Grassroots

Nicola Trezzi: We met many years ago... I was then the US editor of Flash Art International, and you ran Newman Popiashvili with Marisa Newman at the time, a progressive gallery in Chelsea. Tell me, how did you enter the field of contemporary art, and what brought you to New York?

Irena Popiashvili: I wrote my bachelor’s thesis at the University of Łódź in Poland. After returning to Georgia, I met a group of Americans and gave them a tour of the museums in Tbilisi. Someone from the tour mentioned that if I wanted to, I could continue my studies in the United States. At the time, there was a significant information gap surrounding contemporary art in the former USSR, with art history textbooks only referencing Picasso’s blue period. Through that chance encounter, I learned about a scholarship opportunity and successfully completed the required tests. This allowed me to pursue my Master’s degree in the United States.

After earning an M.A. in Art History at the University of Georgia in Athens, I took additional classes at Emory University in Atlanta, where my professor was James Meyer. I wrote my thesis on Andy Warhol’s “Death and Disaster” series, and my primary motivation for coming to the U.S. was to immerse myself in contemporary art. James Meyer encouraged me to move to New York—though I didn’t know anyone there at the time—but he assured me that I could find a job in an art gallery. He even connected me with Andrew Solomon, a friend of his whose book on the Russian avant-garde had just been published.

Following his advice, I moved from Atlanta to New York. Chassie Post Gallery, which I had worked with in Atlanta, opened a space in New York, and I secured a part-time job there. I also interned at various galleries, including Frederieke Taylor and several uptown galleries. Within a year, I became a gallery director at Joyce Goldstein Gallery on Wooster Street, right next to the Drawing Center. That’s how it all began.

NT: You were among the first to exhibit the work of Slavs and Tatars, who I also interviewed for ZETTAI. How deeply has their practice influenced your way of looking at art and culture?

IP: I discovered Slavs and Tatars at the New York Print Fair in 2008. They were not known at all back then. The fair was at the old Dia Art Foundation building on 22nd Street, and I was going up the stairs to the fair when I saw a poster, Men are from Murmansk, Women are from Vilnius, hanging on the stairway. The references made to the former USSR cities made me laugh. I was humored, curious, and decidedly went to look for the Slavs and Tatars stand, where I met Payam [Sharifi] and Kasia [Korczak]. I invited them to visit me at the gallery, and we opened their first New York solo exhibition in 2009, “A Thirteenth Month Against Time.”

It was great. MoMA bought their work and offered them a solo exhibition. I collaborated with them again in 2023 for a Kunsthalle Tbilisi exhibition alongside Giorgi Khaniashvili at Atinati’s Cultural Center.

NT: After spending time in New York, you then returned to Georgia. You transitioned from the commercial sector—although your gallery was very experimental and intellectual—to the academic world. Can you tell us about your adventure in this field?

IP: Marisa Newman and I have organized some great exhibitions that I am very proud of. We presented the first two solo exhibitions of Raul de Nieves, and the first New York solo exhibitions of Basim Magdy, Jorge Peris, and Alberto Tadiello. But, moving back to Georgia in 2012 was a significant change, both culturally and academically. I was appointed rector of the Tbilisi State Academy of Arts, becoming the first woman in the institution’s nearly 100-year history to hold the position, and the second, after the founder, who was not an artist. Although my tenure at the Academy was brief, I had gained valuable insight into navigating that world by the time I was invited by the founder of the Free University of Tbilisi to establish a new art school: VA[A]DS, the Visual Arts and Design School.

NT: I am actually interested in knowing how you navigate the academic field and its restrictions, especially after being independent for so long.

IP: My move was partly due to personal reasons, but driven by a desire to improve the arts education in Georgia. The same year, I was curating an exhibition at the National Gallery in Tbilisi called “Reframing the 80s,” an exhibition on Georgian art from the end of the ’80s to the beginning of the ’90s. While working on the show, I was still living in New York and would travel to Georgia for research and to locate artwork from that period. As much as I wanted the exhibition to have an impact on the public, it became clear to me that education was the only thing capable of creating change in how contemporary art was publicly perceived. However, the education system that I encountered in Georgia was obsolete and completely out of touch with reality.

The VA[A]DS school at the Free University is now nearly ten years old. I collaborated with the university’s administrative team and a talented group of professionals in Tbilisi to design the initial program. Over the years, the curriculum has been continuously adjusted and improved, evolving based on my experiences with students and visiting professors. I am fortunate to have worked with the best artists and designers at the school, and I have had creative freedom from the university regarding the selection of instructors. In a way, I am curating the educators who guide the new generation of Georgian artists and designers. Additionally, the architecture program, created by my colleague Jesse Vogler, who relocated from the U.S. to Georgia, has become a very successful and integral part of the school.

NT: In parallel with that, you also established Kunsthalle Tbilisi. Tell us about this nomadic institution, its mission, and its vision.

IP: One of the first things I did after my time at the Academy was open the Popiashvili Gvaberidze Window Project. I was showing art—new art—in the vitrine on Rustaveli Avenue in the center of the city. Inspired by the Wrong Gallery in New York, I began exhibiting young artists in the windows of Tbilisi. At some point, we had five locations in the city, as the owners of empty storefronts would sometimes offer their spaces free of charge. It was an exciting and innovative way to attract a wider audience and spotlight new names and emerging artists. However, after four years of the Window Project, I decided to end my collaboration with Tamuna Gvaberidze and start Kunsthalle Tbilisi.

There is no contemporary art museum in Tbilisi, and there are never-ending discussions about having a museum. This discourse is somehow always about the building of the museum rather than its mission and programming. I was reading about the European Kunsthalle that Nicolaus Schafhausen and Vanessa Joan Müller started from a specific situation—the demolition of the Josef-Haubrich-Forum in the city center of Cologne—and with no permanent space. I liked the idea of having a roving space. There had also been several artistic projects in Tbilisi on a non-existent museum of contemporary art, so I decided to use the name “kunsthalle” instead of museum. The idea was to do two-person exhibitions featuring Georgian and international artists in parallel exhibitions. I felt that this way would be the most beneficial to the Tbilisi art scene—to see the exhibition of international artists while simultaneously contextualizing the work of Georgian artists placed in dialogue with them.

The first project was Nika Kutateladze’s “Watermill on Former Pavlov Street,” held in a first-floor apartment of a Khrushchev-era building. The artist bought a dysfunctional watermill from the mountains of Guria in western Georgia, and installed it inside the apartment with the front of the watermill protruding from the façade of the Khrushchevka. The exhibition parallel to this was Angelica Mesiti’s “Relay League,” presented by Protocinema and hosted by Kunsthalle Tbilisi.

NT: Despite the current political climate, Tbilisi remains one of the most interesting cities in Europe, and by saying “in Europe,” I am making a political statement. Could you speak about the local Georgian art scene beyond international players like Andro Wekua and Thea Djordjadze?

IP: It’s interesting that you’re underlining “in Europe” as a political statement. Nika Kutateladze’s Watermill project caught the attention of Thomas Delamarre, then curator of the Cartier Foundation, and was invited to participate in the exhibition “Metamorphosis. Art in Europe Now”—but a Georgian artist being part of a European exhibition was questioned by some people; “is Georgia part of Europe?” was their question!

The local scene in Tbilisi has gone through a major transformation since 2012. VA[A]DS played a pivotal role in that change and, of course, the emergence of independent galleries like Gallery Artbeat, Patara Gallery, E.A. Shared Space, Gallery 4710, LC Queisser, and initiatives like the Tbilisi Architecture Biennale, Kurorti, Window Project, and Kunsthalle Tbilisi helped to cultivate a vibrant art scene in the city. I call it a grassroots movement, as it was not assisted or encouraged by government agencies or the country’s cultural policy. When you visit Tbilisi now, you will see thriving, contemporary art exhibitions in a juxtaposed coexistence with the world of Soviet-style artists as promoted by the Ministry of Culture. The National Gallery is under the ministry’s control and requires whoever wishes to do an exhibition there to apply with a proposal. They review the proposals, and the “winners” are given three-four week exhibitions at the museum. That’s why artists like Thea Gvetadze, Vajiko Chachkhiani, Nika Kutateladze, Nina Kintsurashvili, Maia Naveriani, Nino Kvrivishvili, Salome Dumbadze, Lado Lomitashvili, and Qeu Meparishvili, Ana Gzirishvili, Levan Chelidze among others, can be seen only in the galleries or through studio visits.

NT: With such a scene, you started to collect works by young artists—something I would describe as a form of patronage that feels especially vital now. Have you always been collecting? Do you think that collecting can be a form of activism?

IP: I remember years ago, I was invited by the Brooklyn Museum to give a talk about a piece from their permanent collection. My criterion for selecting the piece was that it was something I wished to live with and have in my own collection. It was an exercise in “collecting,” as later, having the gallery, there were the artists I worked with—Marcia Hafif and Paul Bloodgood come to mind—whose work I loved and wished I could own but could never afford. I did manage, however, to buy a drawing by Tyson Reeder from Daniel Reich Gallery. In Tbilisi, I started discovering young artists who were invisible to collectors and other gallerists. Buying their work became a way of seeing them, acknowledging them. And yes, I guess you can say that gesture became a form of support-activism. There was one artist who commuted from Gori to Tbilisi when she was studying at the art academy. Her work stood out to me, and I started buying her drawings. They weren’t expensive, and I would buy them even when I didn’t particularly like them because I knew that she needed the money. Meanwhile, she has now become an artist whose work is quite in demand, and I do own a lot of her work today.

NT: Again, on collecting: do you have a particular focus? Where do you buy from? What are the parameters that define your actions? Do you feel that the way you collect is different from a more conventional one? And if so, why?

IP: The first artwork I bought in Tbilisi was a painting by Tutu Kiladze that I saw at the Book Corner Café. I never could have imagined that I’d buy art from a café, but the painting was good and caught my eye. I got to meet the artist later on. I don’t think of myself as a collector, but the reality is that I do buy art. When I like the work, it sticks in my mind—I keep thinking about it, and I always go back to buy it.

Your question made me think about the systematization of “my collection.” I have paintings, photographs, sculptures, and design objects. I do not collect thematically or by the artist’s nationality. There is a lot of revision that still needs to be done in Georgian art history of the 20th century. Like everywhere else in the 20th century, it was mostly only male painters who received official recognition, and many artists, such as Emma Zarkhutsi, were ignored or forgotten. In my collection, I have works by artists that I have ‘re-discovered’, young artists that I ‘discovered’, and acclaimed artists or designers whose work I have long coveted.

And of course, collecting is always about the budget, or, essentially, what you can afford to buy. At art fairs, I often play this game—”If the money wasn’t an issue what would I buy?” As far as Georgian collectors go, my collection stands out because I don’t have the usual suspects of the 20th century.

NT: Who are the figures in the field of contemporary art that inspire you or with whom you identify? Who are your heroes? You have acted from several points of view thus far: gallerist, curator, educator, and also collector... Which of these roles feels most central to you, if any?

IP: I have numerous role models: Marian Goodman as my ideal gallerist, Elena Filipovic as a curator, Olaf Nicolai as both an artist and educator, and Wilfried Cooreman as a collector.

When I lived in New York, the Newman Popiashvili Gallery represented Michel Auder. Soon after we started collaborating with him, he received an invitation to teach at Yale. He was exceptional with his students, who admired him deeply. I used to often tell him that I wanted to be him when I grew up, and in a way, my wish did come true. I’ve had the privilege of working with many inspiring artists, and reflecting on it, I realize that Marcia Hafif, Paul Bloodgood, and Lynne Golob Gelfman have profoundly influenced me. I consider myself very fortunate for the people I’ve met and the places my life has taken me.

NT: What makes Georgian contemporary art so special? Can you outline its uniqueness? Do you think Georgia’s historical past or mythical heritage is influencing its artists, and if so, how?

IP: What makes the work of Georgian artists particularly special is the kind of materials they use. It’s often recycled, unpolished objects; there’s less attention concerning the traditional “quality” of materials. Partially, this situation arises from a lack of dedicated art supply stores, framing services, or photo and production labs in Tbilisi. As a result, artists often source their materials from the Eliava Market, a sprawling bazaar that has been a notable landmark in Tbilisi since the mid-1990s. Specializing in inexpensive construction and repair materials, the Eliava Market is often described as a place that "sells the Soviet past," as British journalist Andrew North noted in his series of drawings and sound recordings. I believe the market has significantly influenced the visual language of local contemporary art. The technologies and materials used along with the uniqueness of ideas and concepts, I would argue, are what contribute to the distinctiveness of the Georgian art scene.

NT: Do you think that young Georgian artists are addressing political issues?

IP: They are not directly addressing political issues, which is what the general public expects—there’s a reason why Pussy Riot hasn’t emerged here. However, the Bouillon Group, a Georgian artist collective, comes closest to tackling these political themes in their performances. Also, the last show at Kunsthalle Tbilisi, “Conspiracy Bar,” was dedicated to the recent and ongoing protests in Georgia. “Conspiracy Bar” is a space that represents the imaginary apartment of a young dweller in Tbilisi. Around the Studio (Tika Shelia and Ano Jishkariani) created a living space filled with objects referencing the recent history of demonstrations in the city. The objects and demonstration furniture designed by the artists, served as visual cues narrating the story of the 2023-2024 protests and the memories of the apartment’s fictional residents. Following the Georgian government’s enactment of a controversial “foreign influence” law, massive protests ensued, followed by a violent crackdown. More recently, Georgia’s parliament passed an anti-LGBTQ propaganda law, imposing severe restrictions on LGBTQ+ freedoms and rights, echoing similar legislation passed in Russia.

NT: Could you tell us about a future project you are working on that reflects the future directions you’re currently heading in?

IP: I am interested in post-Soviet art education and its outcomes in the former Soviet republics. I am trying to get to know the art scenes in neighboring countries and to find connections between the younger generation of artists. I curated a show titled “New Beginnings” at the Tbilisi Art Fair, where I included artists from Armenia, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, and Belarus. If the political situation allows me to travel more, I would like to continue this research and organize more shows featuring artists from those respective regions. Through this process, I am not only discovering emerging young artists but also learning about unofficial, underground artists from neighboring countries. Among the most notable discoveries for me have been Armenian artists Hamlet Hovsepian and Kima Gyarakyan, a young, emerging artist from Yerevan.