DICTIONARY

ARENA: MIND CONFLICT
Kartsen MEYHOFF
Denmark

BLITZKRIEG
Friedrich KITTLER
Germany

PAINE. MEMORY. A MEMORY-BOOK
Zoya YEROSHOK
Russia

WAR AND PEACE IN TERMS AND DEFINTIONS
Dmitry LOSKUTOV
Russia/Brussels

IMAGE WAR
Sotirios BAHTSETZIS
Greece

REDEMPTION OF THE HOSTAGES
Viacheslav IZMAILOV
Russia

WARS, WAVES, RULERS
Wladimir VELMINSKY
Russia/Germany

HARMONY (WAR SONG)
Yuki HIGASHINO
Japan/Frankfurt

CIVIL WAR
Valery PODOROGA
Russia

INTERPRETATIONS
Oleg NIKISHIN
Russia

INFORMATION
Dmitry ROGOZIN
Russia

ZONE INERDITE
Christoph WACHTER
Germany
Mathias JUD
Switzerland/Berlin

CLOWN (AT WAR)
Leo BASSI
Italy/Spain

CIRCLE OF WAR
Arkady BABCHENKO
Russia

CONCEPT - UNKNOWN SOLDIER
Oleg ARONSON
Russia

CORPORATION
Uzochukwu NDUKA
Nigeria

CAT-NOTATION
Joulia STRAUSS
Russia /Berlin

FACES OF TERROR
Anthony BEEVOR
UK

IMAGE OF AN ENEMY
Ljubov VINOGRADOVA
Russia

UN: CONDITIONS FOR PEACE
Vladimir PETROVSKY
Russia

REFUSAL
Roman SCHMIDT
Germany

HEROISM
Boris LEONOV
Russia

ANCESTORS
Nikolay PLUZHNIKOV
Russia

SERGEANT KOSOV: PEACEMAKER
German VINOGRADOV
Russia

RADICAL SIMPLIFICATION
Andrey TKACHENKO
Russia

SNIPER
Jakob BOESKOV
Denmark/NY

STRATEGIC CONFLICT PREVENTION
Anton IVANOV
Russia

LEVEL OF DISPERSION. ASHES
Ilya PLEKHANOV
Russia

FINANCIAL WAR (EX-VASION)
Sigudrur INGOLFSSON
Iceland

PRIVATE WAR
Obrad SAVIC
Serbia/UK

SHALAMOV:WAR/CAMP
Mikhail RYKLIN
Russia

Flag ES

LEVEL OF DISPERSION. ASHES

Ilya Plekhanov

Concept: Memory of War is ashes: that which is no longer and that which will no longer seize.

 

War burns everything. Nature, buildings, heavy machinery and light live force. It burns people and animals. It melts metal and tears flesh to pieces. It is disintegration, decay, it is a waste of life and ammunition. Yet it is paper that burns out easiest. It instantly turns to pieces. There is a lot of paper in the war. Before their death it hides under the people’s clothes, in kit-bags, map-cases, in machines and in the pockets. With death it comes up to the surface. The air-blast turns out the pockets in the most awkward manner, after death the careful hands of the fellow-soldiers or the arrogant hands of the adversary penetrate them. The last insecure and thin, intimate envelope of soul, one’s personal scrappy paper-shirt burns out. Only ashes remain after the human. Passing through the first papery level of dispersion, the soul acquires a granite form. How those Russian cemeteries resemble sites of fire. The ashes of tombstones  –  petrified and smoky with small icon-lamps – and the inscriptions on marble and granite, the fleeting names and dates of some next war. These data, just as ashes, time will blow away from the stone and they will disappear under the rains, winds and the rays of sun. They will be burnt out and dispersed.

Yet we shall delve into the ashes of our memory, we shall build the fantastic and shivering castles in our heads trying to resurrect again and again from out of that strange material the faces of the dead, the landscapes destroyed. And you shall recognize us. Yet we shall not. We shall not see you or discern you.  Suddenly it turned out that it is you who is the ashes. In that war it was you who burnt out and we survived. You are no longer here.