SOLO SOUL

Anton Levin in his new project initially tries to get away from readable figurativeness in favor of “figurative/internal” solutions. A couple of minutes later, having laughed himself from such pathetics, the author drops the pathos of the “singer of invisible worlds”, and his attempts to reveal the form of the transcendent in his plastic experiments capitulate before the banal discovery of a cheap horror movie: the invisible takes shape if you throw a sheet over it. The soul turns into a ghost - all discourse about the spiritual descends to the template. 
 For the author, whose childhood was in the 90s, the issue of atrophied imagination is not a diagnosis, but a tool for constructing statements (Levin often works with a found image). Freezing in front of the screen and omnivorousness form dualities in the approaches of an entire generation of artists, whose retinas are imprinted with all the box-office plastic films mixed with auteur cinema. 
The duality manifests itself not so much in the clash between the material/skin and the abstract/invisible as in the paradox of the project itself: at the moment when the “sacred” is invoked, images are replicated and stereotyped. 
The encounter with the complex, which requires a personalized response, becomes only an occasion to revisit borrowing - a collective cliché. 
Entering the territory of the “serious” turns out to be a mockery of one's own creative dysfunction as well as of everything sublime.
 By working with the programmed image (=imagining the represented), Levin removes the modernist role of the demiurge (with seemingly obvious formal intersections of practice) and creates a horror without suspense. The only kink (tragedy and joke) is that the initial attempt to escape from the recognizable/readable to the abstract as unrecognizable/new results in a borrowed (near abstract) image that is de facto recognizable.
Solo Soul is running in circles, hovering between two worlds. 
 Roman Kruglov