In Ether, the ancient Roman author Pliny the Elder wrote in Book XXXIV of his foundational work Natural History that the earliest equestrian monuments were created in honor of victories at the Greek agon, the athletic competitions that included chariot races. Later, these monuments ceased to be just depictions of a horse and rider: they became images of the ideal ruler or hero and embodied ideas of military triumph, imperial grandeur, strength and justice.

Over time, some of these impressive symbols of power lost their original meaning, becoming ruins and fragmented relics. The equestrian statue of Emperor Marcus Aurelius is the only surviving bronze monument of its kind from antiquity. Its preservation is due to it being mistaken in the Middle Ages for a statue of Emperor Constantine. Today, the original on the Capitoline Hill has been replaced by a replica, while the original has moved to a museum.

The statue of Emperor Domitian — the only large and dynamic equestrian composition that has survived even fragmentarily — underwent transformations that resulted in a comical mismatch between rider and horse. After Domitian was killed and subjected to damnatio memoriae (condemnation of memory), his sculptural portrait was reworked into a monument celebrating Emperor Nerva. Domitian literally could not preserve his face.

If fragments of horsemen can still be identified — by attributes or stylistic features of their era — a horse ravaged by time often loses connection to specific historical events or figures. Today, an equestrian statue without its rider can symbolize the fragility of any concept before time, the inevitability of the loss of grandeur, or the overcoming and rethinking of traumatic heritage.

The monument created by artist Zukhra Salakhova is either a ghost of what once seemed strong and unshakeable, or, conversely, a sign of truly soft — and hand-embroidered — strength? Depending on perspective, the interpretation of the white textile flowers that fill the exhibition space varies: they may greet victors (in ancient Greece flowers were often presented to athletes), form ritual wreaths, or mimic decorative rosettes on Stalinist buildings. Blooming — or flourishing? — ruin.

The key concept of ether for the exhibition is also multifaceted. Ether is both the upper, lightest layer of the sky inhabited by the Olympian gods, and the elusive stream of information that cannot be fully grasped. The spreading sterile-total installation sets rules, imposes limitations, and controls — operating according to the principle of ether in any of its meanings. The quintessence of a rational-absurd world order turns out to be the image of a transcendent equestrian monument — physically unreachable and riderless, or perhaps never having had a rider at all.
Galina Polikarpova

Zero Room, Samara, Russia
18 May — 30 June
Text: Galina Polikarpova
Photo: Ilya Borzunov

RU / ENG