Artist, illustrator and educator,

Recent work



FEB 02–MAY 21 2023  
Clouds, Power and Ornament show, CHAT, Hong Kong

JUN 25–AUG 04 2022   
DAVRA Collective Public Program, Fridericianum Museum, Kassel 

AUG 13–SEP 03 2021
Mixed Feelings Solo Show, dom36, Almaty 

Azbuka Strikes Back︎︎︎

Tselinny 20.05.2023, Almaty

Parenthood Manifesto︎︎︎
CHAT, Hong Kong

Collective Zine Making︎︎︎
Babalar Press, online

Rethinking Dolls (& Agniya Barto)︎︎︎
Slavs and Tatars’ Pickle Bar, Berlin

01. Metropolis M

Art of Manty

02. New Lines Magazine
Kazakhstan’s Bloody January 

03. ELLE 
On feminism and motherhood

04. Bologna Children’s Book Fair
Illustrators Wall  

Manty, mantu, manta
Gouche, acrylic on paper
A4, 2022

This summer as part of a public program of the Davra collective I performed a project on collective manty cooking in the back yard of Fridericianum Museum, Kassel during documenta 15.

This text below I have written for Chilltan publication about manty.
Among Turkic peoples, the words қыз, кыз, qız, kız, gyz, qiz mean ‘girl’. Манты, манду, manty, mantu, manta, mantı is a traditional dish in many Asian cultures.  ‘Manty’ are steamed dumplings consisting of a meat or vegetable filling in a casing of thinly rolled dough.

Girls, women and grandmothers use the word «қыз» as an affectionate form of address, reminiscent of the friendship of childhood.  

The preparation of ‘manty’ is a collective practice that unites women of all ages. Like the chiltan, the forty spirits who replenish their ranks by replacing  those who have grown too old with new suitable people, the girls replace one another in shaping and filling the ‘manty’.   These could be very young girls, just setting out to acquire the art of shaping these edible sculptures. ‘Manty’ are very accepting; they don’t mind how quickly you work.  You are still learning, watching the elders at work, trying to copy the dance of your mother’s, sisters’ and aunties’ hands.  No one tells you how or gives you instruction; the knowledge is transmitted by the atoms in the air.

When you make ‘manty’ together with other women, it feels like you are part of some sort of sacrament. It’s the time and place for living stories.  When the words come to an end, time stops. At such times, it’s as though my mother’s face freezes over, only her fingers move, until the dough and minced meat disappear before our eyes.

Photo archives, 2010