Breaking Out: Art in Sofia

Sarieva Gallery @ DOT Sofia also seems to engage with the local context — the hotel itself has faced criticism for its role in gentrification ¹, and the gallery’s presence could be seen as an attempt to counterbalance or even compensate for this tension. Recently, artist Pravdoliub Ivanov installed Monument to the Unknown Washerwoman on the building’s site — a ten-metre-high column of colourful leggings, visible from afar. Although first exhibited in Luxembourg in 2005, the sculpture seems almost like it was made specifically for its current location — it alludes to the fact that the Women’s Market area was once the site of a river in ancient times (many waterways still flowing beneath Sofia’s streets today). While the vibrant plastic basins of the column mirror the cheap, mass-produced leggings readily available nearby, the work also challenges the traditional purpose of monuments. Instead of celebrating nationalistic or patriotic ideals, it is dedicated to the often overlooked and unpaid forms of female labour.

Ivanov’s installation stands out as a rare example of public art in Sofia, even within a privately owned space. It has the potential to spark discussions on pressing social issues such as inequality, inclusion and the role and aesthetics of monuments in contemporary public spaces. Yet, so far, public discussion has been limited. This might be due to the fact that the installation stems from a completely private initiative, raising questions about how public discourse is shaped and who gets to participate in it. POSTA’s exhibition programming also raises the question of whether its artistic explorations are only legible to a contemporary art-savvy audience, and how it can make its activities more accessible to a broader audience.

In addressing these issues, it is essential for the municipality to take an active role in mediating between art and audiences, rather than leaving this responsibility solely to private initiatives. A notable example of such involvement is Krassimir Terziev’s installation Between the Past Which Is About to Happen and the Future Which Has Already Been. Located at the site of the former mausoleum, this work was created as part of the municipality’s sole active programme for temporary public installations. Completed in 2024 after significant delays, the work was designed from the outset to encourage dialogue. It consists of letter-shaped benches arranged in an open circle, spelling out its title. This spatial composition confronts viewers with a paradoxical interplay of temporal layers, encouraging reflection on our position in the present. Steering clear of overt critique, activism or entertainment, Terziev instead offers a place to sit within the urban landscape — though not necessarily one of comfort. Perhaps this subtle balance is what has allowed it to resonate with the city’s inhabitants. A public programme featuring various conversational formats has been introduced alongside the installation. Whether it will succeed in engaging a broader cross-section of society, however, remains to be seen.

A recent incident at the opening of the Guerilla Girls exhibition at the National Gallery (7 March—8 June 2025) further underscores these challenges. International A-list artists are rarely shown here, and the exhibition — curated and funded by the Bulgarian Women’s Fund — was externally organised rather than initiated by the gallery itself. A scandal erupted when the Russian ambassador attended the event and was met with protests, including visitors shouting ‘This is not Moscow.’ In response, Iara Boubnova, the gallery’s director and a well-known curator, criticised the protesters’ behaviour as lacking civility, emphasising that, as a working woman with a career, the ambassador aligned with the exhibition’s themes. ³ In a country where Russian propaganda heavily influences both domestic and foreign policy, and where pro-Putin sentiment remains among the highest in Europe, the situation has become deeply polarising. While many have called for Boubnova’s resignation, others argue that art should remain independent of political turbulence. But is this truly possible? And what should the role of a cultural institution be in such moments? For me, the director’s only rightful move would have been to support civic protest as a fundamental expression of democracy — values that both institutions and art itself should seek to uphold.

In contrast to this lack of institutional positioning, the independent art scene has made significant strides in expanding artistic discourse to address critical contemporary issues. Several long-established spaces continue to provide regular exhibitions and public programmes, including 359+ Gallery, known for its large-scale site-specific installations; Synthesis, which focuses on contemporary photography; ICA, a long-running collective of artists; and Swimming Pool, which I have led artistically for the past ten years, with an emphasis on artistic and curatorial research. Further energising the scene is the emergence of numerous micro-spaces, such as Depoo, Charta, Octopus, Soldout / Untiled Gallery, and, most recently, Lira, all of which experiment with unconventional exhibition formats. Equally important are spaces like Credo Bonum, Doza, One, and Bobbina, which provide platforms for a diverse range of exhibitions and collaborations. However, the picture wouldn’t be complete without acknowledging three spaces that closed last year: Aether, a hub for queer and camp culture that had been led by artist Voin de Voin since 2016; KO-OP, founded in 2020 as a centre for illustration and graphic design, now transitioning into a nomadic platform; and Structura, a gallery established by renowned curator Maria Vassileva, known for its white cube aesthetic and museum-quality programming.

With very few exceptions, all of the spaces mentioned above were supported to varying degrees by public funding, increased significantly following the COVID-19 pandemic. For comparison, the National Culture Fund’s budget in 2019 was around €300,000, but by 2021, it had grown to €13 million, with an average of approximately €9 million for each subsequent year. Notably, public funding in Bulgaria does not distinguish between private galleries and non-profit cultural spaces, and it operates without a national cultural strategy that defines what constitutes ‘public interest’. The funding process is largely shaped by the administration, with priorities often focusing on innovation, audience access and engagement, sustainability, and high artistic value. However, this approach tends to open doors primarily to those who match the tastes and preferences of the selection jury, which can result in a narrower range of artistic expressions being supported. Also, there is no clear data or monitoring to assess how this funding impacts the art and cultural sectors, nor is there any evaluation of what adjustments might be needed to improve or better target such project funding.

The increased funding has led to a significant rise in production and programming. I don’t agree with critical observers who have pointed out that this has resulted in unhealthy overproduction and a devaluation of artistic values. ⁴ In fact, I feel rather optimistic. For the first time, I see a broad, multilayered cultural scene that collaborates, creates and cares. Not only does it respond to urgent social topics, but it has also built platforms and structures that sustain socio-cultural issues, interdisciplinarity and responsibility over the years. It fosters self-critical mechanisms where there is space to explore more adequate models. There are many examples to point to, such as the creation of festivals in recent years (e.g., Melba Festival, fig. festival, Sofia Art Week, Shapeshift and, more recently, Nine Elephants); several educational programmes and research platforms (e.g., School4Artists, ArtStart, Center for Social Vision); and new art-related media (exhibition reviews and essays at the Cultural Center at Sofia University, Journal for Social Vision, and the podcast govoriartist.at). Amidst this flurry of activity, the long-anticipated Sofia Art Fair finally emerged. For private galleries, it marked a step in asserting the existence of a market for contemporary art — something that had been questioned by much of the scene, with many doubting its viability. In other words, operating within a blend of financial and non-financial resources, public funding, modest but regular sales, and a cooperative atmosphere, the scene remains vibrant.

The core issue, still, lies in scale. With annual project funding ranging from €15,000 to €40,000, and galleries and organisations operating with maximum programme budgets of around €100,000, what is clearly missing is the growth potential and competitiveness on an international scale. Also, how many Bulgarian-based artists participate in the international art scene? Weak state policies toward contemporary art and the lack of institutional engagement have contributed to the marginalisation of several generations of Bulgarian artists, leaving them largely unknown outside the country. Fortunately, the recent participation in the Venice Biennale in 2024 marked a turning point, capturing the attention of international critics and audiences for the first time. The exhibition ‘The Neighbors’ by Krassimira Butseva, Lilia Topuzova, and Julian Shehiryan addressed troubling questions about memory and political persecution during the communist regime, presenting in-depth research and involving multiple participants and perspectives.

I believe that ‘The Neighbors’ is just the tip of the iceberg for a new generation of artists who engage with topics in a deeply informed way, balancing artistic responsibility with audience experience. ⁵ These artistic practices are radically different from what has been taught at the National Academy, which remains heavily focused on human-centred metaphysics, and from what many artists in the past have done — showcasing a supposedly ‘Balkan’ otherness defined by democratic and market deficits. They also demonstrate a genuine interest in specifically local issues from the second half of the twentieth century as well as the present, linking them to larger themes such as the ecological crisis, migration, just transitions and human rights. This might be what truly matters — finding what moves society and diving deep into its complexities. In doing so, both artists and spaces find ways to engage not only local audiences and stakeholders, but also to resonate on a much broader, global scale.