Nadya of Pussy Riot: "We begin to paint an image of another Russia"

Living under an authoritarian regime means more than just living in fear; it is a constant ache of being stripped of your voice and humanity as injustices unfold at your doorstep. Nadya Tolokonnikova, conceptual artist and the founding member of Pussy Riot, knows this pain intimately – but she refuses to let it define her. Once imprisoned for her activism and now on Russia’s federal wanted list, her work is born from the visceral understanding of what it means to be silenced – and what it takes to fight back.

Born in Siberia, forged in the fires of political upheaval, Nadya’s sense of self is marked by both pride and ache – a duality that manifests in every stroke of calligraphy, every lyric, and every performance. In her hands, art becomes more than a statement; it’s a lifeline to those who feel alone in their fury. As she challenges broader power structures built on oppression, she reminds us that resistance is not only a political act, but a way of reclaiming the very essence of who we are. With Nadya’s solo exhibition RAGE at OK Linz coming to a close, we look back on our conversation about identity crises, religion, and art as a channel of hope. And for those of you on the West Coast, make sure to mark your calendars for Nadya’s upcoming show at Honor Fraser in LA.

Lovely to be in touch! How are you feeling today?
I feel fine, I’ve just been working! 

You’ve been busy taking part in so many exhibitions internationally. How does it feel to be working with visual and installation arts primarily?
It feels good, I’m happy that there are people in institutions who want to help me spread my word. I don’t take it lightly because I know how difficult it is to deal with political art. People are afraid for I don’t know which fucking reason. Honestly, if you live in the West, you’re most likely not going to get poisoned, put in jail or assassinated, you won’t even have any problems at work. But people are still afraid. Anyone who has the guts to exhibit political art has my respect.

I grew up in Belarus, and the level of risk you feel with any statement you make is so visceral there. While some topics are very much censored here in the West, the level of constant fear of what you do and say is incomparable.
True, but it’s still human nature to be afraid sometimes.

Within this climate, how does it feel to make art without censorship and under less physical danger?
Well, you don’t have to think about the criminal code every single time you write a line. That’s how I was writing songs or poetry when I was back in Russia. You always think, “Will my art fall under this criminal article? Will it cause me more troubles than I’m willing to withstand right now?” I’ve been in places where the Russian police could not arrest me, and it feels great. It feels awesome. I dream of magically removing everyone who is against Putin in Russia and teleporting them to a safe space. The ultimate dream is obviously to free Russia from Putin. When I talk to people who are still there and are trying to make art that is somehow opposing the system, I feel like I’m watching the Hunger Games in real life. I’m looking at their Instagram today, and tomorrow they could be sent to jail for 15 to 20 years.

It’s such a destabilising and devastating feeling. You’ve been exhibiting across places like Amsterdam, Vienna, and the U.S. How has your work been received?
It’s treated more like a cultural phenomenon outside of Russia. As for some Russian people, my art becomes a little beacon of hope. Often, when I meet Russians abroad, they hug me and cry on my shoulder. Obviously, I don’t get this kind of reaction from Americans or Austrians, as they perceive it more rationally because they’re removed from the experience of being oppressed. There are still people who get really emotional when faced with the reconstruction of my jail cell. You don’t have to be Russian to feel strong emotions towards Russian political prisoners who are still back there. You just have to have empathy. 

I’d love to learn more about Isolation Cell [the reconstruction of Nadya’s jail cell]. You’ve said before that you aim to look at your time of imprisonment as a work of performance art. Could you elaborate on what that means to you?
My government tried to steal two years of my life. By framing it as a long-term performance art project, it feels like I’m taking those years back. For me, the most important question in life is the question of agency. Do you work 24/7 because you choose to do so, or because someone forces you? I’m an extreme workaholic – I work from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep. But I chose it. If I’m forced to work, every minute feels like torture. So, during my time in prison, I switched the narrative and became an active agent who is in charge of their own fate.

This is so badass.
Yeah, I think it was a pretty bold move.

Working across so many mediums, do you feel any differences in how they communicate with your audience? I also imagine there might be a distinction in what you channel through them – to me, calligraphy feels very calming, while punk is very cathartic.
I always create in the same headspace, whether it’s music or calligraphy. It’s all the same process for me. That’s why I call myself a conceptual artist – an idea stands above everything. The calligraphy artwork Terrorist and Extremist and the song Rage really challenge the same feeling of being a heretic in my own country, expelled from the world. Emotions are secondary to me – I’m pretty rational and calculated in my artwork, drawing from non-fiction and philosophy. As for music specifically, I tend not to use the descriptor ‘punk’. When we created Pussy Riot, we identified ourselves as a performance art group. As a joke, we started to call ourselves a punk band, but people didn’t catch on, ha-ha. I love all hardcrore music. But, in my opinion, the concept of punk is pretty dated. It had been revolutionary, but I don’t think it’s really pushing the boundaries anymore.

I see that! Conceptually, your work isn’t just about Putin but also critiques broader power structures, such as those tied to feminism and environmentalism – issues that provoke strong reactions. Have you encountered any issues with that even in places that are considered ‘liberal’?
I have an installation in Linz inside a chapel, called Pussy Riot Sex Dolls. My idea was to take an object emerging from patriarchal culture, so I created these three figures from actual used sex dolls. I see sex dolls as a dangerous toy for people to have, as they learn that the female body only exists for the pleasure of others. So, I dressed the dolls up, turned them into these dominatrix figures and put them in the chapel. A lot of people were against it, there was even a group of local alcoholics drinking straight vodka from 8:00AM that would regularly scream at us. They even threw a beer can at one of my curators. 

That’s terrible, I’m sorry.
She would also receive phone calls regularly, from people saying that the installation has hurt their religious feelings. She would then have to explain that it’s not a functional chapel – it’s become a museum space removed from the church. The difference between Russia and Austria is that if those people were to call in Russia, I would be in jail.

Broadly, what is your relationship to religion? This piece and even the first Pussy Riot performance at the cathedral in Moscow, as well as a lot of your visual art, relate back to religious symbols. What is the significance and connection in that for you?
It all started during my childhood – my dad and I have always been very curious, even if we weren’t religious. We would explore religious buildings of different denominations, from Catholic to Orthodox churches, mosques, synagogues. We were drawn to the symbolism behind it. It’s a reflection of art and culture, too – it’s something crystallised by multiple generations who were thinking about things like beauty and truth, good and evil. You can learn a lot about the human soul by looking at different religious rituals. There were big protests in Russia in the end of 2011, and the Russian Orthodox Church said publicly that anyone who is a true believer does not go to protests. Rather, they go to voting booths and vote for Vladimir Putin because he fixed the crooked history of Russia. I saw it as a direct violation of the Russian Constitution. Russia is a secular state, therefore, the bishop cannot use his moral capital to sway people’s vote. I use religious motifs because they hold a lot of power, but I also recognise that they carry so much misogyny and hatred towards anyone who disagrees. 

Religion still holds so much power, implicit and explicit. And it’s great to see how you use compelling visual codes associated with religion to challenge the institution they’re embedded within. One of my favourite examples of this is your use of Vyaz [a type of ancient decorative Cyrillic calligraphy].
Thank you. It’s like an icon that I would want to see in a church. One day I really want to build a church of the future or something that is not oppressive. 

I really loved a statement you made in an interview, which said that the biggest thing an artist can do is to start their own religion. What is your vision of religion which would be practiced in your own church?
I have bits and pieces of it, and I think it’s a lifelong journey, potentially even longer. But I remember visiting Planned Parenthood in the US. I saw a lot of desperate women coming there, women who cannot afford a child, crying on the phone, screaming. That’s the place where they’d go to get some help. And it’s free. To me, it really looked like the Church of Feminism. The one that promotes freedom and would help people to build their lives instead of oppressing and ridiculing them. Today, our Church still pushes a lot of women into making decisions about motherhood that they often just cannot afford or don’t really want. In my church, abortions and contraceptive pills will be a religious right.

I love that! What would the church look like?
I’d really like the church to be pink. It will bring a lot of happiness and brightness. I’m fighting to bring back baby pink. I know it’s very Barbie of me, but to this day, when I use baby pink in my art, a lot of people (including women) tell me that it’s not serious enough. I say to them that, yes, it’s feminine, but feminine can be radical and strong and dangerous. Colourwise, I’ll use a lot of pink and glitter. There will also be a rainbow flag – that is now officially banned in Russia – hanging from the dome. Maybe, the dome itself will be a rainbow. You know the cathedral of St. Basil’s in Moscow? It’s already giving me rainbow vibes, so I’ll just make it a little bit more obvious. 

 Omg yes I see it! It’s actually quite funny – they’re so oblivious to how close they are to the very thing they demonise.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. I rarely see people outside of highly religious orthodox groups who are so obsessed with homosexuality. It’s almost a perverse obsession. It feels like maybe they’re repressing something in themselves. Why would you think so much about anal sex if you’re, for real, not interested? It almost feels as if some of the people who write these articles against homosexuality get turned on when they think about it. If you were truly such a heterosexual person, why would you spend so much time thinking about one guy fucking another? 

This visceral aggression is often just a reflection of what you repress within yourself.
If a guy wants to appear very cis hetero, I think the best thing he can do is to be nice and respectful towards gay people. Otherwise, I’ll start suspecting that he’s just repressing his own homosexuality. Of course, there is nothing wrong with that – but there is a lot wrong with hatred.

Couldn’t agree more. And your church sounds like the perfect place on earth – can’t wait to see it happen.
Yes! Btw, my church will have a dungeon too. Just for those who want it. 

Cherry on top! I’ve been going through such an internal conflict between loving my home and deeply resenting the state. How do you balance the connection to your roots versus the hatred towards the government and its supporters?
Yes, it’s something really hard to explain – how can you love your country but hate the state? From generation to generation, dissidents carry that duality in themselves from as far back as the Tsarist times. I don’t want to get rid of the important parts of myself that were formed in Russia. That’s why Russian texts, Orthodox motives and general themes from my home always resurface in my work. I dedicated the biggest installation in Linz to Russian political prisoners. In particular, I created the piece Damokles Blade in memory of Alexei Navalny, who was murdered. This is a sword that hangs not only over the heads of us who come from Belarus or Russia, but also over the heads of our dictators. Since the full-scale invasion of Ukraine began, I’ve been in an identity crisis. I think many of our comrades, who for many years have tried to change things in Russia, feel similarly. We used to just feel pain for Russia, but now it grew into a deep shame.

Yeah, as you say, this shame also seeps into your identity.
When someone asks you where you are from, you begin to mutter. I would say I’m from Siberia or just swerve the topic. I just didn’t understand who I was. I spent most of my life in Russia, and it was one of the main building blocks of my identity. And then suddenly it was thrown out of me. Over time, I somehow learned to share it again. I think people who live in authoritarian regimes will always have pain. On the one hand, you love some parts of yourself that are identified with your homeland. But on the other hand, when Belarus or Russia imprisons another person for a post or a like, it really hurts you. It’s something that you can’t stop. 

I guess it then grows into a question of personal responsibility, and guilt almost. With the safety and opportunity I have, am I doing enough?
I don’t know. History will tell, but for now, I think you shouldn’t blame yourself too much. You just have to do what you can, and support those who are in a more difficult situation than you. Right now, we’re fighting back the right to this part of our identity. Because their task was either to imprison us, or drive us out of the country, or kill us. And make sure that our countries are perceived as monoliths internationally – Russia is a country that supports Putin and Belarus is a country that supports Lukashenko. But, every day you wake up and make a decision. I define myself as a person from Russia, but not the one that the government wants me to be. So, we begin to paint an image of another Russia. The case of Sasha Skochalenko was very touching for me. She has now, fortunately, been released through the exchange of political prisoners. With her resilience and clear, very emotional speeches in court, she showed that there is another Russia — alongside  Alexei Navalny, Antonina Favorskaya, Alexei Gorinov, and others.

You’re absolutely right – uplifting voices that dispel those stereotypes is one of the most important things we can do. It’s really not as simple as “the world vs. Russians”.
People abroad often have a more flat understanding of what Russian people want and what their moral values are. I think that art is one of the important instruments that can help change that.

Thank you for such a beautiful conversation. On a final note, do you have any upcoming projects?
I will be presenting Pussy Riot Siberia. It’s a noise project combining noise music and performance art. Also, every day I’m working on my physical art pieces (my cat is chewing them as we speak). It’s beautiful to be able to leave something behind.