NIYAZ NADJAFOV

NIYAZ NADJAFOV – WHEN PAINTING IS NECESSARY TO LIFE

November 2018 – 2451 words

COURSE

How did you become an artist?

I've always drawn, but I never knew it would one day become my profession. At school, I used a pencil, and when the teacher confiscated my notebook, I'd continue drawing on the table. It was crazy, but I was passionate. I never took painting lessons. Those classes are for people who can't draw.

I remember very well that during my childhood I was ready to doodle all night. I would explain to others that I wasn't going to sleep or eat, just draw. I would draw boats and mountains; I loved those patterns. I also remember the day I painted my first tree in the snow. I was between four and six years old, and a friend's father congratulated me. It's these little details that inspired me to become a painter.

When did you realize that you couldn't live without painting?

It came later, after I turned thirty-three. I had regrets, unsure if painting was my path. I was then sitting in the back of a carriage pulled by two horses: conscience and ambition. But when you're too ambitious, it risks overturning the vehicle. That's why you have to let go and only half-hold the reins.

I was drawing in a figurative style, under the influence of opium, when I finally decided to show my work to my friends. One drunken day, I threw everything away because I thought I could do better, and they were the ones who took it. They've always kept it at their place, but I can't stand to look at those paintings anymore: even today, I'm afraid of those canvases.

One day, I ran into a classmate I hadn't seen in twenty years. He asked me why I wasn't making a living from my painting. Apparently, he had one of my paintings hanging on his wall, and his daughter kept asking him who the artist was. So, I listened to God, to others, and to my inner voice, which told me to take the plunge. I was no longer able to juggle multiple jobs while painting. And now I can't stop painting. Do I have the right to do this? Is it God's will? Our relationship with Him is like that of children with their parents: sometimes, all you have to do is ask. I have a rather consumerist approach to this, and I receive what I need. If He considers that I don't need anything, or that I'm asking for too much, He won't give me anything.

PASTING IN MUSEUMS: AN ARTISTIC PRACTICE

What is your work process?

It depends on the weather. If it's not raining, I'm outside; otherwise, I go to the museum to do some collages. To paste things up inside a museum, I need two things: to be afraid and to know there won't be any punishment. If no one notices you when you walk in, the adrenaline rush isn't the same. But being guided solely by fear isn't viable either. The last time I went to the Pompidou Center, I pasted three pictures on the walls. It had been a while since I'd been there, even though it's practically my home. I was trembling, I was scared, but I also enjoyed it.

In which museum did you first paste up a canvas?

It was in the toilets at the Pompidou Centre. Don't think there was absolutely no danger, because I could have simply closed the toilet door. I stuck it in a corner, and it stayed there for a very long time. I did the opposite of Duchamp by putting art in the toilet! For me, it's more fun to intervene in museums than anywhere else: of course, the funniest thing would be to put up collages on a nuclear power plant, but I'm not brave enough to go there.

Most of your paintings are distinguished by their rather dark atmosphere.

When I drew monuments or royal motifs, I wanted to express my disagreement with political hierarchies and governments. Why can we buy cherries but not coca leaves? I find the speeches of politicians fighting against drugs hypocritical. If I'm sick and can't afford my medication, what am I supposed to do? I laugh at these situations, without seeing it as a heroic act, because the widespread hypocrisy is no longer a secret to anyone. But sometimes, I feel the urge to express myself and paint it.

How do you judge a painting to be successful?

That's a very good question. Art is exactly like a drug: whether you take heroin, opium, alcohol, or joints, in the end, that's all that remains in your mind. It's the same with a painting.

However, you always have to question yourself. In my opinion, I've succeeded with a few paintings by knowing how to approach them. But when you don't know which direction to take, everything is more difficult, especially since you're your own first judge, before anyone else's opinion. Whatever people say about my work, I often end up not liking it.

INFLUENCES

What were your influences?

A woman told me to look at Mondrian's works, as if I didn't know them! But Mondrian didn't paint flowers, even though I sometimes felt a resemblance in certain objects. When painting, you draw inspiration from all styles: I didn't know Francis Bacon's work, and when I discovered it, I'd already been working for six years. It was here in Paris that I learned he was one of the major figures of Modern Art. Yet, even without knowing his work, I think it was already influencing me through the everyday objects I created based on it. Everything blends together. In my case, I wanted to be the best painter. I quickly realized that was unrealistic and ridiculous. 

How do you perceive the comparison with other painters?

I don't mind being compared to others, but I don't like it when our work is likened to others. Paradoxically, if someone tells me my work is unique, I'll question myself. Some painters are morally weak and can't rise above criticism. Conversely, collage is, for me, a form of revenge on others, and it allows me to remain morally strong.

Let's take a painter like Malevich and his squares. The square existed long before him, notably by Alphonse Allais, who created monochromes and named them respectively Black men fighting in a cellar at night for black, and First communion of chlorotic young girls in snowy weather As for white. I greatly respect Malevich's work, what he was able to convey. He had the courage to teach us to read between the lines, however I don't admire him all that much.

THE REPETITION OF A PATTERN

How do you differentiate between your studio work and your street work? Outdoors you only paint flowers and in the studio only human figures.

I don't really know, it just happened naturally. Life decided it that way. The first thing that comes to mind is when I was kicked out of the Cité des Arts. Honestly, I'm not complaining, I'm just stating that it was a terrible situation. I was given a week's notice and suddenly found myself out on the street with 373 canvases in my hands. What despair! Do you remember the Pont-Neuf and those padlocks attached to the railings? I'm not criticizing the people who did it, but it was ridiculous. I had the idea then to hang my 373 paintings on the bridge railings, I was so desperate. I didn't know the city and didn't want to put my artwork out on the street. In my opinion, this situation was predestined, but at the time, it didn't seem obvious. People scared me by describing the problems with the police and, especially, with my visa. I could have hung these paintings, but I ultimately chose the flowers.

There's a situation that surprised me greatly in the past. When I was drawing flowers on cardboard in Baku, people told me I'd be better off working on canvas to be able to sell my paintings. This outraged me as an artist. My friend Mika always questioned me about my choice of cardboard. And I replied that canvas was time-consuming to set up and expensive. Yet that was only half true. Mika, who was a very wealthy man, offered several times to give me a hundred canvases to paint flowers on, which he would then buy from me. He didn't ask me to give them to him; he was ready to pay for them because he loved them so much. But I didn't accept his offer. He was therefore convinced that there was another reason why I had chosen cardboard.

Several years passed before I came to settle here in Paris. I had been putting up my collages for six months when one day, as I was hanging my pictures on the walls of the 13th arrondissement...^e In the 16th arrondissement, I understood why I was drawing on cardboard. It was actually very simple: it sticks very well to walls. All of this was foretold by God. My first collages date back to June 2016, not far from the Mansart Gallery. There were three of us, we were very scared and looked left and right, trembling.

What interests you about repeating the same pattern?

If you draw flowers, then you should draw flowers. It's obvious to me, like breathing. Yet, what people call flowers are nothing more than colors that I place in different spots. Why do I draw roses? That's a complicated question. I'm no psychologist, but I suppose it comes from my childhood, because my father grew them on his terrace: Dutch roses and wild roses.

There's a saying that if you step on a painter's foot on a bus, he'll create a different painting. What distinguishes artists from ordinary people is primarily their attitude toward a given situation. Ordinary people are happy if everything goes well; misfortunes make them sad. For painters, feelings are merely a toolbox. You might prefer pliers to a hammer, but you can use both for your craft. The same is true for painting: if I haven't succeeded with my painting, I wouldn't be satisfied even if someone offered me a million euros for it.

FLOWERS ON THE SIDEWALKS

How do you choose your walls? Do you paste things up without permission?

Even though I don't like the wall, I'm going to put up a picture. I do it to get this chore over with, to achieve my goal for the day. Sometimes, I also do it to annoy a rival artist. While putting up pictures, I feel a surge of new energy within me.

Once, I went to the Montreuil gendarmerie to ask a personal question, and I found the French gendarmes so kind and respectful that it made me want to give them a gift. So I thought about putting one of my paintings on a wall of the station. It's all still just a plan, but simply thinking about it gives me a lot of inspiration.

If I were to realize all my ideas right now, I'd run out of inspiration. I always set the bar very high, which motivates me to return to the streets once again. All of this gives me the strength to live and continue drawing and painting.

You paste your paintings in the street but you don't consider yourself an urban artist. So, what does this space represent for you? 

Of course not, because it's real painting, living painting. Pasting my canvases in the street is a real pleasure for me, a real thrill. It's hard work, but I love what I do. Maybe it's the fear of being caught by the police, or the excitement of taking a certain risk. Imagine you play sports and you take a day off because you don't feel like it: how will you feel? A sense of loss. You'd feel a certain guilt. That's exactly what happens to me when I'm not working in the street. I don't see my outdoor activity as a duty: I enjoy going out and pasting my canvases. I can say I've become addicted.

Is this a way to replace drugs?

Of course not. I wasn't feeling well, I was at my wit's end, at the very end. So I pulled myself together, asking God to help me quit drugs. You know I'm suffering even more now than before. With my fix, at least I had some peace of mind. Now, if I can't manage to paint my picture, it's awful. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. But when I do manage to paint it, what a thrill!

What is the difference with Urban Art?

It's a different kind of drug, but it's not for me. Urban artists create works meant to be displayed in the street; that's why it's called that. I make my paintings for museums, for my friends, or to give as gifts. What will you call the paintings I give you? Certainly, what I create is very close to urban art, but it isn't.

Have you decided to go out into the street so that people will recognize you and leave a mark?

Becoming famous, of course! But what does that mean? Is it about greed, having money to buy paints, or drawing better than before? I don't know how to define it. For me, it's not about self-interest; I simply create because I can't stop. Everything is mixed up here.

I don't need money, but it's a real pleasure for me if I can help my friends and family. I need it because I don't know how to do anything, I don't have a job: I'm not a dentist! Therefore, I'm forced to have money to get material things like a bicycle or a kilo of cocaine.

I don't like this question because whatever you say, you're lying. You're lying to yourself, to the people around you. I do it because it's my life. I think about it when I have ups and downs, but I don't like this question.

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