The distress call—SOS—rings out incomplete. The last symbol is missing, an ellipsis where urgency should be, a silent scream caught in Georgia’s turbulent political vortex.
From February 9 to March 20, Window Project’s exhibition SOS assembles a striking collection of contemporary Georgian artists whose works, spanning decades, transform historical wounds into aesthetic language. The exhibition is not simply an artistic reflection, but a relentless confrontation with the past, the present, and the uncertain future.
Curated under the conceptual anchor of Koka Ramishvili’s SOS series, this exhibition resurrects Georgia’s fraught history of war, occupation, and political upheaval. Ramishvili’s original works, created in the wake of the Soviet collapse, employed torn military textiles and deformed stretcher bars to reflect a nation unraveling. Today, his work returns as both an omen and an accusation: Has Georgia truly emerged from its decades of struggle, or is history repeating in a new guise?
From the existential weight of 1989 to the parliamentary violence of 2024, the artists of SOS dissect Georgia’s political landscape with unflinching honesty.
Alexander (Sandro) Antadze’s OSCE/ODIHR Report (2025), a muted depiction of the Georgian Parliament, speaks volumes. The painting does not show a grand democratic institution, but a site of broken promises, reflecting the contested report on Georgia’s latest elections—already irrelevant before its ink had dried. Antadze’s palette of grey underscores the weight of institutional paralysis, where democratic ideals struggle to take root in soil tainted by violence and manipulation.
Tato Akhalkatsishvili’s Baby Gargantua series transforms Rabelais’ grotesque satire into a chilling meditation on the intoxication of power. His work The Big Party (2025) reconfigures the Christmas tree—a symbol of renewal—into an object of physiological distress, burned and disfigured, consumed by the hedonism of those in control. In Akhalkatsishvili’s vision, power is not a guiding force, but a monstrous appetite; forever hungry, devouring past, present, and future alike.
Uta Bekaia’s My Sweet Little Rabbit (2022) and Dato Koridze’s Noise (2024) tackle violence’s eerie persistence in Georgian society. Bekaia’s animated video, which transforms the bunny into an avatar of vulnerability, reflects on the normalization of violence, particularly against marginalized communities. Koridze, on the other hand, captures the iron barricades of recent Tbilisi protests—where citizens’ cries for justice dissolve into state-sanctioned indifference. In Noise, protest is reduced to an aural texture, a background hum, as those in power refuse to listen.
Koka Ramishvili’s The Double of Georgia (Doppelgänger) (2024-2025) renders the national flag in black-and-white contrast, emphasizing the deep polarization of the state. The imagery evokes his earlier Inverted Masterpiece (1991), which challenged the illusion of post-Soviet independence. Over thirty years later, Ramishvili asks: Is Georgia still wrestling with its doppelgänger, an identity fragmented between state and society, power and people?
Ani Toidze’s Gagra (2024) is an imagined eulogy for the occupied city of Gagra. Charred palm trees and opposing swings paint a landscape of nostalgia and unresolved loss. Similarly, Guram Tsibakhashvili’s photographs from 1989, 1990, and 1993 serve as a visual archive of Georgia’s long and bloody road to sovereignty. These images are not relics, but urgent reminders that history does not disappear—it lingers, waiting to resurface in new forms.
Tamara K.E.’s Remnants of the Glaring Day (2024) constructs a complex web of symbols and signs, a final outcry against a history in freefall. Meanwhile, Mia Okruashvili’s triptych La Chute du Régime (2024-2025) etches the pain of exile and resistance into metal. Flags, fireworks, and burnt trash cans become the residue of revolution, echoes of a struggle both collective and intensely personal.
Rusudan Khizanishvili’s Divine Flame is perhaps the most hauntingly poetic gesture within SOS. Her female-centered mythology, constructed in times of unrest, reflects the resilience of identity even amidst chaos. The flames she paints are not only destructive; they illuminate, forging new narratives from the ashes.
An Unfinished Signal
SOS is not a passive contemplation of history—it is a direct address to the present. Each work in the exhibition asks whether Georgia’s struggles are a closed chapter or an unfinished novel. Has the country found its voice, or is it still caught in the same distress signal, endlessly repeating, unheard?
In a world where history never quite recedes, SOS serves as both warning and invitation. Will Georgia complete its signal? Or will its call for help, like Ramishvili’s fractured letters, remain suspended—an eternal echo in a nation still searching for its own reply?
By Ivan Nechaev
