I always felt like a master of my own country

When the full-scale invasion of Ukraine began, I went out immediately. My sign read: a mummy of war, with crows with bloody beaks on its shoulders. It was based on Tsvetaeva’s poetry, but she was writing about Germany — I applied the words to Russia: “Mummy of war, you shall burn, Russia! Madness, the madness you create.”

I stood near the monument to Catherine on Nevsky Prospekt (the monument to Empress Catherine II in the square by Nevsky Prospekt — SP). People came up to me and thanked me. Many cried, asking: “How can we help?” But I had nothing to say other than what I’d written.

In 2002, I simply couldn’t stay silent when the Nord-Ost hostage crisis happened (the terrorist attack at a Moscow theater — SP). Moscow was sleeping peacefully, and I couldn’t take it — I went out for the first time. Simply out of outrage at the complete indifference I saw in people.

I wrote what I wanted to say on posterboard (“Mr. President, change course immediately!” — SP). Then I realized: since I’m an artist, I can express visually what I want to say. That’s how it all started for me.

A few years later came Beslan, then Kemerovo — children burning (the school siege in Beslan and the fire in the shopping center in Kemerovo — SP). And yet nothing changes in the government. It’s impossible to sit there indifferently and watch all of this.

In 2014, I had signs reading “Humanity,” “No to War,” “No to Nuclear Energy.” There was an image-symbol: Mother Russia with a black halo, her hands resting on a coffin, labeled “Cargo 200.” Below was an inscription: “Mothers and wives, stop the war! Don’t allow further invasion of Ukraine.” There was a large sign on fabric: “Don’t believe in a just war.” People came up; many reacted well.

Now the opportunities to act are fewer, and I have little strength left. But it’s necessary — hope saves people.

When mobilization started, I stood with a sign near the House of Books, by Kazan Cathedral. Fathers would come up: “I sent my son to such-and-such a place so they wouldn’t take him.” “Good for you,” I’d say. “You did the right thing.”

I don’t remember any mothers. This attitude of mothers is astonishing. In my time, I acted to protect my son, to avoid the Afghan war (she likely means the Second Chechen War — SP). They didn’t take him.

People come up and say: “You give us hope. Forgive us — we all think the same way, but we’re afraid.” That’s understandable too. It’s just worse for them. Silence is what brought us to this point.

Many people recognize me. In summer, I can’t even make it to the store: I keep running into people who have relatives in Ukraine. They cry, they want to tell me about their problems. I’d have liked to talk with each one.

Recently, a young woman wrote to me: she wanted to make copies and go out with my signs. I said: “If you’re not going to profit from it but somehow spread them, it’s not immoral — it would actually be good. But it’s dangerous for you.” I suggested: make T-shirts, scarves with these themes, since you can’t go out with signs.

I have hundreds of signs. I said from the start that I can’t sell signs, because otherwise people won’t believe me. Only my paintings — those I have the right to sell.

Many of my signs have the peace symbol on them. There was one: two women of different nationalities holding infants with pacifiers, and on the pacifier — the peace symbol. Pacifism absorbed with mother’s milk.

I’ve always felt like the mistress of my own country. I had a painting teacher — people like her survived Stalin’s repressions. She had a favorite phrase: “Don’t be afraid, little one, be bolder! What is there to fear in your own homeland?” She said it about painting. I got used to not being afraid of anything.

I haven’t been to the police in a long time. They just drive me away from Nevsky Prospekt, sometimes they confiscate signs. But there are also those who stand guard when I’m out there, so no hooligans cause trouble — because twice hooligans simply smashed my signs.

I had a sign with the words of Alexander Vertinsky: “Who sent them to their death with a steady hand.” I wrote: “He sent them to their death,” because it was clear to everyone whose order it was.

I barely managed to unfurl it for a minute before a strong young man started grabbing it and even damaged the sign. And I said to the people: “Please call the police — at least the police will stop this hooliganism.” They called. They did, basically, stop it. They confiscated the sign; I haven’t seen it since.

I never intended to be an activist, to do something in politics. I simply react as a citizen, as a person who cannot calmly accept all of this. Once I started going out, I kept going, because nothing changed. How can I not go out?