Curator's foreword

Even a border is at the centre of something

When trying to describe the world we live in, we are constantly forced to simplify complex phenomena and thoughts. It seems that in order to gain an understanding of anything, something must always be left out – often to such an extent that the final result has little in common with the real world. This is also true of worldviews that divide humanity into nationalities, group them into nation states, and assume that a border between two nations marks a clear-cut transition from one nationality into another. In reality, border areas are varied and complex transition zones where different cultures and customs coexist.

I believe that for many Estonian-speaking Estonians, the town of Narva represents a complete otherness, and that many have never visited Estonia’s third-largest town. Since the Middle Ages, the Narva River has served as a political, cultural, and religious border between Europe and Russia – a history still reflected in the castles facing each other from opposite banks of the river. Although the area has changed hands numerous times over the centuries, Narva, Ivangorod, and the surrounding counties were continuously governed by the same powers from the abolition of serfdom in the 19th century until the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991. The international border as we know it today – with border guards, crossing points, and surveillance infrastructure – is therefore a relatively recent development. As I reflect on this, I sense the landscape around Narva expanding: the city ceases to appear merely as a border, a boundary, or an endpoint, and instead becomes the centre of a distinct way of life.

Maria Kapajeva’s paternal roots lie on the eastern bank of the Narva River. As a child, she spent her summers in a house in the village of Zagrivye, which during the interwar era was part of Estonia. The last time she visited the village was as a teenager, because after the fall of the Soviet Union the area became the border zone of the Russian Federation, accessible only with a special permit. Eventually the family decided to sell the inaccessible home. The place from which they inherited both their name and their citizenship now survives only in memory.

When Maria Kapajeva was born, the Estonian eastern border was little more than a line on a map, but as a result of the ongoing war in Ukraine it is now more closed than ever. At the time of this exhibition, Kapajeva is also the same age as her paternal grandmother was when she died of breast cancer. Four years ago, the artist discovered that she shares the same cancer gene as the grandmother she never met. A year ago, Kapajeva underwent preventive surgery, followed by a period of adapting to significant physical changes.

I Am a Border is Maria Kapajeva’s largest solo exhibition to date, and many of the works are exhibited for the first time. It may be tempting to see the tension between geopolitical and genetic forces within a single body as the driving force behind this exhibition, but that, too, would be an oversimplification. Just like the artist herself, the exhibition is queer in its nature. It is possible to accept conditions without necessarily agreeing with them. It is possible to both welcome and question everything. These ideas, too, come in pairs – yet rather than forming a complete, they resemble domino pieces that can be shuffled and rearranged anew after each game.

Maria Kapajeva’s experiences are at once deeply personal and, through their intergenerational dimension, profoundly human. Over the years, she has mapped her identity and the border within in various ways, employing performances, camera, crafts, writing, conversations, and archival materials. By delving into both her paternal and maternal family histories, she seeks first and foremost to understand herself. Yet through recurring motifs such as trees, textiles, and bodies of water, we are reminded of her connectedness to everything and everyone – whether we are roots, threads, or springs.