I know Kristina Rozhkova not only as a viewer, but also from visiting her photo shoots and seeing her at work. That doesn’t make seeing her new photobook any easier.
Gut Feeling is published by Void. It contains photographs that turn your stomach: fetishism, death, animal and human bodies, cages of various kinds, and violence in its most acceptable and unacceptable forms. The book is about legitimacy — the violence perpetrated with the permission of the law, tradition, and the market.
Eugenia Ignatova spoke with Kristina about how the book came to be.
EI: As I leafed through the book, I found myself feeling revulsed, ashamed, and as if I had crossed an inner moral boundary. Yet, I couldn’t look away. To what extent do aesthetics guide you? Do they help you piece together meanings, or do the meanings come first with aesthetics following?
KR: I have nothing against feelings of revulsion or shame, nor against testing and crossing boundaries. In fact, it seems to me that this is precisely the point of art: to probe the viewer’s boundaries and create space for dialogue. Although I don’t believe art owes anyone anything, this is important in my practice.
Meaning and aesthetics, content and form always go hand in hand and are inseparable. In my case, thought does not exist separately from form. Perhaps my philosophical education allows me to approach a project or theme intuitively, even before I’ve conceived of a specific one.
For example, I was intuitively drawn to dachas while filming the Dacha project and to the girls in The Bliss of Girlhood because a conflict was already brewing inside me, along with a desire to explore a particular theme. The same thing happened with the “Gut Feeling” project. I was drawn to farms, zoos, and hunting estates. The idea took shape during the process. It all happens inseparably and dialectically.
EI: You film as if personal boundaries didn’t exist, including your own and those of others. How does that work in practice with people and animals? Is it something you set up, or does it just happen naturally?
KR: I believe this is the foundation of my method. I enjoy blurring boundaries, stepping beyond them, and exploring them in various ways: physically, socially, and politically.
I visualize the object of my study, bring it closer, and examine it. One could certainly call this approach scientific. When we can break an object down into parts, cut it open, dissect it, examine it under a microscope, step back, break it down further, and investigate its physical or molecular nature, then we are approaching science. I’m interested in going beyond boundaries. Each time, I want to get closer and closer.
I don’t particularly like the artificiality of the modern world and civilization. Everything is built on boundaries. It looks unattractive, artificial, and even lifeless. People are constantly creating more boundaries and obligations. This is precisely why I am drawn to the animal world. It is free from these burdensome constructs.
EI: What was the reaction of the people in the photo?
KR: When it came to Gut Feeling, everything fell into place. I sought out locations and spoke with hunters, hunting estates, rat rescue centers, snake and rodent owners, veterinarians, and owners of large agricultural enterprises and local farms.
I explained my project to them in simple terms: what it was about, how it felt to be in a cage, how everyone creates their own cage, and what it’s like to feel like an animal. Even the simplest people understood perfectly, and they found the project interesting. I’m good at communicating clearly and comfortably, so I didn’t encounter any problems.
EI: You started out with selfpublishing and now work with publishing houses. While that’s a natural progression, what has fundamentally changed in your work?
KR: Actually, my first book, The Bliss of Girlhood, was published by Zone. After that, I produced a limited edition of the project myself and experimented with Dacha. I also tried my hand at self-publishing. Unfortunately, I had a negative experience working with printers in Russia.
I’m generally anti-perfectionist. On a photobook course, I spilled coffee on a book, glued things together so the glue was visible, and stitched them together carelessly. However, when I started working with printers, I knew exactly how my photographs and work should look. I disliked the results so much that I destroyed two print runs, one of which was 200 copies. My carefree approach is actually pretty close to perfectionism. At the same time, I absolutely love creating layouts. I enjoy working in InDesign, gathering archive photos and my own, arranging sequences, handling paper, and exploring printing techniques. However, my experience with printers left me deeply traumatized. I’m not ready to take on that responsibility or liaise with the production side again. Let the publishers handle it.
Additionally, I’m interested in an outsider’s perspective, specifically the work of a designer and how a publisher operates as a competent curator. It’s important to look at the publishing house’s previous work, the authors it works with, and how their books fare afterwards.
EI: How did the whole Void thing come about anyway? From the outside, it seems to me that it’s a group of people who share the same aesthetic coming together, rather than just a publisher taking on an author.
KR: That’s exactly how it turned out! Even while working on this project, I knew Void was the right choice. I wrote to them directly, pitched the project, and they agreed right away. We spoke on the phone once, and everything happened very quickly. They gave the go-ahead right away.
I’ve never had that feeling before, when you realize this is exactly what you need. It’s a special feeling when there’s a perfect match.
EI: In the book, BDSM is discussed alongside the farm and the cage. However, it seems that this is the only form of violence that is controlled and chosen by both parties, with mutual agreement. How important is the conscious involvement of all parties in the process to you? Are there any associated differences? KR: I used the BDSM metaphor to highlight this topic because in exploring the desire to be an animal and the state of being caged, BDSM is precisely a case where a person chooses to become an “animal” and pays for it. In the social and capitalist paradigm, being “top” means possessing capital, and you pay to become “bottom” and assume a submissive role. In the BDSM community, a contract formalizes this subordination. It is interesting that in BDSM, people allow themselves to become animals and legitimize violence. Society, politics, the social order, and capitalism are built on violence and the extraction of resources. For example, cows are milked for ten years and then sent to slaughter, where every bone and piece of cartilage is processed. Sometimes one gets the feeling that the world isn’t satisfied with the existing violence — people want to go further and deeper to become animals in every sense. Sometimes, they simply want to shirk their responsibilities. In today’s world, people are under immense strain. They’re tired of constantly solving problems and keeping their lives under control. It’s very difficult. They want someone to take charge of them. They want to simply become part of the “herd,” and that’s normal, too.
EI: Lastly, who is this book for? Not in terms of the target audience, but rather, when composing it, did you have a particular individual or social group in mind who you wanted to see it?
KR: I don’t have a specific idea of who my audience should be. I believe my project is universal. It can be interpreted in political, social, intimate, and personal terms, not just as a story about animals or my arrest. You can interpret it through the lens of my prison experience or the experience of a specific cow with an identification number. Anyone can find something personal to relate to here.
Of all my works, this project is perhaps the most universal. While working on it and talking to people, I saw just how much the themes of confinement, pressure, and lack of freedom resonated with a wide variety of people. At my artist talks for the Unbewitchedexhibition in Japan, the audience instantly picked up on these meanings as well. This story is not solely about Russian totalitarianism or the Putin regime; it is a fundamental, universal story.
