The world of Oleg Gutarev is a space where time stands still, and the familiar landscape of the sea coast finds a voice. A laureate of the international Golden Time Talent (London) competition and a member of the Global Talent Confederation, Oleg does not simply create art objects from stone and minerals; he translates the language of nature into the language of modern interior design. In his hands, rugged sea pebbles and fragile shells transform into meditative sculptures that return a sense of authenticity to the human being. In this interview, we speak about the "memory of the material," a quiet protest against disposable things, and why silence is becoming the most valuable art in the modern world.
Oleg, how did your personal "recognition" happen? Do you remember that very first object found on the shore that made you see yourself not just as an observer, but as an artist?
My “recognition” did not happen as a flash, but as a slow awakening. I remember the first stone found on the shore—it was unremarkable to others, but for me, a form already lived within it. At that moment, I felt for the first time that I was not just looking at the material, but hearing it. It was a feeling of dialogue, and it was then that I realized: I am not an observer, I am a participant in the process.
In the process of work, who dictates the terms more often: do you impose your will on the stone, or do you follow its natural curves, revealing the "memory of the material"?
I never impose my will on the stone. Rather, we meet as equals. Natural cracks, curves, traces of time—these are not limitations, but hints. I only remove the excess, allowing what was laid down millions of years ago to manifest. This is what the “memory of the material” is.
Your works are called a bridge between the ancient rhythms of the earth and modern everyday life. How do you manage to integrate the "wild" energy of stone into the strict aesthetics of an interior without turning the object into a souvenir?
The secret is in restraint. I do not try to completely “domesticate” the stone. Its wild energy remains visible but is framed by the silence of the form. A modern interior needs an accent, a pause, rather than decor. My works do not decorate a space—they slow it down.
You create objects that can serve as functional elements. Are you not afraid that utility might "drown out" the artistic statement?
I am not afraid of utility. Function is only one level of perception. If an object is created honestly, its artistic depth does not disappear from the touch of a hand. On the contrary, through use, a more intimate connection arises between the person and the form.
Today, eco-responsibility often becomes a loud slogan. Can your work be called a quiet protest against the disposable world of industrial design?
Yes, my work is a quiet protest. Not aggressive and not declarative. I am not fighting the industry; I am simply offering an alternative: durability instead of disposability, dialogue instead of consumption. This is a conscious choice, not a slogan.
Stone lives for millions of years. Do you feel like a co-author of eternity when working with such material?
When I work with stone, I acutely feel the scale of time. This always humbles me. I do not feel like the master of eternity, but rather its temporary conversationalist. My participation is a short stroke in the endless history of the material.
In the era of neural networks and 3D printing, you choose painstaking manual labor. What does this physical contact with the material give you that modern technology can never provide?
Manual labor provides resistance. The stone responds to the body, to breath, to fatigue. This cannot be digitized. Modern technologies speed up the process, but they deprive it of silence. And it is in silence that a true presence is born.
Winning Golden Time Talent and membership in the Global Talent Confederation confirm that your language is understood by the world. Has your internal sense of yourself as an artist changed after entering the international arena?
Entering the international arena gave me not confidence, but calmness. I realized that I can speak my own language—and I am heard. This liberated me. The experiments became deeper, but not louder.
Every mineral carries a certain energy. Have there been cases where your objects found their owners in a "mystical" way?
Yes, there have been such cases. Sometimes a work does not find an owner for a long time, and then a person appears for whom it was seemingly created. I don’t consider this mysticism in the usual sense—rather, a coincidence of internal states.
What feedback from a viewer became the most precious to you—perhaps someone saw in your works what you carefully hid?
The most valuable feedback is when a viewer says that next to the object, they felt quiet inside. When a work is not explained by words but felt by the body. This means that the dialogue has taken place.
Has there been a project or material in your practice that never yielded to processing? How do you deal with creative deadlocks?
There have been materials that I set aside for years. I do not consider this a defeat. If the stone is “silent,” it means the time has not yet come. In such moments, I go into a pause, because violence against the process is always felt in the result.
If you could create a large-scale art object for a global environment without resource limitations, what would it be?
I would create a “pause-object” in an urban environment. Not a monument, but a place to stop. A space where a person can remain alone with themselves and the material. The idea would be simple: to remind us that we are part of the earth, not above it.
