"Even in Armenia, the sleep of reason makes art monsters" by Carlo Coppola
This article by Carlo Coppola appeared in "In Città Giovinazzo", a newspaper directed by Papàs Antonio Calisi, at the following link:
Monumental art and public statuary have long occupied a vital place in defining national identity. Where architecture marks the boundaries of daily life, public sculpture provides a tangible physical memory—offering passersby a visible symbol with which to identify. However, when an artist’s stylistic freedom swerves sharply into eccentricity or ideological distortion—whether driven by vanity or a mere thirst for novelty—the dialogue between the artwork and the public risks breaking down, turning what should be a solemn celebration into a heated aesthetic controversy.
In recent years, several monuments erected in Armenia or dedicated to iconic Armenian figures have reignited debate over the boundaries of artistic license and the necessity of restraint. An analysis of several recent, high-profile cases illustrates just how fragile the boundary is between intense expressionism and unintentional caricature.
Arno Babajanian at the Yerevan Opera Theatre (2003). Sculpted by David Bejanyan and designed by architect Levon Igityan to honor the genius of the renowned pianist and composer, this monument pushes Expressionism to its extreme limits. The unnaturally elongated fingers and intensely contorted posture at the piano fail to convey the ecstasy of musical creation; instead, they suggest a painful anatomical deformation reminiscent of involuntary spastic movement.
Saint Gregory of Narek in the Vatican Gardens (2018). Created by sculptor Davit Yerevantsi and architect Mikayel Asratyan, this bronze monument to the great mystic, poet, and Doctor of the Church was intended to blend illuminated manuscript iconography with the spherical forms of traditional Armenian sacred architecture. In practice, the heavy, compressed folds of his cloak and his facial features led the public imagination to draw comparisons to Panoramix, the druid from the Asterix animated series. The high-gloss finish of the bronze, catching the light, further evokes the look of a chocolate figurine from a confectioners’ festival. In particular, the prominent nose, deeply furrowed brow, and exaggeratedly solemn, severe expression capture the archetype of an ancient Celtic priest.
The Mahatma Gandhi Monument (2021). Sculpted by Arshak Karapetyan and installed in Yerevan, this monument to the leader of non-violent resistance suffers from an unintended anatomical resemblance: the rendered baldness, facial features, and stance led critics to see a striking resemblance to Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan during the "Velvet Revolution," turning the piece into an ambiguous cross between political satire and leader worship.
Karen Demirchyan outside the Yerevan Arena (2023). Designed by Sargis Babayan with architect Levon Arakelyan, this statue depicts the historical political leader striding forward, his long coat billowing in the wind like a cape toward the Sports and Concerts Complex that bears his name. The slender silhouette, rigid drapery, and tailored coat closely mirror the character design of Captain Harlock, the space pirate created by manga artist Leiji Matsumoto—a romantic anime aesthetic that clashes sharply with the late-Soviet architectural rigor of the background.
When artistic experimentation strays into unrecognizable or exaggerated forms, a fundamental question emerges: to what extent can personal expression disregard public responsibility? While an artist’s creative freedom remains paramount inside the studio, public spaces and commemorative monuments demand a strict reckoning with reality, tradition, and the dignity of the subjects they depict.
Sculptors who lose touch with harmonic proportion and historical truth risk reducing a well-intentioned tribute into an unintended disrespect toward collective memory. A public artwork does not belong solely to its creator or patrons; it belongs to the community that lives alongside it.
Armenian creativity—born at a historic crossroads between Eastern and Western aesthetics—has always been anchored in an enduring artistic legacy, from the austere lines of the medieval Khachkars (stone crosses) to the architectural precision of Ani, Noravank, and Tatev. In this context, art has historically served as an ethical pillar before an aesthetic one—an act of discipline, endurance, and identity.
Criticism of these caricatured modern trends stems not from a rejection of contemporary style, but from a desire to preserve the balance between ethical substance, technical craftsmanship, and formal solemnity intrinsic to Armenian heritage. In a land where stone speaks the language of eternity, public art must remain worthy of its history, offering forms built to endure rather than fleeting eccentricities.
by Carlo Coppola
