An extraordinary day
Let me tell you about the day I became an active participant in Pussy Riot.
It was a normal Friday in Santa Fe, rendered extraordinary by two events: An art exhibit opening at CONTAINER by provocateur and international fugitive Nadya Tolokonnikova, and then a concert at Meow Wolf by her feminist protest art collective Pussy Riot. A few weeks earlier, I interviewed Tolokonnikova for Pasatiempo (see The Art of Protest, June 23, 2023), and she was frank about the protest she waged against Russian President Vladimir Putin and the consequences it has had on her life.
Tolokonnikova and two of her comrades were sent to a prison camp for an anti-putin performance at Moscow’s Christ the Savior Cathedral in 2012, and earlier this year, Russian authorities put her on a wanted list again. What was her crime this time? Pussy Riot released footage of its latest protest piece, Putin’s Ashes ,a video in which a group of masked women carried a gigantic portrait of Putin and ultimately burned it. That video plays on a loop at the CONTAINER exhibit, where it’s projected on a 25-foot-tall wall. Tolokonnikova’s artwork, pink-bordered frames with slogans inside like “This art makes you a Pussy Riot member,” line the walls.
As you make your way around, you see videos of Pussy Riot performing in Russia. As you climb the stairs, you peer at a display of prison implements: shanks and needles and razor blades fashioned into weapons of war. The second-floor entrance wall is emblazoned with fliers that read KILL THE SEXIST, the title of a Pussy Riot song.
Down the hall, people stop to photograph a mock jail cell at the end of the exhibit. There she sits, a Wizard of Oz but without the curtain to hide behind. Tolokonnikova sits demurely at a desk, wearing a red ski mask and black frock, and methodically makes marks on the tabletop. I consider saying “Hello,” but I feel weird. People are walking up and thanking her for her art and her courage.
In CONTAINER’S side beer garden, I sidle up to gallery co-founder Michael Carroll to congratulate him on the exhibit. I tell him I don’t see any KGB agents and then paraphrase an old poker maxim: “If you can’t spot the KGB, you might be the KGB.” “That’s a terrifying concept,” he deadpans.
But it’s also Tolokonnikova’s reality. You don’t get to take a day off from being a world class provocateur.
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A few hours later, I’m standing on line at Meow Wolf playing my new favorite game: Try To Spot The Foreign Operative. It probably isn’t the blue-haired youngster rocking a Joan Jett and the Blackhearts T-shirt. And I’m ruling out the septuagenarian in the purple blouse and white ski mask.
Pussy Riot comes on late; I’m standing upstairs at a vantage point I like to call the Lee Harvey Oswald Window, where I spend half my time watching the crowd.
There are Pussy Riot supporters of all ages here — and no apparent security. As people crush close to the stage, Tolokonnikova welcomes them.
At one point, Tolokonnikova gives the crowd what they’re here for. She tells them why she does what she does. Days earlier, there had been what appeared to be a failed coup in Russia, and Tolokonnikova expresses hope for her country.
“It’s not easy to be a political prisoner, and there are still many more political prisoners in Russia,” she says. “Because we speak truth, we show the emperor is naked. We show Putin is much weaker than people used to think.”