Accepted Without Review: A Conversation with Jenia Granilshchikov
For the inaugural edition of DOM Art Residence's digital residency Accepted Without Review, artist Jenia Granilshchikov transformed everyday life into a long-duration performance. Over the course of 120 streamed hours, he questioned productivity, visibility, and the boundaries between art and existence. We spoke with him about the experience.
Jenia Granilschikov
June 30, 2026
Natalia Rubina
CMO DOM Art Residence
DOM Art Residence: You are often associated with video art, but when we invited you to participate in Accepted Without Review, you decided to focus on painting and drawing. What was your first reaction to the residency, and what made you decide to join?
Jenia Granilshchikov: I’ve always considered myself a multidisciplinary artist. In the past, I described my practice as primarily focused on video art, but over the last few years performance has become central to my work. The medium changes over time, but the core of the practice remains the same.
When I joined the residency, I imagined it as an experiment. I thought I would spend the month working in a more traditional studio format—drawing, painting, producing objects. What surprised me was that, over time, I realized the work itself was not the drawings or paintings at all.
What I actually did was make coffee, play guitar, spend time with my cats, prepare food, think, sleep, and simply exist. Eventually I understood that this daily activity was the artwork. The performance was the work.
The residency led me toward questions of artistic productivity, vulnerability, invisibility, and all the aspects of artistic labor that usually remain hidden. By the end of the project, my understanding of what I was making had completely changed from what I imagined at the beginning.
Jenia Granilshchikov: I’ve always considered myself a multidisciplinary artist. In the past, I described my practice as primarily focused on video art, but over the last few years performance has become central to my work. The medium changes over time, but the core of the practice remains the same.
When I joined the residency, I imagined it as an experiment. I thought I would spend the month working in a more traditional studio format—drawing, painting, producing objects. What surprised me was that, over time, I realized the work itself was not the drawings or paintings at all.
What I actually did was make coffee, play guitar, spend time with my cats, prepare food, think, sleep, and simply exist. Eventually I understood that this daily activity was the artwork. The performance was the work.
The residency led me toward questions of artistic productivity, vulnerability, invisibility, and all the aspects of artistic labor that usually remain hidden. By the end of the project, my understanding of what I was making had completely changed from what I imagined at the beginning.
What I actually did was make coffee, play guitar, spend time with my cats, prepare food, think, sleep, and simply exist. Eventually I understood that this daily activity was the artwork.
DOM: The residency clearly involved emotional highs and lows. Sometimes you seemed frustrated, and other times very inspired. Can you talk about those shifts?
Jenia: When a camera records eight hours of your day, all of your emotional states inevitably become visible. Over eight hours anyone experiences different moods, different energies, different rhythms. Those changes become part of the work automatically.
At first, what was difficult wasn’t the idea that someone might be watching. It was the realization that I was performing. I wasn’t worried about the audience. I was exhausted by the responsibility of sustaining a performance over such a long duration.
Imagine an actor performing an eight-hour play. You have to remain focused. Everything becomes part of your language—your gestures, movements, posture, and attention. During the first week especially, that concentration was difficult and emotionally demanding.
Later, another challenge emerged: production. Artists often feel pressure to produce objects, to finish something tangible. I gradually realized that I wasn’t interested in producing objects at all. I wasn’t interested in making paintings or drawings for their own sake. The performance itself became the central work.
That realization was both liberating and unsettling.
Jenia: When a camera records eight hours of your day, all of your emotional states inevitably become visible. Over eight hours anyone experiences different moods, different energies, different rhythms. Those changes become part of the work automatically.
At first, what was difficult wasn’t the idea that someone might be watching. It was the realization that I was performing. I wasn’t worried about the audience. I was exhausted by the responsibility of sustaining a performance over such a long duration.
Imagine an actor performing an eight-hour play. You have to remain focused. Everything becomes part of your language—your gestures, movements, posture, and attention. During the first week especially, that concentration was difficult and emotionally demanding.
Later, another challenge emerged: production. Artists often feel pressure to produce objects, to finish something tangible. I gradually realized that I wasn’t interested in producing objects at all. I wasn’t interested in making paintings or drawings for their own sake. The performance itself became the central work.
That realization was both liberating and unsettling.
DOM: When we first conceived the residency, we imagined artists simply living their lives in front of the camera. But you describe it almost as a continuous performance. Were you really performing for the entire eight hours?
Jenia: Yes, absolutely.
From the outside it may look like I’m simply living my life, and in many ways I am. But the challenge was to make that life visible in a meaningful way.
The camera was constantly moving with me. If I went into another room, the camera followed. If I cooked, read, played guitar, or even took a nap, I thought carefully about where the camera was positioned and how the scene was unfolding.
This came from a cinematic way of thinking. I wanted to create a film that was intentionally slow, even boring at times—a film about ordinary existence.
I developed a rhythm for the day. I might spend half an hour playing guitar, then prepare food, then read a book. Activities changed gradually. I was interested in creating a flow rather than a sequence of rapid events.
So yes, even though the actions themselves were ordinary, the performance never stopped. Maintaining that rhythm was work.
DOM: Did the residency affect your daily habits or your relationship to your body?
Jenia: I’ve always practiced sports regularly, but the residency gave me an additional reason to be disciplined.
As a performer, your body is one of your primary tools. I knew I had other performance projects ahead, so I approached the residency partly as preparation.
What’s funny is that after the residency ended, many of those habits remained. The structure became part of my routine. In that sense, the project had a lasting effect on my daily life.
DOM: Throughout the streams you displayed short written messages and questions. Were they addressed to the audience or to yourself?
Jenia: Both.
The messages were part of the conceptual framework of the performance. Questions like How are you today? or Did you sleep well? were directed simultaneously toward the viewer and toward the performer.
The audience could interpret them personally, but they were also questions I was asking myself.
I was interested in the simplicity of those questions. Sometimes the most basic questions reveal the most important things.
Jenia: Yes, absolutely.
From the outside it may look like I’m simply living my life, and in many ways I am. But the challenge was to make that life visible in a meaningful way.
The camera was constantly moving with me. If I went into another room, the camera followed. If I cooked, read, played guitar, or even took a nap, I thought carefully about where the camera was positioned and how the scene was unfolding.
This came from a cinematic way of thinking. I wanted to create a film that was intentionally slow, even boring at times—a film about ordinary existence.
I developed a rhythm for the day. I might spend half an hour playing guitar, then prepare food, then read a book. Activities changed gradually. I was interested in creating a flow rather than a sequence of rapid events.
So yes, even though the actions themselves were ordinary, the performance never stopped. Maintaining that rhythm was work.
DOM: Did the residency affect your daily habits or your relationship to your body?
Jenia: I’ve always practiced sports regularly, but the residency gave me an additional reason to be disciplined.
As a performer, your body is one of your primary tools. I knew I had other performance projects ahead, so I approached the residency partly as preparation.
What’s funny is that after the residency ended, many of those habits remained. The structure became part of my routine. In that sense, the project had a lasting effect on my daily life.
DOM: Throughout the streams you displayed short written messages and questions. Were they addressed to the audience or to yourself?
Jenia: Both.
The messages were part of the conceptual framework of the performance. Questions like How are you today? or Did you sleep well? were directed simultaneously toward the viewer and toward the performer.
The audience could interpret them personally, but they were also questions I was asking myself.
I was interested in the simplicity of those questions. Sometimes the most basic questions reveal the most important things.
What interested me here was a slightly different question: what if the artwork isn’t what you produce at all? What if the artwork is simply the act of living?
DOM: You chose not to speak directly during the streams. Why?
Jenia: I wanted the work to function almost like silent cinema.
I’ve always been fascinated by silent film and by the possibility of expressing emotions through movement, atmosphere, gesture, and presence rather than explanation.
I wanted viewers to read the performance through texture and behavior rather than through verbal commentary.
For example, there were moments when I genuinely fell asleep with my cats beside me. That wasn’t staged. It happened because I was exhausted and needed rest. In a way, that image answered the question How did you sleep today? without any words.
I trusted that many things could be communicated visually.
DOM: What was the most difficult aspect of the residency, and what was the most rewarding?
Jenia: The most difficult part was time.
Beginning every day at exactly ten in the morning and continuing until six in the evening required enormous discipline. Eight hours is a very long time. The project consumed a huge amount of energy, and every evening I had to think about how to recover in order to do it again the next day.
What inspired me most was the feeling that we were having an honest conversation about visibility and publicness.
As the project evolved, I started feeling that we were touching something fundamental: not the production of art objects, but the documentation of life itself.
Artists have long explored the relationship between the studio and artistic production. In the 1970s, many performance artists investigated what happens inside the studio and whether everyday actions could become art.
What interested me here was a slightly different question: what if the artwork isn’t what you produce at all?
What if the artwork is simply the act of living?
By the middle of the residency I began to feel that we were exploring something genuinely important. That realization kept me going through the difficult moments.
The project became less about making things and more about paying attention to existence itself.
And perhaps that is what this performance ultimately became: a portrait of life before it becomes an object.
Jenia: I wanted the work to function almost like silent cinema.
I’ve always been fascinated by silent film and by the possibility of expressing emotions through movement, atmosphere, gesture, and presence rather than explanation.
I wanted viewers to read the performance through texture and behavior rather than through verbal commentary.
For example, there were moments when I genuinely fell asleep with my cats beside me. That wasn’t staged. It happened because I was exhausted and needed rest. In a way, that image answered the question How did you sleep today? without any words.
I trusted that many things could be communicated visually.
DOM: What was the most difficult aspect of the residency, and what was the most rewarding?
Jenia: The most difficult part was time.
Beginning every day at exactly ten in the morning and continuing until six in the evening required enormous discipline. Eight hours is a very long time. The project consumed a huge amount of energy, and every evening I had to think about how to recover in order to do it again the next day.
What inspired me most was the feeling that we were having an honest conversation about visibility and publicness.
As the project evolved, I started feeling that we were touching something fundamental: not the production of art objects, but the documentation of life itself.
Artists have long explored the relationship between the studio and artistic production. In the 1970s, many performance artists investigated what happens inside the studio and whether everyday actions could become art.
What interested me here was a slightly different question: what if the artwork isn’t what you produce at all?
What if the artwork is simply the act of living?
By the middle of the residency I began to feel that we were exploring something genuinely important. That realization kept me going through the difficult moments.
The project became less about making things and more about paying attention to existence itself.
And perhaps that is what this performance ultimately became: a portrait of life before it becomes an object.