Reclaiming the Quintessential Georgian Artist: Niko Pirosmani’s Decentralised Language of the Future

This text originated as a review of the exhibition ‘Pirosmani’ at the Fondation Beyeler,⁰¹ which followed the exhibition at the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, Denmark, whose curation emphasised efforts to decentralise the imperialist, romanticised and exoticised narrative surrounding the artist Niko or Nikala Pirosmanashvili, often simply referred to as Pirosmani (1862–1918).⁰² The review looked at Pirosmani as the most famous and recognised artist in Georgia and how a deconstructive reading of his paintings and exhibtion can contribute to formerly lost agency or national identity. However, prior to publishing the final version of the text, shifts in the political landscape in November 2024 in Georgia brought in unprecedented precarity, adding a granular critical contextual dimension to the fabric of this discussion. As a result, the text had to be rewritten and expanded, evolving into a multilayered essay that looks at Georgia’s existing imperial epistemic knowledge, reflecting on why a national cultural symbol such as Pirosmani is more pertinent than ever. Quoting the Ukrainian scholar Kateryna Botanova, ‘delinking from the two dominant discourses [West and Russia] in the act of epistemic disobedience, by unlearning and relearning local landscapes as spaces of heterogeneous histories and blank and silent spots of memory’, we can localise our knowledge and histories.⁰³ This text attempts to discuss the most iconic Georgian painter through a localised sociopolitical contextual prism that differs from most pre-existing knowledge about the artist.

Pirosmani was a solitary figure and an outcast who embodied a purist form of avant-garde expression through his symbiotic relationship with the social classes of his time. Unlike his contemporaries partaking in a bohemian lifestyle, he navigated the worlds of the privileged and of the marginalised, straddling social divides and temporal boundaries.⁰⁴ Pirosmani possessed a singular ability to comprehend the nuances of social and class divisions while depicting everyday life with empathy, love and understanding. After years of obscurity, buried within the colonised past, the exhibition succeeded in stripping away the layers of mysticism and instead reveals the artist’s many dichotomies as they take shape on canvases: the capacity to connect disparate social classes; the chiaroscuro within his depicted subjects; the ability to bridge or go beyond the so-called West and East. Pirosmani’s visual language speaks to audiences now more than ever, offering a sense of hope for the future.

The unfolding events in today’s Georgia not only exposed but also deepened PTSD symptoms stemming from the wounds and trauma of imperial times, while signalling an increasingly authoritarian rule and a troubling repetition of history. The sociopolitical and cultural resistance movements attempt to offer a critical opportunity to revive Georgian identity that had been systematically suppressed for over a century under both the Russian Empire and the Soviet regime. This resurgence can be interpreted as a form of ‘positive’ or ‘organic’ nationalism – providing a valuable framework for reckoning with historical cycles and the transformations they generate. The parallels between the reverence for Pirosmani’s art as a symbol of identity and the contemporary sociopolitical context in Georgia are striking.

Pirosmani was born just over sixty years later, in 1862, by which time Georgia had already been incorporated into the Russian Empire, following its annexation in 1801. His artistic genius was first recognised by the Georgia-born Zdanevich brothers – Kirill and Ilya –⁰⁵ at the beginning of the twentieth century.  In June 1914, the journal Vostok published the article ‘Niko Pirosmani’, in which Ilya constructed a mythologised account of the artist’s life. This narrative linked Pirosmani, who lived nearly until the end of his life in poverty, to the Silver Age and the Russian avant-garde.⁰⁶ Therefore, it was not surprising that Pirosmani became popular in Russian artistic circles and captivated the Russian Neo-Primitivists; his works were exhibited alongside those of Chagall, Goncharova and Malevich in the exhibition ‘Mishen’⁰⁷ in 1913 in Moscow. Shrouded in countless myths, Pirosmani’s biography and artistic contributions were further romanticised and exoticised in the Soviet Union. For decades, Pirosmani’s name, like those of many others, was constrained by the geopolitics of the USSR, making him invisible within the broader international art historical discourse.

Therefore, when Georgian visitors attended the opening day of the highly anticipated Niko Pirosmani exhibition at the Fondation Beyeler, a palpable sense of excitement filled the air, fuelled by the hope that the works of the ‘legendary’ Georgian painter would finally be disentangled from their colonial past and receive due attention and recognition in Western Europe.⁰⁸ The most ascetic-looking, austere landscapes and figures from twentieth-century Georgia produced an intriguing juxtaposition with the opulent Swiss garden and beautifully spacious, state-of-the-art spaces designed by Renzo Piano. Beyond its relationship to the surroundings, contrast also manifested in Pirosmani’s work itself – its bold, minimalistic colours starkly standing out against the black oilcloth – and through his visual language broadly and in the persona of Pirosmani himself.

Titled after the self-taught painter’s shortened name, Niko Pirosmani,⁰⁹ the exhibition was organised by the Fondation Beyeler¹⁰ and guest-curated by Daniel Baumann. It included interventions by contemporary artists Thea Djorjadze and Andro Wekua, dialoguing with Pirosmani’s works. Those who are well-acquainted with Pirosmani couldn’t help but experience a surge of emotion (with some people even shedding emotional drops of tears every now and then) when seeing his work displayed in the museum, especially when the paintings radiated at night through the gallery’s three big windows. To me, this view’s illumination and colour scheme at dawn bore a striking resemblance to the colour palette of Pirosmani’s work itself.

What was it about Pirosmani and his work that sparked such a collective emotional response and pride among the audience? Why was it important to revisit the discourse around Pirosmani today? In my doctoral research, I examine the role of collective and performative action in navigating hardships, as well as how the formation of tribal and social structures helps individuals cope with traumatic experiences and reclaim their agency.¹¹ This time, I want to explore belonging and identity through the lens of the current political struggles and the challenges that galvanise individuals to unite in solidarity against the neo-colonial strategies of the current regime, which seeks to reattach imperialistic, manipulative strings.

With only a handful of Pirosmani exhibitions held in established European museums in the twenty-first century, the Fondation Beyeler showcased approximately fifty of his works, some of which had never been shown outside of Georgia.¹² However, most Western institutions that showcased Pirosmani’s work during Soviet times tended to frame it within a colonial narrative, missing the opportunity to present his work through the lens of Georgian scholars committed to reimagining and reconstructing the artist’s story. The extensive research conducted for the two exhibitions resulted in and informed both the catalogue and the curatorial process. The exhibition took approximately two years to prepare and travelled from Denmark to Switzerland, a geographical expansiveness that can be interpreted as a will to make a historical statement.

The opening night at the Fondation Beyeler saw the visit of the then-President of Georgia, Salome Zurabishvili, as well as Georgian academics, art historians, artists, and cultural workers, all united in a shared sense of cultural identity and excitement. Making my way through the crowds across the lush garden, I entered the museum. My attention was immediately drawn to the works of Rousseau and Picasso displayed on the right-hand side wall just before the entrance to the exhibition.¹³ This subtle placement could be seen as a poignant suggestion to the fact that, in his lifetime, Niko Pirosmani never had the opportunity to exhibit in Europe, while also alluding to the long-standing tendency to cast him as a ‘Georgian Rousseau’, the ‘Rousseau of the Caucasus’ or ‘Rousseau of the East’.¹⁴ Placing his work and legacy alongside canonical artists within a museum setting signalled an attempt at a long-overdue recognition of his significance.

Upon entering the exhibition’s first room, visitors was greeted by Pirosmani’s most iconic painting, Fisherman in A Red Shirt (undated).¹⁵ According to artist Kirill Zdanevich, the work ‘recall[s] achievements of Andre Derain and Henri Matisse’ and exuded a down-to-earth simplicity in its colours and brushstrokes.¹⁶ The painting depicts a black-eyed man with a serene expression, his dignity conveyed not only through his posture but also through the vibrant palette – most strikingly, his yellow hat and red tunic. He seems undeterred by the formal museum setting or the presence of high-ranking attendees at the event; he remains tranquil, open and unaffected. The few white brushstrokes on the black oilcloth, suggestive of a flowing river, do not disrupt the fisherman’s unwavering composure. What makes this piece particularly intriguing is its departure from Pirosmani’s usual portrayal of male figures, who typically appear dressed in black with only small red specks. Reading the painting through queer theory – which hasn’t been done yet – questions whether the bright red tunic, a stark contrast to the subdued attire of Pirosmani’s other male subjects, suggests a desire for visibility or the expression of a singular identity? Might the fish he holds be a visual phallic signifier, resonating with metaphors found across many societies and cultures? Could he be a male prostitute?

In today’s Georgia, asking these questions can be grounds for prosecution, as political discourse has increasingly adopted a concerning homophobic tone and signalled a significant regression in human rights protections for the LGBTQI+ community, with the current government in Georgia enacting an anti-LBGTQ bill that was first introduced in May 2023 and that closely echoes the Russian version.¹⁷ As of today, queer artists, as well as people who freely express their views on queerness, can be accused of ‘LGBTQ propaganda’ and prosecuted by the Georgian Government.¹⁸

Back at the Beyeler, The Woman with a Tankard of Beer – included in the exhibition ‘Mishen’ (‘The Target’) in 1913 alongside works by Marc Chagall, Natalia Goncharova and Kazimir Malevich shows an equally bold and dignified portrait features but also displays sexual connotations. Wearing a red décolleté dress, the woman is depicted sitting in an upright posture, her gaze turned away as she enjoys her beer in a natural setting painted with just a few strokes of yellow against the black backdrop. The deep décolleté, considered ‘inappropriate’ at the time, suggests that she may be a prostitute. Pirosmani, who lacked formal education, is often referred to as a ‘naive’ and ‘primitive’ artist. In this regard, this apparent pictorial simplicity is deceptive. Its clarity, directs the viewer’s attention towards essential elements rather than distractions, revealing the painter’s sophistication. A master of dichotomy, he also playfully brings dark and light into his works, in many cases leaving out blank spaces on the black canvas to create shadows or figures. But by employing such techniques, the figures in his paintings stand out as bold and sovereign.

Between 1989 and 1991, Georgia actively fought for its national identity as well as for independence and sovereignty.¹⁹ Interestingly, 1989 coincided with the emergence of transnational exhibitions, when institutions in the West shifted their focus away from discussions of national uniqueness and diminished the significance of national representation.²⁰ In contrast, Georgia, like other countries in the post-Soviet territories, sought to re-establish and affirm its national identity driven by the desire to disentangle itself from the Soviet past.²¹ This collective trauma is multifaceted, encompassing the challenging journey toward colonial healing following Georgia’s historical marginalisation within a broader oppressive framework designed to serve the interests of the USSR. Substantial portions of Georgia’s history and cultural identity were systematically suppressed by Russian and Soviet imperialist policies and narratives.²² The tumultuous period known as the ‘dark nineties’²³ and the subsequent Russian invasion of Georgia in August 2008 have left deep psychological and social scars.²⁴ The latter event emboldened Russian imperial ambition of recolonisation, resulting in the occupation of Crimea in 2014 and culminating in the full-scale invasion of Ukraine on 24 February 2022.²⁵  

Gayatri Spivak²⁶ argues that certain forms of literature can participate in a comprehensive counter-rememoration project, proposing that nations have comparable histories characterised by shared moments of glory, significant national liberation movements, and instances of religious tolerance. Even though this perspective risks oversimplifying contemporary political challenges by suggesting a universal historical narrative rooted in conflict and warfare, the idea of such universality prompted me to reflect on the concept of trauma – a pervasive experience that affects a significant portion of the population. To compare individual and societal psychological structures, I refer to Frantz Fanon’s concept of ‘constellation of delirium’ that mediates the normal social relations of its subjects, particularly where it manifests in everyday life, and challenges the myths surrounding ‘man’ and ‘society’.²⁷ According to Fanon’s psychoanalytic approach, identities are fractured, and he suggests that such historical impositions create a profound psychological alienation, not only for individuals but also for the collective psyche of a colonised state. The triggering of unprocessed trauma in today’s Georgia mirrors Fanon’s concept of the colonial subject being ‘overdetermined from without’, where past experiences of domination inscribe themselves on the social and political consciousness, resurfacing whenever analogous conditions emerge. These shared traumatic wounds, shaped by the unique interplay of cultural, political, and historical forces, create a ‘Manichean delirium’, perpetuating cycles of division and stagnation.

The Tbilisi National Museum holds the largest collection of Pirosmani’s works, its façade adorned with a banner depicting his famous painting Margharita, looking out over demonstrators and activists protesting for more than 360 days,²⁸ which also brings back unhealed traumas from the Soviet past. ‘To be able to see, one should not have eyes blurred with prejudice; one should have something else’, as Pirosmani himself said of his distinctive style.²⁹ The solitary figures in his artworks carry an undertone of isolation, which perhaps could be traced back to the time when he was orphaned at the age of eight. In contrast, festive scenes such as Princes Carousing pay homage to the Georgian tradition of supra (feast), and still life paintings serve as reflections of the path that led him to become a dukhan (tavern) sign artist.

In The Actress Margarita, Pirosmani portrayed the French vaudeville performer, singer and actress Marguerite de Sèvre. Dressed entirely in white and holding a bouquet of flowers, she evokes the image of a bride. The painting alludes to the legend surrounding Pirosmani’s beloved muse, who inspired him to relinquish all his possessions and buy every available flower in Tbilisi – a million roses, as the story goes. This fable serves as an indication of a colonised form of culturalism that emerged in the Soviet Union, which contributed to the romanticised portrayal of Pirosmani. This portrayal was later adapted into a renowned song by the Russian singer, Alla Pugacheva, which gained widespread popularity across the Soviet republics.³⁰ Pirosmani’s biography, shrouded in myths, mysticism, and legends, reveals only a few facts about his life, many of which are gently uncovered through his works. To move away from cultural colonialism, we must resist romanticising the artist and revisit, instead, how we discuss his work, free from mystifying personification.  As art historians, can we place Pirosmani in art historical discourse alongside all other prominent painters and artists of his time in other parts of the world, rather than reading him through the myths attached to his persona?

In this regard, the exhibition also included two commissions by Georgian Berlin-based contemporary artists Thea Djordjadze and Andro Wekua, which dialogued with Pirosmani’s work. His life and work were intertwined, and Djordjadze’s room-spanning metal panel installation can be seen as a response to the need to re-read Pirosmani in today’s context and to re-examine the colonial narratives surrounding him. Her installation was in a separate room dedicated to decentralised knowledge about Pirosmani. Her research and deep admiration for the artists resulted in chrome panels revealing the contextual elements of Pirosmani’s life and of Tbilisi in general. As for Wekua, his commission ‘Short Note’. consisted of a mise-en-scène of Pirosmani’s Roe Deer by a Stream. Hung against a white curtain-draped wall, the display established a conversation between the painting and a sculpture hanging from the centre of the theatrical setting, and with a portrait on the other side of the room. For Wekua, the light equally falling from the glass ceiling over Pirosmani’s painting and his own lamp sculpture, adorned with a rose and a painting, was a way to reflect on the theme of vulnerability.³¹ In his interview, Wekua talks about the fact that when he first saw an original painting of Pirosmani at the age of 13, it ‘opened up something in him in a fresh way. It showed the core of the painting or whatever it can do….it opens up and frees you from a lot of things and openness to the future’.

A beautifully designed catalogue that accompanied the exhibition – the most comprehensive publication dedicated to Pirosmani in English and German to date. It brought together the voices of art historians such as Nana Kipiani, Mariam Dvali and Irine Jorjadze, a conversation between the art historian Ana Shanshiashvili and the curator Daniel Baumann, as well as writings by twentieth-century authors, providing insights about Pirosmani’s local context. In addition to the commitment to a decentralised reinterpretation of Pirosmani’s works, the collaboration with Georgian art historians was an important step towards moving naway from the post-colonial past. In their introduction, Daniel Baumann and Sam Keller, Director of the Fondation Beyeler, deliberately refrain from situating Pirosmani’s work within conventional art-historical categories. Nevertheless, they acknowledge that his work transcends the East–West dichotomy, continues to resonate through a visual language untethered to time, geopolitics, or social class. As Baumann aptly states, Pirosmani ‘tried to find a language [for] the future’.³² In many ways, this echoes the Georgian avant-garde artist David Kakabadze’s reflection published in his 1926 book:

The living face of the new painting of Niko Pirosmanashvili… His art is connected with Georgian reality. His aim was never to reproduce any of the methods of painting but to pour into artistic form the life that he suffered. Pirosmanashvili had no intention of producing either a national or traditional art… His art is extremely national and, at the same time general, common to all mankind […].³³

Extensive research informed both the exhibition catalogue and the curatorial process, which provide contextual elements for exhibition making. I see the project as marking a historical moment in the dynamics of decentralisation of work methodologies. By decentralisation, I mean a deconstruction of the colonial narrative that has dominated Pirosmani’s portrayal: an artist born during a period when the region was still under the rule of the Russian Empire and whose posthumous recognition, the understanding of his significance failed to transcend the borders of the post-Soviet nations.³⁴ Fortunately, the exhibition ‘Niko Pirosmani’ at the Fondation Beyeler has skilfully avoided these pitfalls.³⁵ Naturally, presenting Pirosmani to a Swiss audience posed a considerable challenge despite an initial Swiss debut in Zurich back in 1995.³⁶ But the task of unravelling the intricate layers of his life sufferings without romanticising and exoticising them, as well as shedding light on the years of his overlooked significance within the broader transnational art history, was successfully achieved in Basel.³⁷

To quote the renowned writer, poet, thinker and philosopher Grigol Robakidze (1882–1962),³⁸ the greatest fighter for freedom from the colonial shackles of Russia, ‘To see Pirosmani is to believe in Georgia.’³⁹ Perhaps to believe in Georgia today means that we must critically re-evaluate and consciously reject the lingering colonial remnants and the associated narratives that have been circulating for over a century – in art history and beyond – while also resisting creeping metastatic attempts to link Georgia back to a cancerous imperialist centre. Pirosmani’s work embodies the enduring wounds and traumas associated with imperialism and colonisation, underscoring the necessity for national unity. Yet, rather than mere admiration, his legacy calls for a rigorous process of re-examination, remembrance, and critical reflection to safeguard Georgian culture as an identity against the insidious forces of both overt and covert neo-imperial aspirations.