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The world according to Solakov: working in an ever-proliferating range of mediums Bulgarian Nedko Solakov uses fiction, confession and equivocation to navigate a post-Soviet landscape of loose ends. Playfulness, his midcareer survey suggests, is the skeptic's best weapon
Art in America, Dec, 2004 by Sarah McFadden
Two more "E" listings: "Espionage" is invoked in a small penciled landscape purporting to show seven spies. Each spy's position is indicated by a numbered arrow, but the spies themselves are invisible. This is, of course, as it should be. Over the years, Solakov has developed this type of childish-seeming prank into a refined conjuring act, pulling our legs to make us think and see. In another register, "Everybody is Smiling," a heading which, however idiosyncratic, does seem to fit the utopian program, is illustrated by a discolored news photo of a group of attractive young women--workers or students, it's hard to say--beaming radiantly for the camera. The image is an obvious throwback to the great Soviet utopia and its propaganda machine. One of the most powerful fictions of all time, Soviet Communism has served Solakov as both model and target.
The exhibition's nominal departure point is "New Noah's Ark," Solakov's first elaborate narrative installation and his first work to attract international attention (at the 1992 Istanbul Biennial, 12 1/3 years prior to the opening of the current show). Like Encyclopaedia, it's about starting over from scratch, jettisoning all that's familiar and braving the unknown--a prospect both exhilarating and terrifying, no matter how bad things have been. The protagonist of the narrative is an ordinary fellow, Noah, who is instructed by anonymous authorities to transport to another world alien creatures whose own world has ceased to exist. The creatures are temporarily stranded in Noah's bathroom, which, he is informed, is a buffer zone between worlds and which they have reached via the plumbing. Noah's world is coming to an end tomorrow, so there's no time to lose.
Compared to the homespun Encyclopaedia, "New Noah's Ark" is a sophisticated production--a theatrical, walk-in piece with multiple components. In Luxembourg, the original book-length manuscript was displayed behind glass, like an artifact, along with a polished stone (part of the plot) engraved with the Cyrillic letters for the word "you" in Bulgarian. Excerpts from the book, complete with page references, were handwritten on the walls in random order and interspersed with large framed watercolors illustrating the ark models from which the travelers are meant to choose their vessel. An oil painting, its surface clotted with sluglike globs of pigment, showed Noah having breakfast--probably Iris last. In an adjacent darkened space, a herd of 96 colorful thermoplastic zoomorphs--primitive, visceral-looking forms, each with its own distinct physiognomy--huddled on the floor amid sounds of running and flushing water.
The fun-house appeal was unmistakable, as were the allegorical references conflating the Biblical flood, post-Communist sea changes and (taking Noah as Solakov's surrogate) the artist's task of steering the world into the future. However, this not being Utopia, things don't stack up so simply. Noah is not a free agent, and his commanders' manipulative language and tone parody those of spies and tyrants ("Your God, Noah, already resigned"). Furthermore, the predetermined direction of the ark's course ("just open the toilet and go") is far from promising. Faced with imminent extinction, what's a fellow to do? That's all there is to the story, and we are left wondering.
