I took my very long arms and legs, the discoordination in my body, the romantic mindset, the spirit of protest — and mixed it all into a monstrous cocktail called "Olga Tsvetkova".
The moment when I reached my limit in dance, arriving to a certain level of virtuosity, I got bored. Performance allowed me to become a punk.
I began to take my performances outside the theater box, first through the streets of Amsterdam, then the remote neighborhoods of Moscow, the swamps of St. Petersburg, the summer parks of Athens. Next in the queue are the trains’ stations of Paris.
I am interested in the loosening of everyday life, the disruption of reality that a resident of a sleeping quarters encounters. When he leaves his house to walk his dog, he comes across an inflatable pool where girls in swimsuits are drinking champagne, and all this happens on a frosty evening in winter. It seems like everything as usual, but reality has shifted a bit. I'm interested in this space of displacement, within which a resident of sleeping quarters and his dog accidentally find themselves with their experience.
In my punk projects, I challenge stereotypical perceptions and radically erase any genre boundaries.
Whether it's a rock band with black cats, ghost rides around the house on a scooter or winter yoga in five-meter snowdrifts in the back of a “Pyaterochka” store. Any fresh thought will sooner or later attract the attention of the masses and professionals. Pyaterochka's director will let you dance in her store. Guys from Northern Butovo district in Moscow, inspired by the snow yoga, will organize a branch of Altufievo.
The Moscow subway will act as an employer for the orchestra of ghosts, which will be conducted by the contemporary academic composer (Anton Svetlichny). Anything is possible and my punk life path is the perfect example.