FROM CONVERSATIONS WITH SONA

A few thoughts on dreams, background, technology, and the strange paths that lead us into art.

How would you describe your art in five words?

Eclectic, authentic, evocative, enigmatic, bizarre.

In an alternate universe where you couldn't be an artist, what would you be doing, and why?

It depends on the universe, I believe. If it’s somewhat similar to ours, then maybe a writer? But I am sort of a writer in this one already, having just published my first book recently.

Let’s venture into a somewhat different universe then. Here, I am a Changer of Ways. People come to me seeking very special and potentially dangerous entertainment (it’s probably illegal as well). I look at them, listen to them, and then I transform them. I alter their bodies, I alter their memories, and immerse them into the different worlds I craft for them. Temporarily.

It's an art form. Next-level VR, I guess, which very soon might be a reality in our universe as well. So essentially, I end up being an artist again… no matter the universe.

Do you dream? Do your dreams influence your art in any way?

Oh yes, and I love my dreams, no matter how wild, crazy, and abstract they are. Sometimes they have nothing to do with my daytime perception of myself as Sona. It almost feels like they’ve been sent to the wrong person.

Sometimes the entity experiencing the dream is not even a person — it’s just some sort of presence that might occasionally grow a hand or a foot as needed.

Years ago I had a whole month of Japanese dreams. I was this little Japanese boy, and there was no recollection of “Sona” whatsoever. I was immersed in a completely different world with serene Japanese landscapes and Japanese music. So weird and so amazing!

I am really grateful to my dreams for this opportunity to experience life that daytime Sona cannot experience. Dreams as windows into the vast ocean of our subconscious mind have fascinated me all my life.

I might not use them directly in my art, but I love diving into those deep waters of the subconscious and then coming back to light with some nice catch.

As David Lynch said:
“Down deep, the fish are more powerful and more pure. They’re huge and abstract. And they’re very beautiful.”

How does your background influence your art?

Well, the background is background. It’s always there, no matter how much paint you smear over it.

For most of my life I never tried to openly demonstrate my background in my art, but I knew that it was always there somehow, showing through. I never liked explicit, loud messages. I love heavy textures that reveal just a hint of what lies beneath and allow viewers to see the layers — the history.

But for the last several years I guess I started becoming more explicit myself, feeling a need to make my background more visible. Is it me aging, or being far from my country and my people, or the fact that my country and my people today are heavily wounded and struggling for existence? Probably a bit of everything.

I have a whole series of paintings called Imprints, where Armenian type appears as part of the surface. Then there is a series of collages called Patched, where I try to rearrange the disparate fragments of ripped-off older works into some new wholeness.

When did you realise that you are an artist?

I have been drawing and painting for as long as I can remember, and for a long time I was convinced that I was an artist — and a great one at that.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when or how that confidence was broken or dissipated, but eventually I followed my other passion, literature, and for many years visual art became more of a hobby.

This changed when I moved to Australia and realised that a translator of literature from Western Armenian to Russian was not exactly the most sought-after profession here. It was both exciting and a bit scary — the realisation that I could actually live my childhood dream.

How do you think artificial intelligence could impact the future of art and your practice in particular?

Well, the future is here, I guess, and we are already experiencing its impact.

It’s huge — a real shift of paradigm. I have always embraced new technologies, realising that they are inevitable and that instead of being in denial we should try to make them work for us in the best possible way.

But progress is tricky. By delegating more and more work to machines, by making our lives “easier”, we also gradually lose certain skills along the way. Perhaps that is not the biggest problem though, because people might soon begin to value real skills much more.

The real question may become how to distinguish what is real and what is not.

What are you reading or listening to at present? Does it inspire your work?

I am very eclectic, not just in my art but also in my reading and listening habits.

You can often find books on neuroscience, philosophy and alchemy on my bedside table, mixed with some juicy murder mysteries. Recently I’ve been reading The Tree of Knowledge: The Biological Roots of Human Understanding by Humberto R. Maturana and Francisco J. Varela, The Adventurous Heart: Figures and Capriccios by Ernst Jünger, and a hefty tome of the Neil Gaiman Reader.

As for music, it is always on when I am painting. Recently I’ve been listening a lot to Andreas Scholl’s Bach cantatas and to Tigran Hamasyan.

This cornucopia of sounds and narratives certainly inspires me, but usually in subtle, indirect ways. More like fertiliser.

Do you believe that art can change the world?

As I mentioned before, I am not a big fan of art sending loud direct messages. I don’t trust them myself. The louder the message, the less I trust it.

But art can move people, art can touch. So just like the subtle flutter of a butterfly’s wings, the art we create and the ideas we share can ripple outward, influencing others and the world in ways we might not even imagine.

The interview was originally published by Plexus Gallery.

You can read the original version here →