Resilience in Collectivity: Remembering Chyngyz Aidarov (1984-2025)

On December 16, 2025, the Kyrgyz artist Chyngyz Aidarov passed away as a result of his second stroke. This article was written by his friends and fellow members of Zamanbap Art collective (Bishkek) in an attempt to piece together his biography. Tracing his path in close connection with the contemporary art scene in Bishkek – the environment in which Chyngyz was formed and which he, in turn, actively shaped – the text offers an overview of his life and practice and lays the foundation for broader, collective understanding of his legacy.

Osh Bazaar—Childhood

Chyngyz’s house is not far from Bishkek’s Osh Bazaar. You enter it directly from Kuliev Street, famous for selling flour wholesale in 50 kg sacks, with retail trade, fire services, a meat-processing plant, and freshly baked bread that is sold right here.

This is the house of Chyngyz’s parents. It has three small rooms, one following another. Outside there is a space used as a flour warehouse and a courtyard where food is cooked over an open fire. Today is the 7th day since Chyngyz passed away. This is one of the sacred days in the Kyrgyz funeral ritual. We gather with his parents, siblings, cousins, and friends around the so-called dastorkon, “a word that means “tablecloth” in Kyrgyz and typically refers to a feast and is laid on the floor or a low table. This dastorkon was bought by members of Zamanbap Art, the collective that formed with Chyngyz during his rehabilitation after his first stroke. His friends searched for this particular type of tablecloth depicting an abundance of food that is hard to find in Bishkek now as it has gone out of fashion (the image of prosperity has changed). This dastorkon has now found its place at Chyngyz’s funeral. On it are salads, boorsoks—a traditional Kyrgyz dish consisting of small pieces of fried dough—bread, and cooked meat with potatoes. At the table, Chyngyz’s childhood is remembered, and then photos from those days are shared with us.

***

Chyngyz was one of seven children. His childhood unfolded around Osh Bazaar during its symbolic transformation. The architectural complex of the bazaar, built in the 1980s in what was then Soviet Kyrgyzstan, takes on new meaning with the transition to a market economy in the 1990s, as a place for trading and speculation… As his relatives recall, Chyngyz used to spend a lot of time at the bazaar, selling various things, often sharing food with people who were in need and bringing them home with him.

Chyngyz at home with his family

Art College, ArtEast School, and the Upturn-Overturn Exhibition(Translation from Russian; the original title – Podyem-Perevorot – refers both to a martial arts technique and a political act)

At the abovementioned dastorkon, Dmitry Petrovsky, an artist and friend of Chyngyz’, remembers how Chyngyz used to have an improvised studio here; he would show his paintings to his friends at the entrance to the house.

Chyngyz and Dmitry met at the art college where Chyngyz persistently studied for eight years instead of the usual three. Although he studied poorly, the teachers and classmates supported and helped him, as he was known as charismatic, tactile, and sociable. Parallel to his studies, Chyngyz participated in KVN (youth comedy competitions) and, together with his friend Asker, created the Futurama art collective and the Infarkt rap group. In 2009, he and Dmitry ended up at the ArtEast School in Bishkek, where they discovered the city’s community of contemporary artists.

ArtEast had been opened by artists Muratbek Dzhumaliev and Gulnara Kasmalieva. In their studio, meetings with artists and curators were organized, lectures on the history of contemporary art were held, and exhibitions took place; there was also a library, as well as media materials. Participants could also access various international residencies through the school [1]. ArtEast was an important part of Bishkek’s art scene at the time, alongside the Studio MUSEUM and Kurama Art gallery. Through the efforts of these institutions, major contemporary art exhibitions of regional and international scope took place, and various groups of young artists, such as Z.A.D, Strekoozy, Group 705, and Khudsovet, emerged and then disappeared again.

Jön Ele Emes—a Kyrgyz phrase that translates as “Not Just Because”—was one such youth group, bringing together Nikolai Cherkasov, Anatoly Kolesnikov, Dmitry Petrovsky, and Chyngyz. One of the group’s distinctive works – Patience and Labor Will OverKurut Everything (2010)(Translation from Russian; the original title plays with a popular proverb, changing “peretrut” to “pereKurut”. Kurut is a traditional dish, small dried balls made from fermented milk) – is about the traditional Kyrgyz dish kurut as an item of national pride that allows the country to join the global race for primacy and achievements.(The work’s description starts with the phrase “Kyrgyzstan is second in the world for kurut production! (America is only 78th)” (Original spelling retained)) The installation of a giant kurut resembling the moon, with flags mounted on it (the Kyrgyz one on top, and the American one below) is accompanied by a video and a text.

Jön Ele Emes dissolved after the death of one of its members, Anatoly Kolesnikov, which deeply shocked his friends, and they all went their own way with their art.

Jön Ele Emes, “Patience and Labor Will OverKurut Everything” (2010)

Chyngyz continued working with the theme of nationhood, now by painting on fabric and canvas. These paintings later became known as the Chuikov Battalion series, a title drawn from the eponymous pseudonym Chyngyz used to sign these works—a reference to Semen Chuikov who is considered the first professional artist in Soviet Kyrgyzstan. The art college where Chyngyz studied was also named after him. In 2014, some of these works were shown in Bishkek as part of the Upturn-Overturn group exhibition.

Works from the Chuikov Battalion series often portray heroes familiar from American films and cartoons, such as Zoidberg and Bender from “Futurama”; Spider-Man; or Alien. Chyngyz transforms these cartoon figures into “Kyrgyz” ones drawn from our everyday life, and inspired primarily by Osh Bazaar. With their characteristic sportswear and traditional dress—the kalpak for men, the headscarf for women—they look uncannily familiar and speak Kyrgyz.

Text features in almost every work of the series, either placed inside speech bubbles as in comics, or in the background. The cited phrases are instantly familiar: in one work, Bender, wielding a gun, and dressed in a fur coat and kalpak, shouts: “Hey! People!!! Let’s go to the square?!”(Translation from Kyrgyz) By the time this painting was made (2013) Kyrgyzstan had experienced two revolutions (in 2005 and in 2010) that led to two coup-d’etats, in each case forcing the presidents to flee. In another work, a covered girl offers to buy a pornographic film: “Hey guy! Naughty films for 50 soms!”, while in the background we read: “CD’s, 35 soms. Indian Action Horror…”(Translation from Kyrgyz)

In his paintings, Chyngyz confronts publicly approved and expected norms with familiar reality, in this way reinjecting an element of irony into the conversation about nationhood, at a moment when this was becoming less and less acceptable. During the period of nation-building and following independence, in Kyrgyzstan, certain national symbols acquired a new and almost sacred significance that became inviolable.

Although humor is traditionally essential in Kyrgyz culture as a tool of resistance to domination, empty self-aggrandizement, and hypocrisy, Chyngyz’s ironic artistic statements were read as an insult. The Upturn-Overturn exhibition was attacked by ultra-nationalist activists who called the artist’s works “demeaning and insulting to the national values of the Kyrgyz people” [2]. Chyngyz received numerous threats, including threats to his life, and an official warning from the GKNB.(Abbreviation for the State Committee for National Security of the Kyrgyz Republic) Chyngyz responded with a letter that mimicked the patriotic spirit, declaring with bombastic yet also incoherent statements that “I’m one of you!”. The situation eventually calmed down, but Chyngyz took this series further with him, his recognizable characters appeared later in his diaries and sketches, as well as in the works he created after his first stroke.

Chyngyz Aidarov, “Hey! People!!! Let’s go to the square?!” (2013)

Chyngyz Aidarov, “Naughty film” (2014)

Studio MUSEUM, Group 705, and the “Nabeg” Method(Nabeg means “incursion” or “raid” in Russian. The primary meaning of the original word is a sudden attack, often used in a historical context, particularly in reference to nomadic raids. In the text, the original Russian word, capitalized, in English transliteration is used to refer to the artist’s method.)

Chyngyz  further deepened his involvement with Bishkek’s grassroots self-organized art scene after the 2014 exhibition. He became part of Creative Group 705, an informal collective that experimented at the intersection of performance and theater, and worked with ideas of collectivity, self-governance, and self-organization. Immersed in the group’s performances, discussions, and events, Chyngyz proposed to co-organize 1st April Competition, an annual international contemporary art exhibition run since 2003 by studio MUSEUM under the direction of Ulan Dzhaparov.

In 2014-2016, Chyngyz co-curates this show. Studio MUSEUM had developed a distinctive practice of its own: gathering around a table over tea to talk about life, work, and art. Ulan Dzhaparov was himself an artist and performer, and it was at this table that many performances and ideas for exhibitions were born [3]. Chyngyz became part of this ritual: pouring tea alongside Dzhaparov, sharing in the unhurried rhythm of the Studio. It was here that he deepened his engagement with the tenets of Zen Buddhism, the contemplation of death, irrational thinking, meditation – ideas that resonated deeply within Bishkek’s art scene, perhaps because they offered an alternative to both Soviet and European ways of seeing the world.

***

During this period, Chyngyz moved actively towards performance, gradually finding the method that would come to be known as “Nabeg”. Over time, a body of Nabegs took shape, in Bishkek and Moscow, sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. This moment marked the beginning of Chyngyz’s practice as a conceptual artist – his response to the demands of his time and environment, where traditional painting gave way to photography, video, performance, and installation. Contemporary art is art of the moment: urgent, swiftly conceived, and just as swiftly documented.

Chyngyz about Nabeg:

“The Nabeg project was born back in Bishkek. The meaning is that we gather in some place and make art, each as best they can. Nabeg is interventions in space, on all levels: physical, mental. For me personally, Nabeg means to easily penetrate and just as easily leave, that is, to cross all kinds of boundaries, whatever they may be. A space for all my possible explorations and experiments with form, content, consciousness.” [4]

Nabeg is initially based on Bystrovki (The name is a blend of two Russian words, “bystro” (“quickly”) and “vystavki” (“exhibitions”)), an idea that originated with the Krasnoyarsk artists Alexey Martins, Oksana Budulak, and others, who described it in this way: “…contemporary art is art of the present, that is, art happening here and now. Today it exists, tomorrow it’s already gone, but this challenge of ‘today’ is the true nature of art. Bystrovka is a gallery without a fixed address” [5]. Chyngyz became acquainted with these practices in Berlin at one of the events organized by the Goethe Institute. His first projects followed the Bystrovki series, acting as their international continuation: “Bystrovka No. 5”, “Bystrovka No. 6”.

Gradually, Chyngyz worked more and more with his own context and gave the subsequent body of performances the name Nabeg. In the history of regional contemporary art, this term has been applied in artistic practice by Kazakh artist Kanat Ibragimov. In 1997, he came to Moscow and called this gesture “nabeg”: “My project is a visit to the symbolic Megalopolis, this is not a tour and not a stroll, this is a raid.”(Translation from Russian) In Moscow, at Marat Gelman’s gallery, the artist did two performances: “The Koraz Bird” (the author publicly kills a cockbird and nails it to the wall – an allusion to the Russian coat of arms) and “Noe Kazakhische Kunst” (the author publicly kills a sheep, drinks its blood, which drips onto a white canvas – an allusion to the Russian flag). Kanat’s nabeg is the nomad’s raid.

A comparison between Chyngyz Aidarov and the artist Kanat Ibragimov is illuminating. Nearly two decades separate them, and the world as they each entered it has changed considerably. For Kanat, arriving in Moscow was the gesture of a radical artist; Chyngyz on the other hand came first as a labor migrant, and only then as an artist. Yet both arrived as warriors of a kind: Chyngyz was wearing military clothing, while Kanat wrote his “The Artist – Warrior” manifesto [7]. Both were engaged in critique – Kanat through shock, Chyngyz through humor.

In subsequent years, certain political, economic, and social hierarchies reasserted themselves. The intensity and tension of the 1990s subsided, and the language of art shifted accordingly – toward a semi-serious, semi-joking register, its gestures acquiring an almost theatrical quality. In his series of Nabegs on Red Square, Chyngyz tossed a fake Lenin into the air – the kind that now roam the square offering photos for money (“Lift-throwing Lenin”, 2017); or directs his fist toward the Kremlin star, threatening and demanding “pachimu?” (“Pachimu?”, 2017).(Pochemy means  “why” in Russian. The title is here deliberately misspelt.) This mode of playful conventionality had already been developed back in Bishkek: in Akaev Begs for Forgiveness (2016), in Osh Bazaar and in central Ala-Too Square, Chyngyz had put on a mask of the former president and apologized to passersby.

Chyngyz Aidarov, “Pachimu” (2017)

Chyngyz Aidarov, “Lift-throwing Lenin” (2017)

And whereas Kanat writes, “I feel at home always and everywhere…” [6], Chyngyz came to Moscow for the opposite reason, to earn money to build a home in Bishkek. The Nabeg, in this context of extreme material and spatial limitations, became the only artistic expression available to him. In his notebooks, he wrote in detail about life in Moscow.

Fragment from Chyngyz’s diary (2018)

Life in Moscow // “Snail (Spiral)” Performance

In the 2000s, Kyrgyzstan (as well as the neighboring countries Uzbekistan and Tajikistan) was affected by mass labor migration to Russia. Chyngyz responded to this situation with his video work “I’m Staying!” (2010)– as a declaration, affirmation, conviction. However, unexpectedly for everyone, he later left Kyrgyzstan himself, with the idea of earning money for buying land and building a house. In Moscow, he experienced all the accompanying phenomena of labor migration: life in “rubber” apartments,[This is a literal translation of a colloquial Russian term referring to apartments where up to 20 people could live, each with only a bed space – a mattress] everyday racism, administrative vulnerability (raids, arrests, blacklists – on his first trip to Moscow, Chyngyz was arrested due to alleged document problems, and later deported).

***

Chyngyz experienced the reality of a labor migrant in Moscow, while at the same time being an artist with an already formed vision and knowledge about art. He had grown up in a Russian-speaking family in Bishkek and was fluent in both Russian and Kyrgyz. This “borderland state”—as described, for example, by Gloria Anzaldúa—was a peculiar union of different worlds inside Chyngyz that allowed him to find a way in Moscow to speak about himself, his life – and to be heard.

During his time in Moscow, Chyngyz worked a lot with books and magazines that he randomly found around the city. This also was a form of Nabeg: an invasion of foreign territory in order to make yourself seen and heard, to enter into dialogue. Chyngyz spoke through what he saw and found around him – and transfered it into collages, illustrations.

Chyngyz in an interview with Khoja Nasreddin newspaper:

“One of my artistic tactics is appropriation: invasion of foreign territory. I either use found books as improvised material, drawing directly over the text, or enter into an indirect argument with the author right on the pages of his own work.” [8]

Still image from Chyngyz Aidarov, “Snail” (Spiral) (video, 2021)

His perceptiveness and persistence allow Chyngyz to build a network of acquaintances and to enter the Moscow art scene, which ultimately opened doors to the well-funded art residency program of the Garage Museum of Contemporary Art [9]. It is with the support of the Garage Museum that Chyngyz creates the video work Snail (Spiral), which was shown as part of the exhibition Spirit Labor. Duration, Difficulty, and Affect (Garage Museum, 2021). Later, the work was shown as part of group exhibitions at Le Fresnoy (Centre Pompidou), the National Taiwan Museum of Fine Arts, and it was acquired for the collection of Almaty Museum of Arts.

Snail (Spiral) is a video documentation of a performance in which Chyngyz sews together 27 mattresses and slowly, with heavy effort, twists them into a huge spiral. The image of the spiral becomes a symbolic embodiment of life in migration – for labor migrants, a mattress often becomes home: to save money, a “bed space” is rented that is unrolled at night for sleep and rolled back up in the morning. For the performance, Chyngyz collected mattresses from acquaintances with whom he worked on construction sites, exchanging them for new ones.

Return to Bishkek and the Zamanbap Art Collective(The original title of the collective – “Zamanbap Iskusstvo” – deliberately combined two languages: Kyrgyz (“zamanbap”) and Russian (“iskusstvo”),  literally translated as “contemporary art”)

In Moscow, Chyngyz received an invitation from Tolon Toychubaev, the founder of Tolon Museum in Bishkek, to return to the city and get involved in the museum’s work. At that time, the museum was activating its physical space, drawing attention to its collection, and developing an economic model for supporting artists [10]. Chyngyz accepted the invitation but the museum could not give any guarantees for funding, hoping things would somehow fall into place. The collaboration did not work out and eventually, due to lack of funds, Chyngyz ended up living in the studio of the 705 Creative Group, a collective that lives on in Zamanbap .

In September 2022, he suffers a stroke. He lost consciousness on a bus and was taken to a hospital in Bishkek. There, the medications necessary to treat him  were unavailable. Time was of the essence. His friends mobilized and managed to transfer him to a private facility. The consequences of the stroke were severe: damage to a large area of the brain, epileptic seizures, loss of speech, partial loss of vision, and depression.

In Kyrgyzstan, due to the absence of state support, responsibility for a person who has suffered a stroke falls primarily on the family. In Chyngyz’s situation, significant support was provided by the art communities in Bishkek and abroad. Close friends initiated crowd funding and organized a system for the fund’s distribution (through a publicly accessible Google document). They also found a house for Chyngyz, a caregiver, and helpers for household tasks such as house cleaning, gardening, and cooking. This process is described in Malika Umarova’s zine [11].

***

During rehabilitation, presence is everything. People visited Chyngyz to eat and drink together, and his house became a landmark in Bishkek’s artistic life. At some point, Zamanbap Art Collective emerged from these meetings and gatherings. Collectivity intuitively became a form of resistance to Chyngyz’s situation of vulnerability.

In Kyrgyz, zamanbap means “contemporary” – reflecting the collective’s impulse to make and discuss art in Kyrgyz (since Soviet times, this language had been marginalized, and the contemporary art scene in Bishkek is predominantly Russian-speaking). The collective’s straightforward name also reflects the ideas of simplicity, spontaneity, and situatedness that are at its core.

The collective’s way of working melts together the spirit of Chyngyz’s Nabeg and the artistic practices of other participants. The collective’s main materials are cardboard and tape and its central props are masks: both old ones from Chyngyz’s performances, for example the ones showing Kyrgyz presidents, and a collection of new masks that has been significantly expanded by the collective. In this way, videos, films, and performances have been created.

Zamanbap Art Collective, “Uncle Fantomas” performance (2024)

“Uncle Fantomas” screening and performance, 2025

All these works rely heavily on Chyngyz’s archive that the Zamanbap Art collective has assembled, digitized, and systematized. Through active engagement with the archival materials and their interpretation new artistic forms and expressions are being found.

Interpretation became one of the key tools for dialogue with Chyngyz during his recovery. The method of follow-up questions, guesses, reliance on context, and community knowledge allowed Chyngyz to quickly join the conversation with simple answers and gestures. And in working with Chyngyz’s archive, interpretation opened new possibilities: now people and their opinions became extensions of Chyngyz’s hands and speech, and since his narrative was also an artistic narrative, the interpreter too engaged in a kind of artistic practice. This might partially reflect the nature of the collectivities that surrounded Chyngyz during his period of recovery. As if he was delegating himself to others. Interpretation has many shortcomings related to distortion and simplification, but this experience grew out of the his convalescence and was built together with Chyngyz.

***

Chyngyz’s life was deeply intertwined with the defining events of his time – the transition to market relations, political instability, migration and survival in Moscow. He never stood aside, threw himself into the epicenter, sharing an extraordinary human energy that animated everything and everyone around him. His untimely passing leaves a void, a silence. And yet his path makes something else evident: the importance of a living environment, of associations and collectivities. In this, we see hope – and the possibility of continuing to work with Chyngyz, his history and artistic legacy.

Further Reading:

1. Hinderliter, B. (2014) The ArtEast School for Contemporary Art: Interview with Gulnara Kasmalieva and Muratbek Djumaliev in Journal of Inquiry & Action in Education, 6(1). URL: https://files.eric.ed.gov/fulltext/EJ1133580.pdf .
2. Azattyk Radio (2014) A number of civic activists protested the Upturn-Overturn exhibition. URL: https://rus.azattyk.org/a/25477605.html (in Russian).
3. Asangulova, R. (2024) Ulan Dzhaparov. A Spirit of the Margins. URL: https://kadam.to/ulanjaparov/ru (in Russian).
4. Aidarov, C. (online) Pachimu from Nabeg project, 2017. URL: https://vladey.net/ru/artwork/4917(in Russian).
5. Siberian Archive of Contemporary Art (online) Bystrovka: Spontaneous exhibitions held in various spaces, March 2014 – July 2015, Krasnoyarsk. URL: https://siberian-archive.ru/bystrovki/(in Russian).
6. Ibragimov, K. (2011) Koraz Bird in Between the Past and the Future. An Archaeology of the Present Exhibition Catalogue. Almaty, Goethe-Institut Kasachstan.
7. Ibragimov, K. (1998) The Artist – Warrior Manifesto in Moscow Art Magazine (Художественный журнал), № 19-20. URL: https://moscowartmagazine.com/issue/46/article/899 (in Russian).
8. Aidarov, C. (2019) Moscow diaries in Nasreddin in Russia, №5, pp. 18-20.
9. Kobyshcha, V. (2020) Artists on the move. Five stories of migrant artists in Russia at https://www.academia.edu/44249252/Artists_on_the_move_Five_stories_of_migrant_artists_in_Russia.
10. Bokonbaev, G. (2022) New Social Realism. Bishkek: Churec books, p. 176 (in Russian).
11. Umarova, M. (2022) M&Ms for exercises. URL: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1_7O7DWZRzg8XC98YJSyhZeq5IcaZXNNO/view (in Russian).