RUBEZH Atelier Residency Program in Tbilisi
Resident:
Resident:
Alex Chumak
September 28–October 11, 2026
RUBEZH Atelier Residency Program in Tbilisi
Resident:
Resident:
Alex Chumak
September 28–October 11, 2026
Alex Chumax is an architect and artist born in Ukraine in 1988.
He works with installation, ready-made, found objects (objet trouvé), photography, painting, graphics, collage, digital sculpture, animation, and plaster. In his work, he engages with performative practices and his own physicality, acting as a kind of mediator between the artistic statement, the realized object, and the viewer. His practice combines different media to create hybrid forms and make his artistic statements as multidimensional as possible.
The main focus of his practice is the concept of the Space of Timelessness. It is the ability to observe and reflect on oneself, people, events, and things without haste or pain, as if from the outside. Personal and mental memory, mythology, trauma, empathy, relationships, asceticism, the fragility of the world and the individual, fears, dreams, and expectations are central to his work. He carefully selects words and artistic means to ensure that his ideas are understood as intended.
The main focus of his practice is the concept of the Space of Timelessness. It is the ability to observe and reflect on oneself, people, events, and things without haste or pain, as if from the outside. Personal and mental memory, mythology, trauma, empathy, relationships, asceticism, the fragility of the world and the individual, fears, dreams, and expectations are central to his work. He carefully selects words and artistic means to ensure that his ideas are understood as intended.
Curator's Note
What do we expect from a home? What matters more — belonging, rootedness, or safety?
We search for all of this as we wander. Finding none of it, we build ourselves a temporary shelter that offers the illusion of safety. We already know it will fall apart.
We are used to this by now.
But we already had somewhere to come to rest. Sick and almost rotting away, our home had nearly disappeared. We saved it at the last moment and gave it what we had been so desperately seeking ourselves: protection, freedom, the chance to live. Now we drag it along with us.
We search for all of this as we wander. Finding none of it, we build ourselves a temporary shelter that offers the illusion of safety. We already know it will fall apart.
We are used to this by now.
But we already had somewhere to come to rest. Sick and almost rotting away, our home had nearly disappeared. We saved it at the last moment and gave it what we had been so desperately seeking ourselves: protection, freedom, the chance to live. Now we drag it along with us.
We cannot do otherwise.
We try to consume it. Is this an attempt to hide it, destroy it, or preserve it within us forever? We keep going, even as we suffocate. We stuff our own mouths, depriving ourselves of speech — following a tradition of silence and endurance, passed down from generation to generation, that seems destined never to end.
We cannot do otherwise. We are used to this by now.
We try to consume it. Is this an attempt to hide it, destroy it, or preserve it within us forever? We keep going, even as we suffocate. We stuff our own mouths, depriving ourselves of speech — following a tradition of silence and endurance, passed down from generation to generation, that seems destined never to end.
We cannot do otherwise. We are used to this by now.
The Project
CONTAINMENT
Installation. Found objects, mattress, cotton wool, nylon.
190 × 90 × 40
A mattress as the smallest unit of home and, at the same time, of its absence. Deformed and swollen like a sick body, its insides becoming visible beneath the shell.
When it was supposed to be gone, I took it with me. Now I try to protect it, as it was supposed to protect me. It has become part of my body, its weight.
Hernias, the suffocating, sickly sweet smell of frailty.
Can a line still be drawn between us? Probably. But despite everything, I have fused with it, with my home, become its freedom and its chance to live, its beautiful and at once ugly homelessness.
190 × 90 × 40
A mattress as the smallest unit of home and, at the same time, of its absence. Deformed and swollen like a sick body, its insides becoming visible beneath the shell.
When it was supposed to be gone, I took it with me. Now I try to protect it, as it was supposed to protect me. It has become part of my body, its weight.
Hernias, the suffocating, sickly sweet smell of frailty.
Can a line still be drawn between us? Probably. But despite everything, I have fused with it, with my home, become its freedom and its chance to live, its beautiful and at once ugly homelessness.
SUFFOCATION
Performance, 30 min
A work about excess, quietness, and silence.
The action balances between suffocation and silence, between the urge to consume everything and the inability to do so.
Walk through your parents’ home. There are plenty of special things there to keep your mouth shut. To make you quiet and obedient. Little cotton-filled quilts, cushions on armchairs, a sturdy mattress. They have served generations. And they can still serve.
*You may interact with the performer as you see fit.
**The performer will remain silent throughout the performance.
Performance, 30 min
A work about excess, quietness, and silence.
The action balances between suffocation and silence, between the urge to consume everything and the inability to do so.
Walk through your parents’ home. There are plenty of special things there to keep your mouth shut. To make you quiet and obedient. Little cotton-filled quilts, cushions on armchairs, a sturdy mattress. They have served generations. And they can still serve.
*You may interact with the performer as you see fit.
**The performer will remain silent throughout the performance.
DRAWINGS
The drawings explore a body without a place through repeated self-portraits. The artist returns to his own image again and again: the body is present, yet where it belongs remains uncertain.
The drawings explore a body without a place through repeated self-portraits. The artist returns to his own image again and again: the body is present, yet where it belongs remains uncertain.
