Eteri Chkadua

Born in Soviet Georgia and now based in New York, Eteri Chkadua creates intensely symbolic paintings where autobiography, politics, and performance intersect. In this interview, she discusses the influence of her Soviet upbringing, the role of alter egos in her self-portraits, and how cultural traditions, migration, and political turmoil shape her work.

How does your childhood in Soviet Georgia still influence your visual imagination?

While growing up in the USSR, Socialist Realism was the official, mandatory art style designed to promote communist ideology and an optimistic portrayal of Soviet life. Artists could make a very good living painting portraits of Lenin, Marx, Engels, and Stalin, commissioned for office walls across the vast territory of the USSR.

However, before and during my studies at the Tbilisi Academy of Arts, our Georgian art teachers encouraged us not to practice a realistic style, so that we would not become associated with the Russian School of Art and its Socialist Realism. Instead, they encouraged us to paint with free, quick brushstrokes — without stating it directly, this was their way of diverting our attention toward an Impressionistic style associated with Western art. The portraits of friends that I made in those days were somewhat in the style of Modigliani.

However, in my final year at the Academy, for my diploma work, I intentionally — just to surprise my teachers (who always praised me) — created a very detailed, multi-figure painting titled Hunters, executed in a style associated with the oil techniques of the Old Masters.

That painting made me want to move away from Impressionism. Since we could not leave the “prison” (as I called the USSR), we never had a chance to see Old Master paintings in real life. We only had yellowing pages of Soviet-era art history books with tiny black-and-white reproductions. Yet teaching myself those complicated techniques made me addicted to them.. The difficulty only intensified my devotion.

When I arrived in Chicago in 1988 — after marrying a linguist, the very first American who had come to the Soviet Republic of Georgia to study the Georgian language — I was surprised to discover that nobody had heard of my homeland, Georgia. I believe this also strengthened my desire to use a realistic visual language in my paintings, in order to communicate my messages clearly to foreigners as well as to my fellow Georgians.

Your self-portraits seem both theatrical and intimate. Where is the line between you and your alter egos?

Soon after moving to New York City in the early 1990s, I became involved in a relationship with a boyfriend who was addicted to heroin. I was convinced that I would be able to save him, to pull him out of drugs. But over time, I grew deeply frustrated when I realized that this was not going to happen.

Without overanalyzing it, my self-portraits began to emerge in my paintings. Through my own facial expressions, I started communicating emotions I could not articulate in words. At first, this was connected to my personal experiences in love and disappointment. Later, it expanded to reflect Georgia’s geopolitical situation — especially its complex and painful relationship with Russia, which occupies 20 percent of Georgia’s territory.

In several works, I also addressed Georgia’s ancient traditions. At the time, I felt that some of them were unnecessary — too rigid or outdated for modern life. Through my alter ego, I challenged those who were deeply devoted to traditions that, in my view, slowed social progress and cultural development.

Sometimes I feel like an actress performing a role, or a poet reading her own poetry — using my own face as a stage. My alter egos are not separate from me; they are extensions of me. The line between us is fluid.
I often think of myself as both subject and performer — like an actress inhabiting a role, or a poet reciting her own verses. My alter egos are not masks; they are amplified versions of myself. I borrow my own face to express something larger than myself.

Your works incorporate coded objects (swords, horns, sheepskin hats). Tell us about the choice behind these symbols.

In Georgia, it is a long-standing tradition for men to drink wine from horns. The size of the horn offered to a guest often depends on how many toasts he has missed due to arriving late. He is expected to drink it to the last drop — without ever resting the horn on the table.

Visually, the ritual is quite theatrical and even charming. But sometimes it ends badly. Growing up and watching what I call this “party theater,” I constantly questioned the tradition. Georgians, as some of the world’s earliest winemakers, continue to believe that drinking and elaborate toasting are essential parts of social and cultural life.

In my paintings, I wanted to remind Georgians of the traditions I personally resented. And yet, there is another side. These gatherings, which can last late into the night, create an unusual intimacy. At the dinner table, every guest — host, child, grandparent — receives focused attention. Each person speaks, often at length, because toasting is mandatory.

After living most of my adult life in the United States, I began to see this ritual differently. The tradition of praising one another publicly, sometimes for hours, may have strengthened people psychologically. For a nation that has fought for centuries to survive among powerful neighboring countries, such collective affirmation perhaps built resilience and confidence.

The swords and sheepskin hats are elements of traditional Georgian male dress. In my paintings, however, it is a woman — my own image — who wears them. By appropriating these symbols, I intentionally provoke attention and question patriarchal dominance.

I suppose that growing up with a brother only one year older than me unconsciously made it easier for me to challenge rigid gender roles and assert my own position within them.

How has your time in cities as diverse as Tokyo, Kingston, and New York modified your painting style and the subjects you paint?

Living in different countries has opened my mind to understanding and experiencing diverse cultures, and it has certainly influenced the compositions and colors of my paintings and even the themes I choose to explore.

I consider myself a nomad. I feel a deep need to change surroundings — to travel to different countries, to reposition myself. Even when I stay in New York, I tend to move my studio every couple of years in different neighborhoods. Shifting space refreshes my perception. I believe It prevents stagnation. Each place leaves traces — in my palette, and in the emotional atmosphere of my work.

Changing environments keeps my perception alert…

The concept of “Magic Feminism” is often attributed to you. Do you identify with this label?

I never really thought about labels until I had an exhibition at Corridor Gallery in Brooklyn in 2005. The poet and teacher Ilka Scobie wrote about the show for Artnet, and her article was titled Magic Feminism. Ken Johnson, writing for The New York Times in “Art in Review,” described my painting as Magic Realism, while the writer and artist Anthony Haden-Guest referred to it as Hallucinatory Realism.

I find all three interpretations interesting, and in a way, I agree with each of them. I have always been curious about how others perceive my work, and I value the insights of thoughtful critics and intellectuals.

Rather than identifying strictly with one term, I see these descriptions as reflections of the layered nature of my work — where reality, symbolism, psychology, and imagination coexist.

Name one artist who particularly inspires you, and why.

I am deeply inspired by James Turrell. Although his work is very different from my paintings, I have long dreamed of creating light art installations based on the images I carry in my mind. His mastery of light and space has opened my imagination to new possibilities.

How do you perceive the current political situation in Georgia and its impact on artists?

The current political situation in Georgia is devastating. Twenty years ago, Georgia was considered a democratic trailblazer among former Soviet republics. It was often ranked number one among so-called “developing” countries in terms of reform and anti-corruption efforts.

After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 90- is , the country fell into chaos and near-anarchy. President Mikheil Saakashvili (elected in 2003) led major reforms that pulled Georgia out of that “swamp.” Today, however, he has been imprisoned by the current government, led by the Georgian Dream party, which is controlled by a powerful oligarch with close ties to Russia. Many people see the ruling party as importing anti-democratic tactics inspired by the Kremlin.

The Prime Minister recently announced that Georgia would suspend accession talks with the European Union until 2028. Parliament also passed a law “on transparency and foreign influence,” requiring nongovernmental organizations and media outlets that receive more than 20 percent of their funding from a so-called “foreign power” to register as “agents of foreign influence.” Violators face heavy fines. Many Georgians see this law as a direct copy of Russian legislation used to silence civil society.

After the Georgian Dream party claimed victory in the October 26, 2024 elections — which many citizens consider fraudulent — waves of protests erupted in Tbilisi and other cities. Demonstrations in Tbilisi have now been ongoing for 14 months nonstop. I spent the entire last year in Tbilisi and attended protests almost every day. It was extremely difficult to focus on painting. Many artists experienced the same struggle.

Despite this, I organized three exhibitions featuring images and installations that openly mocked members of the government. The last exhibition was installed in a dance theater space that was government-owned. We were ordered to take the show down immediately. We reinstalled it in the basement of one of the demonstrators, in a private space.

I have intentionally not shared images of that exhibition publicly, because doing so could lead to my arrest, as well as the arrest of the space’s owner.
Police have arrested opposition leaders, the world-renowned opera singer Paata Burchuladze, journalist Mzia Amaglobeli, actors, poets, and others. One government-owned theater fired one of its most respected directors because he staged performances expressing opposition views and participated in demonstrations.

For artists, the atmosphere is heavy with uncertainty.

Many feel that creative expression is once again becoming an act of resistance. I find Vano’s Comedy shows are the best, every week, for years, very talented actors ridiculing the Georgian Dream party members.

Do you have any future projects you would like to share with us?

These days, I am working on a series of small paintings based on drawings I made in the 1990s, when I first moved to New York City. I think of this body of work as a kind of memoir — a visual return to transformative period of my life.

I am also collaborating with my sibling, Gocha Chkadua, on our ongoing Alien Bloom project — an installation series created from plastic disposable bottles. Through this project, we aim to draw attention to the environmental damage caused by plastic waste and its long-term impact on nature.

I am also writing a script for a film, where the visuals will be drawn entirely from my paintings. The audio will narrate the moments, emotions, and thoughts I experienced while creating each piece. To realize this vision, I will need a collaborator skilled in computer technology — someone who can transform static images of paintings into a living, immersive cinematic experience.

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To learn and see more of Eteri Chkadua's work: website + Instagram.