Handmade black and white photography, 1990s, and installation, created with authentic media of the same epoch, – are about prophecy of war, chaos, and end of life. Contemporary art, after practices of modernism, is non-defined by a style and it is only individual process. On the beginning of new era, we do not understand what is going on, what happened with us, with time, and our perception. In fact, contemporary art does not need reflection at all. And this is significant, in some way. Today it is not necessary what artist is talking about, in case of mechanism of history, he is narrating, is working. For humankind now, it does not matter who you are in the world, but simply be a participant of the process of living. Recently recipient and artist were integrated by love, which now is lost. We are living together, by inside each person feel hatred, as in a family, which is broken down. These artworks belong not to reality, but to world of shadows. Images’ blurring is a plastic metaphor for instability, problematic existence. End of XX century, – for author, symptoms of decease are visible, when old values become revised, and the new ones are uncertain, when life that passed away become untrue and illusive, and perfect future again is so far away, when even existence itself becomes instable, unverified and with a feeling of loose. Stranadko’ oeuvre is a meta-historical and meta-art but esthetical process, which packs life’ material, where reality must not be blocked by moment, but need to have duration, to save a dramatic motive of presence and disappearance of existence. Eduard Stranadko is mixing non-mixed, by the way he is ruining images, and afterwards he is re-constructing them again, like toys. What is it? Soviet incunabula, agitprop’ placates, or simply old photos that are enlarged and put into frames? Images are getting transformed and it is no more draft in its original sense. Such “poster” is a kind of painting. It becomes metaphorical, symbolical, it goes beyond pure functionalism. It belongs simultaneously to both spaces – it is not art, and it is not life.
Natalia Scarlatti