• KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00205 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10429 0.29%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0.28%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00205 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10429 0.29%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0.28%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00205 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10429 0.29%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0.28%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00205 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10429 0.29%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0.28%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00205 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10429 0.29%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0.28%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00205 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10429 0.29%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0.28%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00205 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10429 0.29%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0.28%
  • KGS/USD = 0.01144 0%
  • KZT/USD = 0.00205 0%
  • TJS/USD = 0.10429 0.29%
  • UZS/USD = 0.00008 0%
  • TMT/USD = 0.28571 0.28%

Viewing results 1 - 6 of 108

Munara Abdukakharova: Stories of Art, Identity, and Political Memory from Kyrgyzstan

A yellow hammer-and-sickle symbol is sewn onto black, yellow, blue and red mattresses in Up on Manas, down on Sovetskaya, a powerful artwork by artist Munara Abdukakharova presented last year at Fondazione Elpis in Milan. Inspired by the traditional kurak korpe (the hand-stitched patchwork cushions and mattresses that roll up like futons), the piece reimagines a familiar domestic object as a carrier of collective memory for Central Asian migrants, often the most tangible material link to home. Born in 1990 in Bishkek, just one year before Kyrgyzstan declared independence from the Soviet Union, Abdukakharova belongs to a generation that grew up during a profound political and cultural transition. The lingering Soviet legacy, the rise of nationalism, increasing religious influence, and the pressures of global capitalism all intersect in her work, which frequently draws on textiles, felt, and everyday objects rooted in local culture. “The art I make is mostly narrative, based on my everyday life, and depicts broader social issues in Kyrgyzstan,” says Abdukakharova from her home in Bishkek, from where she realizes most of her work. A finalist of the B. Bubikanova Art Prize, Abdukakharova works across embroidery, printmaking, photography, and installation. Speaking to The Times of Central Asia, she reflects on her path from architecture to contemporary art, the political realities shaping life in Bishkek, and the role artists play in questioning the direction of a young nation. TCA: You often describe your artistic practice as emerging from observation and your everyday experience. Did you grow up in a family that was into art? Abdukakharova: Not at all. All the members of my family are pharmacists, and while my parents wanted me to go to medical school, I couldn’t; I’m really scared of blood! (laughs) I went to an architectural school instead. I didn’t draw as a child, but I remember really liking to dismantle objects, whether it was toys or even a chair, furniture, and trying to put it back again… something I still love to do. The passion for drawing came only later on, in high school. TCA: Your decision to study architecture in Bishkek came at a time when many young people in Kyrgyzstan still looked toward Russia for their education. Could you describe the circumstances that led you to that choice and the cultural expectations surrounding it? Abdukakharova: When I finished high school in 2008, studying in Moscow was still seen as the best option. Unlike how it is today, growing up in Bishkek, there was a strong belief that anything coming from the former Soviet Union was inherently good. The teacher who helped me prepare university applications only suggested schools in Moscow or St. Petersburg; other countries were never really discussed, even though I already spoke English quite fluently. Looking back, I realize how dominant that perspective was at the time. I took a gap year, thinking that I could go to an art school later, maybe the Moscow Surikov State Academic Institute of Fine Arts. In the end, my parents didn’t let...

The Language Nobody Wants to Speak About: Russian’s Uneasy Place in Central Asia’s Cultural Conversation

Rhetoric in segments of the Russian media has sharpened debates over sovereignty and influence across Central Asia, pushing these concerns beyond policy circles and into everyday conversations. The region is reassessing not only pipelines and alliances, but language itself. In politics, this shift is visible and symbolic. In culture, it is more difficult to discern. The Russian language still shapes how Central Asian art is funded, circulated, and institutionally processed, even as institutions distance themselves from Moscow’s influence. This contradiction sits at the heart of contemporary cultural life in the region. Artists produce work rooted in Kazakh, Uzbek, Kyrgyz, Tajik, or Turkmen histories. They title exhibitions in local languages. They speak passionately about decolonial futures and cultural sovereignty. But when the catalogue is written, the grant application submitted, or the curatorial text sent abroad, the language quietly shifts. First to Russian, sometimes to English, and only occasionally does it remain in the local language. This is not nostalgia, but a structural inheritance. Russian remains the shared professional language of much of the urban cultural sector. Edward Lemon, President of the Oxus Society for Central Asian Affairs, argues that the language’s endurance reflects both ideology and pragmatism. “While local languages have become much more widespread as the Central Asian republics have strengthened their nationhood and as there has been an increase in anti-Russian sentiments since the invasion of Ukraine, Russian language use remains widespread,” Lemon told TCA. “Despite the ideological imperative to reduce reliance on Russian, there are some pragmatic reasons why it remains prominent. High levels of migration to Russia, particularly from Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Kazakhstan, mean that a basic competence in the language is essential to survival for many Central Asians. Russian remains a language of interethnic communication, particularly in Kazakhstan, where ethnic Russians, for the most part, are reluctant to speak Kazakh. While English has become more widespread and some of the Central Asian languages are mutually intelligible, Russian retains a status as a diplomatic, business, and civil society language for those working in multiple countries. Russia also remains a language of education. Over 200,000 Central Asians study in Russia, by far the largest destination in the world. Russian-language schools remain prominent at every level in Central Asia, from kindergarten to graduate schools. In short, while the usage of Russian is in slow decline, its position is relatively entrenched.” For cultural institutions, this reality means that distancing from Moscow politically does not automatically sever the linguistic infrastructure through which grants are written, exhibitions travel, and contracts are signed. Naima Morelli, an arts writer focused on contemporary art across Asia-Pacific and the Middle East, argues that the issue is less about elimination than coexistence. “For me, it makes sense that Russian continues to function as a practical operating language across Central Asia’s cultural infrastructure, as an inherited connective tissue of sorts. In the hypothesis of getting rid of it, the most obvious alternative for a shared language for exchanges across countries in Central Asia is English, which the global...

A Breakout Year for Contemporary Art in Kazakhstan

The year 2025 marked not only a busy period for contemporary art in Kazakhstan but also a decisive acceleration. Art moved beyond professional circles, claimed urban spaces, entered international agendas, and ceased to be a conversation “for insiders only.” The Kazakhstani art scene spoke with growing confidence both at home and abroad. New institutions, landmark exhibitions, festivals, and global collaborations signaled a pivotal shift: contemporary art has become a visible and integral component of the country’s cultural fabric. New Museums and Art Spaces in Kazakhstan Geographically, Almaty emerged as the epicenter of contemporary art activity in 2025. The city saw the opening of key institutions that became new focal points for artists, curators, and audiences. Opening of the Almaty Museum of Arts (ALMA) On September 12, 2025, the Almaty Museum of Arts (ALMA) opened its doors in Almaty, becoming one of the largest contemporary art museums in Central Asia. From the outset, ALMA signaled serious institutional ambitions, with a mission to support and study contemporary art processes and situate them within a global cultural context. The museum’s collection includes around 700 works, more than 70% of which are by notable Kazakhstani artists of the 20th century, such as Zhanatai Shardenov, Tokbolat Togyzbayev, Makym Kisameddinov, and Shaimardan Sariyev. Contemporary artists like Rustem Khalfin, Saule Suleimenova, and Said Atabekov are also prominently featured. Designed by the British architectural bureau Chapman Taylor, the 10,000-square-meter museum includes expansive exhibition halls (“The Great Steppe,” “Saryarka”), an Art Street atrium, storage and restoration facilities, and a creative workshop, setting a new standard for museum infrastructure in the region. [caption id="attachment_42431" align="aligncenter" width="1200"] Installation view of "I Understand Everything" – Almagul Menlibayeva (12 September 2025 - May 2026), Almaty Museum of Arts; image: Alexey Naroditsky[/caption] Tselinny Center of Contemporary Culture: Reclaiming a Building and Its Meaning Just days earlier, on September 5, 2025, the Tselinny Center of Contemporary Culture was inaugurated in Almaty. Housed in a restored 1964 Soviet-era cinema, the building underwent nearly seven years of renovation led by British architect Asif Khan. Notably, the facade’s unique sgraffito by artist Evgeny Sidorkin was preserved. The transformed space now features an exhibition hall, library, cafe, and workshop areas. Its opening was marked by the performance BARSAKELMES, with initial public access free of charge. Tselinny now operates three days a week and serves as a vital platform for exhibitions, education, and creative dialogue. [caption id="attachment_42433" align="aligncenter" width="2400"] The Tselinny Center of Contemporary Culture; image: SAPARLAS/Zhanarbek Amankulov[/caption] A. Kasteev State Museum of Arts: A New Status and Contemporary Focus Kazakhstan’s primary national art institution also redefined its role in 2025. Celebrating its 90th anniversary, the A. Kasteev State Museum of Arts was granted National Museum status. In conjunction with this milestone, a new gallery dedicated to contemporary Kazakhstani art from the independence period was unveiled. The exhibition Memory. Space. Progress brought together works from leading artists, charting the development of artistic practice from the 1990s to the present. Contributors included members of the Shymkent-based Red Tractor group, Almaty conceptualists,...

Mapping the Inner Landscape: An Interview with Oyjon Khayrullaeva

In recent years, a new generation of Uzbek artists has begun to reshape how culture, history, and identity are visually narrated. Among them is Oyjon Khayrullaeva, whose practice moves fluidly between photography, digital collage, and large-scale public installations. Born after independence and largely self-trained outside formal art institutions, Khayrullaeva works with inherited visual languages such as Islamic ornament and traditional textiles, reassembling them into contemporary forms that speak to the present moment. Her recent project for the Bukhara Biennial, called “Eight Lives,” marks a turning point in this exploration. Installed in the public and historical spaces of the ancient city, the work consists of monumental mosaic organs that connect physical vulnerability with emotional states and collective memory. Through the human body, Khayrullaeva maps experiences of anxiety, healing, spirituality, and social pressure, transforming ornament into anatomy and architecture into inner landscape. The Times of Central Asia spoke with the artist to trace how Eight Lives emerged, how collaboration with mosaic masters shaped its final form, and how audiences in Uzbekistan are responding to seeing contemporary art in public spaces. TCA: Can you tell me about your beginnings as an artist? Did you always want to become one? Khayrullaeva: From early childhood, my parents noticed that there was something a bit unusual about me. My father has always called me - and still does - an “alien,” because I’m probably the only person in my family who chose a creative path. No one else in my family has been involved in art, at least not for the past seven generations. I was always a creative child, but I never imagined that I would become an artist. As a child, I tried many things; I went to music school, studied piano, and attended various creative clubs. Still, the idea of pursuing art professionally never crossed my mind. Becoming an artist was, in many ways, an unexpected turn in my life. For a very long time, honestly, until around the age of 24, I had no clear idea of what I wanted to do or what my profession would be. I was never certain about it. So yes, life is an interesting thing. You never really know where it’s going to lead you. TCA: Your artistic journey began with photography before evolving into digital collage. How did your early work in photography shape the way you now approach layering, texture, and composition in your digital pieces? Khayrullaeva: When I was around 17 or 18, I became interested in photography. At that time, I didn’t have a camera, so I was shooting with my phone. For my birthday, I was given some money, and I decided to use it to buy a camera. My father added a bit more, and I bought my very first one. It was an incredible feeling taking photos, holding the camera, and shooting. Mobile photography and working with a camera are completely different experiences, and that difference brought me so much joy. I remember the pure pleasure of photographing everything...

La Tregua: A Bridge Across Wars and Worlds – An Interview with Director Miguel Ángel Vivas

In the misty green heart of Bizkaia, where mountains rise like ancient sentinels and the air carries the scent of rain and earth, a remarkable filmmaking journey unfurled. This is where director Miguel Ángel Vivas Moreno, known for Money Heist (La Casa de Papel), Cicatriz, Desaparecidos, and Secuestrados, reconstructed one of the most haunting landscapes of the twentieth century: a Soviet gulag on the distant Kazakh steppe. His new film, La Tregua (The Truce), invites viewers into a story based on actual events that unfolded far from Spain, but holds deep ties to its history. It traces the ordeal of Spanish prisoners during World War II who fell into Soviet hands and were compelled to endure the harsh, frozen conditions of a labor camp. Their struggle becomes a bridge between past and present, between countries and cultures, and between two men who must learn to recognize each other beyond the uniforms that once made them enemies. [caption id="attachment_40358" align="aligncenter" width="2560"] All images courtesy of the production[/caption] The project is an unprecedented Spanish-Kazakh co-production from Spassk 99, AIE, Amanat Capital, LTD, and Umaifilm, LLP. This partnership gives the film a reach that feels genuinely cross-continental. It is a motion picture passport that opens a window onto a forgotten corner of global history. At the center of the story are Miguel Herrán and Arón Piper, who step into the roles of Reyes and Salgado. The characters appear as ideological enemies; having fought on opposing sides during the Spanish Civil War, both carry heavy psychological baggage. Inside the camp, their former certainties fall away. What begins as uneasy coexistence becomes an inward journey shaped by hunger, fear, and the starkness of their new reality. Executive producer César Benítez recalls searching for two actors capable of expressing both the physical exhaustion of imprisonment and the spark of hope that keeps a person standing. He says that the moment he saw Miguel and Arón together, he recognized that rare blend of fragility and fire. Miguel Ángel Vivas talked to TCA to break down the challenges and highlights behind the production. [caption id="attachment_40356" align="aligncenter" width="2560"] All images courtesy of the production[/caption] TCA: The story is fictional, but it is based on real events in Kazakhstan. Can you explain the historical context and how it inspired La Tregua? Miguel: The story begins with a documentary about Spaniards in the Soviet gulags. That’s where we discovered that republicans and fascists shared the same prison two years after the Spanish Civil War ended. It struck us as a fascinating starting point for a human story about the relationships that formed between them. [caption id="attachment_40357" align="aligncenter" width="2560"] All images courtesy of the production[/caption] TCA: The premise is intriguing: how two fighters on opposite sides of the Spanish Civil War end up in a gulag in Kazakhstan. In an increasingly polarized world, is there a lesson in the film to help heal the wounds that divide Spain, or even the world in general? Miguel: That was the idea! In such a...

TCA Interview: Director Yernar Nurgaliyev: “It’s Time for Kazakh Cinema to Make Its Mark on the World”

Yernar Nurgaliyev still describes painting as his first love. Only now, instead of a brush, he uses a camera, and instead of a canvas, a screen. Today he shoots comedies, and dreams of a Kazakh multiverse where heroes never die. He is certain of one thing: Kazakh culture will be eternal, and he is doing everything possible to make it so. The Times of Central Asia spoke with the director about how he entered film, what he plans to shoot next, and why he believes it is time for Kazakhstan to make itself known to the world. TCA: Your films are always visually striking. Is this because you were originally trained as an artist? Nurgaliyev: Yes. I graduated from art college, then enrolled at the Zhurgenov Academy of Arts to study set design. I thought I would deepen my craft, but the first courses turned out to be a repeat of the college programme. I was very bored, so I decided to go to work. I didn’t start with music videos, but as an assistant propmaster. At that time, senior students recruited assistants from among firstyear students. An energetic girl, a production designer, asked me to help her with her diploma. Before that, I wasn’t interested in cinema at all, I lived for painting: I painted from life and did portraits. But when I saw the filmset, it was “wow.” I realised I wanted to work there. And I stopped going to the academy. I wanted to quit, but they wouldn’t let me. TCA: But you still got your diploma? Nurgaliyev: Yes, although it was difficult. I had nothing to do at the academy, still life, portraits, I had already done all that in college. There, they didn’t break us but helped us find our own style. At the academy, it was the opposite: the teacher said, “Draw like me.” But I can’t draw like someone else. I can only draw in my own way. TCA: Do you paint now? Nurgaliyev: I hardly have any time, but I recently picked up a brush again, and my hand remembers everything. Oil, watercolour, gouache, it’s as if there was no break. I am grateful to my hand; it remembers everything it was taught. TCA: Which is more important, talent or perseverance? Nurgaliyev: There are people who are gifted by God. But a gift is only the beginning. If you slack off and don’t develop, nothing will come of it. The worst thing is when a person is gifted but does nothing with it. I don’t sit still. If I have one day without work, it feels like I haven’t filmed for a year. I always need to be on the move. If the pause drags on, I start calling my friends myself: “Let’s come up with something.” [caption id="attachment_39639" align="aligncenter" width="300"] @Galiya Baizhanova[/caption] TCA: This year, you turned down many projects, choosing instead to focus on another film. Is this a new stage? Nurgaliyev: I’ve matured. Next year, I plan to shoot three of...