It might seem that Sergo Kobuladze’s story has been fully told. The Georgian master was a polymath of near-Renaissance scope: he studied the golden ratio, illustrated the nation’s epic The Knight in the Panther’s Skin, and designed the celebrated curtain for the Tbilisi Opera and Ballet Theatre. His legacy is monumental in every sense, towering over Georgia’s cultural memory.
Yet his archive continues to reveal surprises. Behind the scale of his public works lay an intimate pursuit: miniature clay medallions, small enough to rest in the palm of a hand. These tiny items were never exhibited or sold. They were often set in rings and given as personal gifts to friends, family, and his most distinguished students.
Photo courtesy: Giorgi Shengelia
Family recollections suggest that Sergo Kobuladze created the first medallion-set rings for his daughter-in-law, the striking Tinatin Vardanashvili, remembered for her role in the Georgian classic film When Almonds Blossom. Kobuladze’s granddaughter, Liza, associates the rings with her earliest memories of her mother: “In my childhood, these rings were inseparable from her,” she recalls. “I first noticed one on her hand and asked where it came from. For him, creating ring cameos was a hobby. He was fascinated by ancient art and the Renaissance, which I think explains his choice of designs.”
Kobuladze began making medallions in the early 1970s. Liza recalls discovering them in his studio long after his passing: “Sergo was very orderly. Everything was sorted, catalogued, arranged neatly. Yet his studio felt like a treasure chest. One afternoon, I found an old chocolate box tucked away in a corner. Inside, medallions of various shapes and colors were arranged with extraordinary care. To me, it felt like opening a casket of hidden treasure. I will never forget that discovery.”
Art historian Sophio Chitorelidze notes that interest in medal-making in Georgia peaked between the 1950s and 1970s, when many artists explored miniature forms. Kobuladze was among them. His pursuit of perfection extended even to these small works: he studied classical Italian medals from the Renaissance and later periods, in both theory and practice. Unusually, he chose clay — a material rarely associated with medal art — drawn to its plasticity and expressive freedom. He treated the medium with the same rigor as his large-scale projects, researching the chemical properties of clays and experimenting with production techniques. The surviving medallions, in biscuit porcelain, faience, clinker clay, and terracotta, reveal not only technical mastery but also a sculptor’s eye for line, proportion, and relief.
Fascination with Pallas Athena
A lasting motif in Kobuladze’s miniature world was Pallas Athena, goddess of wisdom and war. His interest in classical forms began in youth and deepened through study of the Renaissance. In 1929, as a star pupil at the Tbilisi Academy of Arts, he traveled to Moscow and Leningrad to visit museums, encouraged by the Academy’s vice-rector, Yakob Nikoladze, and his mentor, Eugène Lanceray. Living frugally, he spent his savings on books and wrote home about the Hermitage’s treasures: “Tell the Academy people that the most unforgettable things are Velázquez’s Portrait of Pope Innocent, Rembrandt’s Danaë, and Athena Pallada. I plan to copy the latter.”
Meanwhile, back in Georgia, Bolshevik terror and a “cultural revolution” threatened the Academy itself. Kobuladze graduated in 1930, at a time when the institution had been abolished and reduced to an arts faculty within a pedagogical institute. When the Academy was later restored, he returned as rector, mentoring generations of Georgian artists while remaining devoted to classical forms, despite the limitations imposed by Soviet ideological constraints.
Photo courtesy: Giorgi Shengelia
Reviving Kobuladze’s Legacy
We explore Kobuladze’s medallions in the artist’s meticulously reconstructed studio, now preserved at the Art Foundation Anagi (AFA). This project, undertaken by the newly established Foundation in collaboration with Kobuladze’s family, recreates the intimate environment in which he worked. Surrounded by shelves he crafted himself, along with his sketches, artworks, and cherished objects, visitors can feel a close connection to the artist’s world.
Among the most striking of Kobuladze’s surviving medallions are those featuring a neoclassical depiction of Athena Pallada: a circular, one-sided relief showing the goddess in profile. The geometric severity of her helmet contrasts with the serene calm of her face, while one version bears a delicate floral motif, lending a subtle, lyrical grace. On the reverse rests his monogram signature.
Thea Goguadze-Apfel, curator and co-founder of the Art Foundation Anagi, explains: “Many families in Georgia still treasure the rings Kobuladze gifted, each adorned with his medallions. We decided to bring this remarkable story to life. We wanted to connect that heritage with contemporary design, creating beloved ‘must-have’ objects that carry the past into the present. His work contains endless potential for this.”
Using Kobuladze’s original moulds, the Foundation has launched a limited jewelry line, bringing his intimate creations to life while remaining true to his vision. Thea Goguadze-Apfel recalls Nana Kiknadze’s story from the book The Unknown Sergo Kobuladze, which illustrates how Kobuladze was determined to pass on Georgia’s cultural legacy to his students alongside European traditions — a principle also reflected in the Foundation’s mission.
In the 1950s, as head of the Academy, Sergo Kobuladze introduced classical drawing and national motifs, even during Soviet times. Yet many young artists of the period, including Edmond Kalandadze, Jibson Khundadze, Koki Makharadze, Gogi Totibadze, Mito Khakhutashvili, Merab Berdzenishvili and others, resisted these initiatives, dismissing them as old-fashioned.
In response, Kobuladze famously called a meeting with his students. Holding up a bottle, he said: “This is not what you think,” he remarked, prompting laughter. “It’s filled with water. If I add just one drop of French perfume essence, it becomes real French perfume. This is my request to you: create whatever new you want, but never lose that one drop of Georgian.” His words were met with applause.
When asked whether Sergo himself would have appreciated the revival of his medallion rings, Liza Kobuladze smiles: “He was excessively modest. He shunned praise, rarely spoke of himself, and was always critical of his work. He would say: ‘There is no such thing as a finished work.’”
By Team GT
