacred within the paradigm of widespread Western materialism.”
What do you look for in a scene? How does the creative process develop?
In this project, I intuitively explored images of the town — its centre and its outskirts. I spent countless hours walking from the cemetery to the main square, from the fire station to the museum, combing every street. My aim was to capture vibrant, multilayered images of a place that manifests itself several episodes of history at once or blends the high with the low. A cemetery with the graves of famous poets, alongside a dump behind a fence. A central square filled with souvenirs and flags, bordered by burnt-out huts. The remains of sculptures of fairytale characters. In the images I found within the ‘Slavic myth,’ I sought out contradictions or additions in the form of raw, unpolished life breaking through.
Aside from a clear passion for photography, there is a sociological meaning behind Facade. A necessity of portraying the world as it is; or at leasts, as what is left. You’ve mentioned it is an “artificially created image” of Russia that affects the world’s viewing of the country. How do you think this illustrates its national identity, and the citizen’s own identities?
My project does not illustrate national identity at all. It is impossible to tell a story that could reflect the whole country. There’s a strong possibility that it will be a one-sided translation of the author’s personal opinion. My project is about the danger of having one opinion and one constructed image. Behind this image are real people with their personal stories, their ways of living in the space provided by the state, and their efforts to reshape it to suit their needs.
For example, making their gardens beautiful, putting plaques on their houses commemorating victims of repression, fighting for the preservation of historical buildings. To truly understand an identity, I believe one must engage directly with its bearers and listen to their stories. Or read about them in media projects such as Novaya Vkladka (The New Tab), Takie Dela, Zapovednik, which tell about life in the regions, uncomfortable problems ignored by the state, and the inspiring destinies of ordinary people.
For example, making their gardens beautiful, putting plaques on their houses commemorating victims of repression, fighting for the preservation of historical buildings. To truly understand an identity, I believe one must engage directly with its bearers and listen to their stories. Or read about them in media projects such as Novaya Vkladka (The New Tab), Takie Dela, Zapovednik, which tell about life in the regions, uncomfortable problems ignored by the state, and the inspiring destinies of ordinary people.
Why did you choose Tarusa as your main focus for Facade?. What sets it apart from the rest of Russia?
On the one hand, Tarusa resembles many provincial towns in Russia. On the other, it stands out as a tourist attraction due to its rich history. Since the early 20th century, renowned artists – from Polenov and Krymov to Borisov-Musatov – have come here to work, capturing scenes of the Russian countryside and abandoned aristocratic estates. In Soviet times, Tarusa became a place of exile and the home of opposition intellectuals. Marina Tsvetaeva lived here, Bella Akhmadulina wrote her cycle 101 Kilometres — a reference to the minimum distance from Moscow where those deemed undesirable by the authorities were allowed to reside. Dissidents lived organically with the locals, gradually improving the town by laying water pipes and building hospitals.
Today, Tarusa has been transformed into a museum-like representation of ‘Russian culture’, its former opposition history hidden under colourful banners with folk ornaments. At the same time, local residents are fighting to preserve their history, opposing the renamings of streets, and writing anti-war slogans on fences. Despite its tourist appeal, the souvenir image of Russia becomes escapism, an attempt to close one’s eyes to reality. My goal was to capture the reality breaking through those constructed images.
Today, Tarusa has been transformed into a museum-like representation of ‘Russian culture’, its former opposition history hidden under colourful banners with folk ornaments. At the same time, local residents are fighting to preserve their history, opposing the renamings of streets, and writing anti-war slogans on fences. Despite its tourist appeal, the souvenir image of Russia becomes escapism, an attempt to close one’s eyes to reality. My goal was to capture the reality breaking through those constructed images.
You’ve also mentioned the use of mixed media in your work, such as personal and documentary archive. How are these combined to make sure the outcome stays close to reality and does not misrepresent Russia like destruction and propaganda have?
Personal stories and documentary archives make it possible not to invent or lie. They give credibility to the project. I believe that the more personal testimonies and stories we collect, the further we get from the propaganda image and closer to reality.
I use this approach in other projects as well. For example, in the Berezniki project, about my hometown and the loss of a sense of home, I found old film footage documenting the ecological disaster in the town, as well as my childhood diaries. In the Tarusa project, I did not use documentary archives because I wanted to work with the urban environment in a more artistic, intuitive way. Perhaps in the future I could use them to develop the project further.
I use this approach in other projects as well. For example, in the Berezniki project, about my hometown and the loss of a sense of home, I found old film footage documenting the ecological disaster in the town, as well as my childhood diaries. In the Tarusa project, I did not use documentary archives because I wanted to work with the urban environment in a more artistic, intuitive way. Perhaps in the future I could use them to develop the project further.
Graphic design is also part of your work. How have you navigated the limits between the artificial touch ups and the authenticity in your work?
I use graphic design in a more limited way, often as an additional tool to better represent a project. For example, when I want the viewer to interact with the images, as in the Non-Places project, and create a live moving collage of layered pieces of the urban environment on a website. Graphic design is still my main profession, but I tend to use it as a skill to complement the other mediums, rather than as a primary means of artistic practice.
Now that you’ve developed Facade, how could you answer your own question: Where is the line between imposed, propagandistic and real?
It seems to me that this boundary exists solely in each individual’s consciousness — in their ability to think critically, observe their surroundings, and gather diverse stories. This is especially relevant in today’s world, where powerful technologies, such as neural networks, play a role in information wars.
In contemporary art and photography, this line is equally difficult to define because art reflects the artist’s personal perspective on a topic. Although it cannot be a reliable source, it can illuminate certain phenomena and broaden our understanding of complex problems. I believe the truth lies in people and the stories they share — in the living testimony of events and places, in the possibility of multiple viewpoints and perspectives on any given subject of research.
In contemporary art and photography, this line is equally difficult to define because art reflects the artist’s personal perspective on a topic. Although it cannot be a reliable source, it can illuminate certain phenomena and broaden our understanding of complex problems. I believe the truth lies in people and the stories they share — in the living testimony of events and places, in the possibility of multiple viewpoints and perspectives on any given subject of research.
