Russian Ghosts Awake On Fantasy Island
Sydney Morning Herald
Tuesday July 17, 2007
Lara O'Reilly found the perfect eerie space for her installation, writes Marina Kamenev.
THERE is a security guard outside the military hospital at Kronstadt, a port town on Kotlin Island about 30 kilometres west of St Petersburg. As a stern babushka blocks the turnstile with a steel rod, visitors are asked for their name, signature and passport. Finally, the guard gives the all clear and curious guests pass into the complex.Today, visitors to the town's hospital are not here because of illness or military duty, but to see the work of the artist from Sydney, Lara O'Reilly, who laughs at the all-too-familiar procedure."Nothing is simple here," O'Reilly says, smiling. She has had to deal with this security every day for the past month, with an added difficulty: she doesn't speak Russian.She is in Kronstadt to display the second installation of her work Absence and Presence, a performance piece that plays with ideas of memory and time, as part of a St Petersburg art festival.She has always been fascinated by islands, she says. Absence and Presence I took place on Cockatoo Island last year. When O'Reilly's supervisor told her about an opportunity to work with the National Centre of Contemporary Art in Russia she jumped at the chance."I like working with places that have life and memory embedded in them, and islands are a collision of the two," she says standing outside the exhibition.Kronstadt is ideal for such a fetish. The island has been used as a naval port since 1703 and anchors and ropes decorate most of its public spaces. Three years after the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917-18, the sailors of Kronstadt staged an uprising against poor living conditions under Soviet rule. It was ruthlessly suppressed and was the last revolt against the Soviet Union before it dissolved.Kronstadt was opened to the public 10 years ago, but many zones are still strictly off limits.Abandoned 19th-century buildings give the town a post-apocalyptic feel, and street names such as Leninskaya (Lenin's) and Communistichisaya (Communist) suggest a place that has not entirely let go of its Soviet past.O'Reilly waxes romantic about the city's history. "If you stand here long enough, you will bump into a Soviet ghost," she says. Indeed, the site occupied by her work has an eerie, supernatural aura.From the street, the 200-year-old Kronstadt Military Chapel is a simple, pale yellow dome attached to a brick rectangle. But wander in and the dust and damp invade the senses; the sweet, sickly smell of formaldehyde lingers in the background.The chapel adjoins an older military morgue that, thankfully, is blocked off to those attending the exhibition.O'Reilly says she was fortunate to secure the site, which has never been open to the public. Even the island's inhabitants have not been inside."We had an hour-long meeting with the director of the navy hospital," she says. "Russian generally sounds a little bit aggressive - all I understood was 'nyet'. I was ecstatic when the decision to go ahead was translated to me." Once inside the complex, visitors are greeted with a rather surreal vision. White fabric nestles against the pea-green background and images of a bald female walking through the island forts of Kronstadt. The faint sound of a cello can be heard in the background.Two females dressed in white are suspended in transparent cocoons, a stark contrast to the peeling aquamarine walls. One performer wanders out of her cocoon and walks slowly around the room before climbing back in, while the other stands in silence.Walking up the splintered stairs, the sound of the cello becomes louder. On the second floor, two dancers weave in and out of transparent white fabric screens, hiding, then revealing themselves.On the top floor there's another fabric cocoon hanging from the interior of a dome. It also shrouds a dancer dressed in white and the cellist is seated in the corner. The room is saturated with the sound of the instrument; even in the middle of the day the atmosphere is unsettling. When O'Reilly first came across this space, she fell in love with it but said it was a mess. "There was a syringe between the wooden boards and charred wood was everywhere. The top floor had these bizarre rocks in a circular arrangement, it looked like it was used for seances," she says.Luckily, the staff from the hospital helped return the space to order and helped O'Reilly install her work."They must think I am a bit crazy. I am probably the first Australian they have seen, and here I am hanging some Russian dancers from the ceiling," she says. "But from the nods and smiles, I think they found it interesting."
© 2007 Sydney Morning Herald