The Killing of Robert Kuzovkov

Grotesque, satirical portrayals of Russian, Belarusian and Chechen strongmen were among the last artworks made by the late Russian artist Robert Kuzovkov. He was an ethnic Bashkir, a member of a Turkic people indigenous to Russia, and also known by the pseudonym Semyon Skrepetsky. 

On Russia Day on June 12, a holiday marking the country’s sovereignty, he was seen walking through central Berlin holding a portrait of Joseph Stalin cradling Vladimir Putin. It was painted in the manner of Madonna and Child. Kuzovkov gave both leaders phallic noses and painted blood dripping from their mouths. On the same day, he also posted a video on social media showing him stuffing a Russian flag into a bin.

Last week, Kuzovkov was shot dead in the Polish town of Biała Podlaska, where he had lived since 2021 after fleeing Russia. Five bullets were fired at him, including one to the head. Two Belarusians have been detained but not charged with the killing. Last Wednesday in Warsaw, Donald Tusk, Poland’s prime minister, said publicly that “everything points to this being a political murder.”

DzikMedia, a Belarusian opposition Telegram channel, reported that an unidentified man sought refuge at the Belarusian consulate in Biała Podlaska, citing anonymous sources. He apparently tried to scale its fence while evading police before being arrested.

“We must wait for evidence or more concrete indications, because if that was the case – if it was ordered by Russia – then it is an extremely serious matter internationally. It would constitute state terrorism,” Tusk declared.

In May, I saw Kuzovkov protesting outside the Russian Pavilion at the Venice Biennale as Pussy Riot was wreaking havoc. He was sporting a T-shirt emblazoned with another less-than-becoming image of Putin, as well as Russia’s foreign minister, Sergei Lavrov. The former was sitting on a pile of skulls, while the latter was bent over with a balalaika, a traditional Russian stringed instrument, up his backside.

The Kremlin wasn’t the only target in Kuzovkov’s crosshairs. He also openly criticised Volodymyr Zelenskyy, anti-Putin opposition figures such as Alexei Navalny, as well as Alexander Lukashenko of Belarus and Chechnya’s Ramzan Kadyrov. “I can’t stand Navalny supporters or the entire Moscow opposition precisely because of their imperial views,” he wrote recently. “They are comfortable with the way Russia is structured. Even if Navalny’s wife replaced Putin on the throne, nothing would change for the peoples of Russia.”

Kuzovkov was also known to write racist, xenophobic and misogynistic posts. 

The Russian writer, artist, and curator Katia Margolis, a longtime Venice resident, was one of the architects of the anti-Russian protests during the Biennale’s opening. She organised “From the Shadow of the Empire to the Open Lagoon,” a demonstration on May 6 “representing major colonised nations and almost 200 indigenous peoples of the Russian Federation.”

“[Their] voices rargoemain absent from international representation,” the project’s text read.

Participating artists were invited to carry their works from behind the Russian Pavilion (a metaphor for the “shadow of the Empire”) past the entrance to the Biennale (institutional), and then to the open Lagoon (public dialogue, crossroads of cultures, peace, voice and visibility, etc.) Kuzovkov took part, waving a Ukrainian flag and proudly displaying paintings of Putin, Lavrov, Kadyrov, and other political figures as monstrous caricatures.

He also took part in the “Biennial of Dissent” march with Ukrainian diasporas, Italian politicians, and LGBTQ+ artists.

Robert Kuzovkov and Katia Margolis. Courtesy: Konstantin Akinsha

“I was introduced to Robert online in April before Venice. He came from a completely different milieu,” Margolis tells The Art Journal. “He was very popular on the internet, with a kind of Charlie Hebdo-style punk sensibility. His work was rooted in mass culture and was extremely popular. I was introduced to him by a mutual colleague and friend, who is also Bashkir, and that point is very important. I keep emphasising in my interviews with the Italian press that he did not come to Venice as some kind of ‘Russian artist.’ He was Bashkir, first and foremost.”

Kuzovkov wrote to Margolis: “I am against the bastard [Putin], against the empire, and in favour of the breakup of Russia. You've been against the empire for three years; I’ve been against it for 30. The problem with intellectuals is that they have never seen this damned Russian world with their own eyes and therefore invent too much. I went through the social bottom. I lived among criminals, drug addicts, and people who spent their lives in prison. That’s why I know this world – its way of thinking and its desires.”

As part of Margolis’ project, there was a sticker trail documenting Russia's imperial crimes, beginning in the fifteenth century and continuing through to the invasion of Ukraine. The stickers formed a path leading from behind the Russian Pavilion to the site of the protest.

Margolis says she was “a little irritated” by Kuzovkov because “we had carefully arranged works by decolonial artists from various national communities, including Mari and Buryat artists, and some of that work was overshadowed by his very direct political caricatures.”

“There was a certain mismatch in tone, and I told him so,” she adds.

She tells The Art Journal that she often wrote to Kuzovkov in the build-up to Venice and that they didn’t see eye to eye on many things.

“He was fascinating because of his personal history,” she says. “He described himself as coming from a very poor and marginalised background. He insisted that he understood the ‘Russian world’ far better than intellectuals like us because he had emerged directly from it. He believed he was fighting it using its own language and methods. His language could be very rough, but he knew that world intimately. He hated it, yet he was also, in some sense, part of it. He wanted to escape it, but he believed that confronting it required speaking its language.”

I asked Margolis if she thought Kuzovkov’s actions in Venice may have been the reason he was killed.

“Were they the final straw? I don’t know,” she replies. “I know he received threats and wrote publicly about them. He was especially harsh in his criticism of Kadyrov. At the same time, it is a familiar pattern for Russian security services to use Chechen intermediaries when targeting political opponents. We saw similar dynamics in cases such as Anna Politkovskaya [a Russian investigative journalist who reported on the Second Chechen War and was later shot dead in Moscow] and Russian opposition figure Boris Nemtsov [who was assassinated in Moscow]. The public narrative focuses on ‘wild Chechens,’ but I believe the Kremlin is ultimately behind such operations.”

She adds that the artist’s anti-Russia protests in Venice boosted his visibility among European audiences. The response in Italy was remarkable. Politicians, newspapers and public figures all reacted. The Biennale did not respond to a request for comment on Kuzovkov’s death. 

A march is being organised in Venice on July 5, largely by Italian political parties, to commemorate Kuzovkov. There are reportedly proposals to place a plaque in his honour in the city.

“His death has had a profound impact on political discussions in Venice and in Italy more broadly,” Margolis says. “Art and culture occupy an especially important place in Italian public life. Just as the Russian Pavilion attempted to use the language of culture and dialogue to advance its own narratives, the political assassination of an artist resonates deeply within Italian society. The media and political class react strongly when culture itself becomes the target.”