A gallery in Tokyo is showing art by political prisoners from Russia, past and present. ‘Through the Bars’ curated by Vladimir Shalamov brings together works by imprisoned activists like Pussy Riot’s Nadezhda Tolokonnikova (declared a foreign agent by the Russian authorities), revealing creative resistance amid repression in the country’s harsh political climate.

Each year, as soon as the cherry blossoms fall, Tokyo ‘Ghiblifies’ itself without any AI filters. Picture delicate green foliage against a blue sky and enormous, whispy clouds peeking between immaculate mirrored walls of skyscrapers. This idyllic vision makes it hard to believe that at this very moment in time fighting is going on in Europe. From this perfect city where you can leave your MacBook on a café table, go and do some errands, and return to find it exactly where you left it, from here - from Tokyo - the Russian daily newsfeed feels like a deranged film script written by a psychopath.

It is in this same picture-perfect Tokyo that the exhibition ‘Through the Bars’ has opened at the BUoY gallery. The exhibition is a collection of protest art by Russian political prisoners, most of whom are well-known: artist Nadezhda Tolokonnikova (b. 1989), theatre director Evgenia Berkovich (b. 1985), poet Artyom Kamardin (b. 1990), young grocery store assistant Valeria Zotova (b. 2004), among many others. According to the organizers, the aim of the show is to offer a new perspective on Russia, to show that Russian society is neither homogenous nor entirely pro-Putin. It includes people whose anti-war activism was radical – and was punished accordingly.

According to Vladimir Shalamov, the project’s curator, ‘All Rights Reversed’ (not to be confused with the American project of the 1960s with the same name) is the largest private collection of art created by political prisoners in Russia and Belarus. Founded in 2023, the project is a continuation of an initiative started by Russia’s now defunct Memorial society to collect works created by artists while in captivity. Out of more than 3,000 people currently or previously imprisoned in Russia on fabricated or politically motivated charges, sixty-nine responded to the open call and submitted their works, either directly or via lawyers and relatives.

By unfortunate coincidence, none of the artists were able to attend the Tokyo event, not even those currently residing outside Russia or those who are no longer incarcerated. However, during the opening, Shalamov appeared via Zoom, along with Pavel Krisevich (b. 2000), an activist who was recently released, and Sasha Skotchilenko (b. 1990), an artist and musician.

The show opens with Pussy Riot’s video work, the infamous feminist punks marching through a desert landscape dressed in glamorous witchcore and red balaclavas, holding a flag with an expletive word in Russian for vagina. Although Pussy Riot is arguably more famous than Cheburashka in Japan, few non-Russian speakers here will know what the word on the flag actually says. But Japanese people do speak cat fluently. The magic of Japanese Cat Power lies in this: anything bearing an image of a cat immediately rises in demand and value. So, cat-themed pieces by Kamardin and Krisevich—as well as works by a few lesser-known artists such as Ilya Shakursky and Ilya Kovylkov stood out and even earned special mention. “Prisoners love cats.” The Japanese love them too; they get it, and they sympathize with the artists.

Ultimately there is little in this exhibition that qualifies as art in the classical sense. As Shalamov explains, “Many political prisoners suffer from depression due to their incarceration. Because of censorship, drawing is often the only way to express what they feel. Most of them are not professional artists. They simply draw what they feel. Once their works appear in a gallery, it becomes conceptual art – and they become real creators. That’s our core mission.”

The exhibition in Tokyo occupies half a floor. The raw concrete, professional lighting, and spacious layout make for an ideal venue. Like many other rental galleries in Japan, the space embraces a wide spectrum of artistic expressions – from conservative to liberal. One of its main strengths is its independence: located far from the commercial art scene, BUoY does not censor and has ample space. Despite its out-of-the-way location, the gallery was packed on opening night, and in addition to Japanese, one could hear Russian, French, and English.

The exhibition was organised in part by the young actionist duo MES (Takeru & Kanae), a pair of stunningly beautiful Japanese intellectuals and performers. After the public talk, they staged a dangerously poetic performance called CEASE FIRE, in which they both transformed themselves into living, dancing candle holders for flaming black wax letters C-E-A-S-E. During the Zoom discussion for the opening, Kanae shared that one of the group’s creative inspirations is the Russian Ukrainian performance artist Oleg Kulik (b. 1961).

MES strikes me as a rare and brilliant discovery. In Japan, political art tends to be taboo - there is a preference to speak only of beauty and to only show flowers. Maybe it is down to the zeitgeist: a pink jelly of suffocating post-apocalyptic cuteness. However, as Wakana Kono remarked in an interview for Art Focus Now, Japan does have censorship, though it mostly targets a few specific topics, like the imperial family. As Kanae wittily put it: “No one is against political expression here, as long as it’s not too radical. Everything turns grey – there’s no black or white. Like Sasha [Skotchilenko] and Pavel [Krisevich], I want to speak plainly through my art. Maybe in Russia performance art is so raw because your country has a tradition of fighting against power – and doing it radically and uncompromisingly.”