Structure 1994

Curator: Standing before us is "Structure," a captivating mixed-media painting by Aleksandr Borodin, completed in 1994. It presents a rather unique perspective on allegorical figuration. What strikes you initially? Editor: It’s unsettling, really. Like fragments of a beautiful nightmare trying to resolve themselves on the faces of this cube. It's oddly playful and deeply disturbing at the same time. Curator: Borodin seems to be referencing early Renaissance panels or perhaps details from Hieronymus Bosch, arranging these fragmented imitations into the superficial geometry of a Rubik’s cube. The overall effect is very Mannerist, with an emphasis on stylistic artifice. Editor: Absolutely! You can almost hear the discordant symphony of that angel band on one face jarring against the chaotic, upside-down torment playing out on another. Visually, that tension just makes my eyes bounce all over, seeking some kind of resolution. The grid highlights the impossibility of bringing order to this narrative, as any turn would simply present an entirely new combination. Curator: Yes! It really provokes so many questions, especially with the way those flat color fields and areas devoid of figuration highlight the contrast in texture on the painted sides. Borodin’s work often deals with complex systems, right? Here, it seems like the painting suggests systems that inherently fail or create conflict. It presents as a kind of allegorical commentary. Editor: Or perhaps it reflects a more basic human tendency to dissect and categorize what ultimately cannot be controlled, experiences or truths that can never perfectly align. Borodin offers us an intellectual exercise coated with existential dread. Curator: That's so right, it is unsettlingly reflective! A deconstructed mirror held up to the absurdity we impose upon ourselves. Editor: Beautifully put! It is also somewhat frustrating to contemplate something simultaneously structured and unsolvable; what to take away? What's left? Curator: What's left, I guess, is the resonant beauty of a futile act. A testament, maybe, to the inherent struggle in our understanding of, well, just about anything.