The dialectic of the internal and external, where the artist explores liminality, has been a defining theme in Gulnur Mukazhanova’s artistic practice from its early stages. This thread emerges in her photography series, My True Felt (2009) and later in Mankurts in Megapolis (2011). In these works, the artist herself is the central figure. However, her identity is obscured — her face and most of her body remain covered. By disguising herself, Mukazhanova creates a sense of distance, opening a space for duality, not only between the outside (landscape) and inside (body) but also between the self and the collective. Her body becomes a threshold between the external and internal, allowing the narrative to remain fluid and interchangeable between personal and collective identities.

A haunting aura is captured — the threshold that the artist constructs does not merely separate; it reveals the unknown of the other side and, therefore, evokes an echo of vulnerability.

The metaphor of the threshold is vast and rich. In his book The Poetics of Space, French philosopher Gaston Bachelard introduces the concept that ‘man is a half-open being.’ Bachelard reflects on the human desire to be both visible and hidden, extending this idea to the metaphor of the door — ‘an entire cosmos of the half-open’ — which he considers a source of daydreaming. The classifications of open and closed spaces accumulate desires and temptations.

Mukazhanova’s works profoundly manifest this notion of ‘the cosmos of the half-open.’ Even the titles My True Felt and Mankurt’s of Megapolis are ambiguous yet resonant. Felt, a traditional material used for centuries by her ancestors, serves as a conceptual ‘door,’ creating a temporal connection to the past. Similarly, the myth of the mankurt bridges history and contemporary urban life.

Adapting the myth of mankurtism, Mukazhanova reflects on the history of Kazakhs who were forced to forget their past. At the same time, she critically examines the lingering effects of this history and the challenges of globalisation. The artist thinks about identity or, rather, the loss of identity, as well as the violence inflicted by the Soviet Union in its attempt to build one nation.

German sociologist and philosopher Georg Simmel also explored the metaphor of doors and bridges in his 1909 essay, examining how they function as symbols of both connection and separation: ‘By virtue of the fact that the door forms, as it were, a linkage between the space of human beings and everything that remains outside it, it transcends the separation between the inner and the outer.’ Simmel emphasises that while walls remain mute, doors speak. Mukazhanova’s ‘doors’ simultaneously conceal and reveal, embodying this duality.

These ideas of thresholds, or rather passages, were also profoundly developed in the same year by the French ethnographer and folklorist Arnold van Gennep in The Rites of Passage. The author argues that throughout life, individuals in any society undergo continuous transitions — birth, childhood, marriage, religious initiations, and death. Life is a series of constant transitions. Van Gennep categorized these transitions into rites of separation (preliminal), transition rites (liminal), and rites of incorporation (postliminal): ‘For every one of these events there are ceremonies whose essential purpose is to enable the individual to pass from one defined position to another which is equally well defined.’5 The author emphasises that human life mirrors nature, from which neither the individual nor the society stands independent: ‘The universe itself is governed by periodicity which has repercussions on human life, with stages and transitions, movements forward and periods of relative inactivity.’ These ideas reflect the philosophy of nomadic dwelling that manifests in constant movement and cyclicality: there is nothing static or permanent for nomads. Similarly, Mukazhanova’s work embodies the idea of thresholds as continuous and dynamic.

Nomadic cultural heritage is at the core of Mukazhanova’s practice. Beyond her use of felt, another significant reference appears in the background of My True Felt image: tuskīiz, a type of traditional Kazakh felt wall hanging adorned with sewn patterns made of cloth, velvet or other fabric that would usually be hung at the bedside. According to the Kazakh artist and ethnographer Eraly Ospanuly:

The technique of appliqué decoration has its origins in the practices of Scythian nomads, who used to embellish their felt items by cutting and sewing patterns from thin felt or soft leather. The term tuskīiz is derived from the verb tusū (to hang, curtain), and kīiz (felt). A tuskīiz consists of a central part known as köl (lake), tabaghy (bowl), or orta (centre), which is surrounded by a stretched Cyrillic п-shaped qorghan (fence) border on the top and sides. These two main elements are separated by thin ornamental sū (water) stripes.

The idea of a curtain that comes on the wall of the bedside might serve as a metaphor for an inner lining between the two worlds, the real world and the world of dreams or the unconscious. Even though the word is written with the Kazakh letter Ұ (t-u-skīiz), the way it is pronounced is much softer and sounds like another Kazakh letter Ү, which intriguingly creates a connection to the word tüs, meaning ‘dream’ or ‘colour’. While this connection is intuitive, it offers a compelling interpretation: tūskīiz as a ‘felted dream’ or ‘colourful felt’, reinforcing its role as a threshold between states of being.

The centre or köl of tūskīiz fortifies this point, as the lake — like any other body of water — symbolises the unknown or the other world. These dream spaces exist in infinite variations, with no two tūskīiz being identical, as each is handcrafted by a different woman artist. The form is usually rectangular, with the frame taking the shape of a portal, while the lower part is deliberately left unfinished. This was not because it remained hidden beneath pillows and blankets, but because it was intentionally left undone, symbolising generational succession. Additionally, tūskīiz is believed to function as a talisman, protecting the home by absorbing negative energy and channelling it down through its open lower edge.

The centre of tūskīiz is either left minimal, emphasizing the beauty of the fabric, or decorated with ornaments. This may depend on the region as well as the personal preferences of the maker. Mukazhanova works with the concept of tūskīiz, implementing the traditional technique of felting and developing it further in her artistic practice. Whether through its literal presence in her photography or as a physical piece made of felt, fabrics, and sometimes pins. Mukazhanova’s dream spaces are minimal: she leaves the portal open.

Mukazhanova’s journey with felt began at the Zhurgenov Kazakh National Academy of Arts, Faculty of Applied Arts, at the Department of Weaving and Textiles. Even after relocating to Germany to study at Weißensee Kunsthochschule in Berlin, she continued to explore felt’s tactile and conceptual possibilities. The artist describes felt as a ‘mystic material that beckons her.’10 The physical act of felting, which engages her entire body, induces a meditative state — an altered consciousness through which she enables her body to create and narrate the unconscious. In this sense, the felt itself becomes a portal. The artistic practice and the medium of felt allow Mukazhanova to reconnect with her ancestral history and knowledge. As well as deal with the historical violence that her nation went through during the Soviet period and work through the generational trauma that was inherited.

For the inaugural programme at the Tselinny Center for Contemporary Culture, Mukazhanova created a felted portal installation within the Barsakelmes conceptual programme. Rising from the hexagonal base, six felted portals, almost ten meters high, form a sacred space for ritual performance. This new large-scale installation required a team of thirty to forty people working collectively over the course of three months. The artist describes this as a very special moment in her practice — an intense process involving students, fellow artists, and construction workers, all contributing their effort, energy, and thought into the creation through hard work. Mukazhnaova explained the felting process in detail, emphasising the importance of touch and pressure. For the artist, it was essential to communicate the meaning behind the work and her practice; she wanted each participant to be mindful of this while contributing to the piece. The artist spoke of the synchronicity within the group, the stories and laughter they shared throughout the process, and expressed her belief that this collective energy is embedded in the work, something the public will be able to feel and experience.

There are two sides of an installation. The external side is felted from the intense colours that spread throughout the surface, carrying the pulsating energy of each colour. These gradually interflow into the internal part of the purely defined oneness of a single hue, white. This one colour that contains the spectrum of all colours creates the feel of wholeness and divine presence. The symbolism of the white colour in Kazakh ornaments is interestingly connected to both birth and death. This internal side of the installation then creates the space for transformation and an opportunity for rebirth.

Aq zhaulygy ananyng — aq körpesi balanyng

(White shawl of the mother — white blanket of the baby).

Aq zhauyp, arulap kömu.

(To bury solemnly, wrapped in white).

To understand the language of felt in Mukazhanova’s works, one must look back to the traditional nomadic practice of felting and the language of ornaments. In his book, Oyu I Oy (Ornament and Thought), the Kazakh philosopher and independent scholar, Alibek Kazhgali Uly, explains the difference between the words Oyu (ornament) and Örnek (pattern, motive), and the idea behind the use of the combined word oyu-örnek through Kazakh perception of the ornament. The author highlights that oyu is traditionally used with the felt ornament, and örnek ‘spreads’ with everything else. Nevertheless, principles of oyu are also used in wood, carpet weaving and other materials, in the result of which oyu-örnek definition is more appropriate. The use of the word ‘spread’ is not accidental, according to the author, who investigates the definition behind both words, which appear as synonyms in the vocabulary. Oyu is translated as ornament, as well as the verb carve, while örnek is pattern/motif, goes in a company of similar rooted words as: örleu (climb up, rise), örme (weaving), örmekshi (spider), örmek (loom), ört (fire). This semantic analysis of the author is fascinating; the findings brilliantly illustrate the definition of örnek that encompasses all the related threads of meanings. Going back to the particular use of the word ‘spread’, when thinking of örnek the author describes it as follows:

To spread means to grow, branch out, intertwine and unravel, stretch upwards, bloom in any possible colour, which, in fact, occurs with a pattern (örnek) as the weaver sitting at the loom (örmek), like a spider (örmekshi), interlaces multicoloured threads into the fabric of a carpet. (Author’s translation.)

In his earlier work, Organon Ornamenta (Almaty, 2003), Kazhgali Uly states: ‘An ornament (oyu) is the connection that arises between its objects, with Rhythm forming the foundation of this connection.’ (Author’s translation.) This notion of rhythm sends one immediately to the idea of primordial, to the creation moment. Whether one thinks of a matter and quantum, or the synchronisation between the heartbeats of a mother and foetus, when the mother breathes rhythmically, being connected through the umbilical cord.

In his detailed interpretation of the Scytho–Siberian zoomorphic–style motive of the carpet from the fifth Pazyryk burial, the author concludes that an ornament is a rhythmic pulsation born in the consciousness of the viewer when one grasps each separate fragment as one whole, and this whole is a part of even bigger whole of a composition.

Mukazhnova inherited this knowledge of oyu–örnek and intuitively reinterprets it through the intertwined colour spread within her felted work that holds the rhythmic pulsation and allows the viewer to experience this transitional space.

Another intuitive choice that reinforces the idea of transitional space is the choice of the hexagonal base. The most efficient geometrical shape that represents the underlying structure of the universe. It appears in the structures of molecules, honeycombs, and even as storm formations on Saturn. Hexagons symbolise balance and interconnectedness between all things. The stellation of the hexagon is a hexagram, which appears as a symbol in all major religions.19 This makes it almost an ideal structure for spiritual transformation.

One cannot but notice the roughness on both sides of the portal. The artist burns, tears and scratches the external felted surface, leaving it wounded and exposed. Felt is an uncanny medium; as an organic material derived from animal skin, it retains a bodily presence, much like skin that bears the marks of historical scars. The animalistic presence continues in a new motif that has not previously appeared in the artist’s practice. As Mukazhanova describes it, it is the presence of a snake’s eyes — something she experiences and conveys through the piercing gaze embedded in certain parts of the installation. Across diverse cultures and mythologies, the symbolism of the snake has an ancient history as a representation of destruction and rebirth. Once a snake sheds its old skin, it heals its wounds and undergoes the process of renewal. According to Carl Jung's interpretation, a snake symbolises both the personal and the collective unconscious. As well as a transition between the conscious and unconscious realms. In the case of Mukazhanova, this symbolism may also suggest a connection to the ancestral, a bridge between the material and the spiritual. The internal monochrome space seems to be patched up in places. The artist deliberately avoided making it look ideal, reflecting the imperfection of life itself.

The nomadic culture of the Kazakhs, violently uprooted by Russian Imperialism and then Soviet rule, hugely affected the visual language that is reflected today in contemporary art. Barsakelmes's geographical connection serves as a stark reminder of the country’s traumatic past — the Aral Sea ecological disaster due to Soviet agricultural exploitation. Rather than being forgotten, historical traumas should be acknowledged and worked with.

Mukazhanova’s installation is profoundly rich, both narratively and visually. It is sincere and does not hide anything. With great finesse, it captures the unfolding layers of existence. Though the artist does not leave the viewer hopeless, the passages through the wholeness of white in the spiritual structure of a hexagon create space for healing and potential for change. This is an echo of nomadic philosophy, where nothing remains fixed and everything is in flux.

Participants of the installation: Abdulla Mukhtar, Ali Zhiger, Amirkhanova Lana, Asanalikyzy Fatikha, Baimurza Nursultan, Barpy Arman, Kabyll Dastan, Kalibekov Miras, Kapezov Kazbek, Kappar Tagai, Kazhytayeva Elvira, Kenzhebek Syrganym, Kershebayev Gabit, Kokonja, Korgasbekova Aksaule, Kulbaev Bakhytzhan, Kunakova Meruert, Kuttugayeva Togzhan, Kutumova Zarina, Li Darya, Makhambet Sultankhan, Mamatayev Sabyrzhan, Manas Azhar, Mukayeva Karlygash, Nauryzbai Ademi, Nurkhanova Asel, Nusipzhan Samalkhan, Razakbaev Zhumagali, Salimbekov Serik, Samatov Madiyar, Sarsenbai Shakhrizad 32. Syrlybayeva Ilmira, Taigara Dias, Tasbolatov Beibit, Tolegenov Erasyl, Tuyakova Kuralai, Urazov Khabibulla, Uzbekova Indira, Ybyrai Zanggar, Zhainakov Rauan, Zhambyl Amir, Zholshan Kadir, Zholshan Sultan, Zhumabek Aruzhan

Author of the text: Indira Dyussebayeva – Ziyabek

The Tselinny Center of Contemporary Culture expresses its gratitude to the patrons who supported the institution in 2025 for their contribution to the creation of this work.