When planning a film about Russia’s cultural and spiritual heritage, director Alexander Sokurov chose the Hermitage as the setting, calling it a universal museum of global cultural evolution (following the philosophy formulated by Boris Piotrovsky, Mikhail’s father and predecessor). The film was aptly called The Russian Ark. The Hermitage is undoubtedly a vital element of Russianness. How does this manifest itself in the museum? And what would be missing from our national culture, mentality and “the Russian ark” without the Hermitage?

I repeatedly emphasize that the Hermitage is a universal museum where Western and Eastern art complement, not oppose each other. Yet, that’s not all: the magnificent rooms where Russian emperors ruled their empire are subjects unto themselves. In Sokurov’s The Russian Ark, this threefold unity is depicted brilliantly.

Without the Hermitage, Russian culture would lose its ability to see itself as part of the global heritage. Our major Caspar David Friedrich and Russia exhibition has recently concluded. This German painter’s greatness as a symbol of the German spirit and reverence for divine nature was acknowledged in Russia sooner than anywhere else beyond German-speaking lands. So, our exhibition in St. Petersburg fittingly became a significant part of the Friedrich commemoration festivities in Hamburg, Berlin, Weimar, and New York. Clouds by Friedrich know no borders!

In the Hermitage, the complexity and splendour of Russian culture reveal themselves through dialogue with the world. This constitutes a powerful pillar of national identity.

For many of us who had the privilege of experiencing the Hermitage in early childhood, one of the most vivid memories is the Peacock Clock. For children, its mechanical movements and sounds are sheer magic. You spent your childhood in the Hermitage. What was your strongest impression, one that possibly influenced your entire life and remains with you forever?

The Hermitage was the first place I visited as a child. I was told that, as a toddler, I was taken to the Arsenal and even allowed to play the drums. My earliest memories aren’t of magical objects but of magical people. I knew several generations of museum employees, brilliant intellectuals. I vividly recall Isaak Orbeli (director of the Hermitage from 1934 to 1951. – Ed.), whom I affectionately knew as Uncle Yosa. Without him, the museum might not have survived.

Then came the Hermitage art classes and various departments, particularly the Oriental Department.

If we talk about connecting with Russianness through the Hermitage, what should one primarily see, examine, and understand in this museum? Would this differ for a foreigner compared to a Russian who, perhaps more than anyone else, needs to reconnect with their cultural heritage and reflect on it?

The answer is different for Russians and foreigners. Foreigners should start with the ceremonial halls of the Winter Palace: Field Marshal Hall, Military Gallery, Georgian Hall. These aren’t just interiors, they are architectural manifestations of Russian imperial identity, merging European classicism with national history.

For our compatriots, I recommend the ancient Russian art halls and the third floor of the General Staff Building, where we house Old Believer icons rescued from destruction and avant-garde art once labelled degenerate. The museum demonstrates that Russian culture accommodates both extremes.

The Hermitage has always looked outward, engaged in international projects, and has played a key role in state diplomacy. In 2005, the Hermitage opened a branch in Kazan, and now has centres in Vyborg, Omsk, Yekaterinburg, Vladivostok and Orenburg. This way, the museum brings world-class art to the regions. But what does it receive in return? How does it enrich itself as an institution, metaphorically remaining the “Russian Ark”?

I have long been convinced that the primary exchange should be people, not exhibitions or artifacts. Our restorers now intern in China, and the Hermitage has agreements with the National Museum and the Palace Museum. Exchange exhibitions come and go but knowledge-sharing and idea exchange promote incredible things. Our panorama of Chinese art on the third floor of the Winter Palace, which expands yearly, proves this point.

In April, we revived the World Museums at the Hermitage landmark project. Currently housed in the General Staff Building is Vasily Kandinsky’s masterpiece from the Yekaterinburg Museum of Fine Arts. It enhances our permanent Russian Avant-Garde collection, pairing seamlessly with the famous Composition VI. The network of satellite centres creates conditions for new world-class museums to emerge in Russia.

Back in 2012, we interviewed you for Watch Russia magazine. Responding to the question as to whether, from an artistic standpoint, we were still living in the 20^th century or had entered the 21^st, you noted that the new millennium was faintly discernible on the horizon but that it would take ten years to determine when the “non-calendar 21^st century” officially began. Now, a decade later, we are talking again. Has art crossed into the new century? Or does it continue to dwell on breakthroughs, narratives, and concerns from the 20^th century?

Time grants clarity. It appears that 21^st-century art is still preparing to announce itself. Emerging technologies meant to express artistry have so far disappointed and alarmed. Artificial intelligence forces art to defend its right to exist. Consequently, it may prove more humane than the art of the previous century.

You’ve always championed contemporary art, arguing that even a classical, conservative institution like the Hermitage needs it. Who among today’s living artists captivates you the most?

The Hermitage gravitates toward artists dealing with memory. In the Frans Snyders hall hangs Jan Fabre’s Swan sculpture. Fabre, born in modern Antwerp, remains Flemish to us at the Hermitage. His swan harmonizes with Snyders’s Bird Concert, showing how Flemish culture is persisting and evolving in the 21^st century.

Anselm Kiefer investigates Germany’s shame and guilt in relation to Nazism. His personal tragedy resonates with the siege of Leningrad and our country’s suffering. In the General Staff Building, his work honours poet Velimir Khlebnikov. Like Caspar David Friedrich, Kiefer connects intimately with Russian history.

Ilya and Emilia Kabakov rank among the most acclaimed Russian artists abroad. In 2022, they publicly opposed severing ties with Russian cultural institutions. Domestically, they are occasionally criticized for darkening Soviet history, though this is an unfair accusation. Visually, they carry on the great tradition of Russian literature: Gogol, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, infusing it with Russian cosmism. Yet labelling them as contemporary feels inappropriate; they have already claimed their place in posterity.

Sometimes, understanding the present and the pulse of our age requires delving into old art unexpectedly rediscovered. Caravaggio’s work, reflecting the crisis of Renaissance harmony and humanity, resonated sharply with us a few years ago. Whose work among the old masters should we revisit today to gain an insight into contemporary issues? Which old master do you converse with wisely today?

Unearthing forgotten or unknown artists falls to museum researchers, not the public. Our latest discovery is Jacques-Charles de Bellange, a mystical French master and the youngest of the great Mannerists, anticipating Rococo and Art Nouveau. Across the epochs, he was admired for both his liberated sexuality and religious sensitivity. The Graphics Gallery exhibition gives visitors a chance to form their own opinion of Bellange.

Rembrandt reigns supreme in the “Russian Ark”. His Return of the Prodigal Son, a signature piece of the Hermitage, represented Russia at the Venice Biennale and became the Vatican’s official symbol during celebrations of Christianity’s bicentennial. The painting encapsulates humanity’s paradox: fall and repentance, paternal grief, and filial selfishness. It is Rembrandt’s spiritual testament. This year, we await the restoration of Abraham’s Sacrifice, another Biblical masterpiece by Rembrandt.

Standing before Rembrandt, you don’t see the seventeenth century. His characters mirror us: confused, doubtful, yet capable of compassion. Kindness is humanity’s finest attribute.