The Myth of Tantalus
— on resources, patronage, and the projects that still live only in the inner space of the self

It is a tradition at Revue Révolution to conclude our interviews with a simple question: What do you need?

Dmitry Popov:

Before answering directly, I would like to note two things about who usually needs what—and whom.

First: anyone who possesses the knowledge and skills to realize a project of genuine value also needs resources in order to bring it into being. Most often, this means finding a like-minded person who may not share the same expertise, but who has the necessary means to support the work.

Second: sometimes the reverse is true. Those who possess resources seek out someone capable of giving form to their aspirations.

Let me offer examples from the life of Nicholas Roerich.

At the beginning of the twentieth century, the young Roerich—recently graduated from the Imperial Academy of Arts and St. Petersburg University—received a modest position within the Imperial Society for the Encouragement of the Arts. He quickly distinguished himself and was appointed director of its art school. In only ten years, he transformed it from a modest institution into one of the most important artistic centers in Russia after the Academy itself.

After the Russian Revolution, having lost both homeland and status, Roerich arrived in New York with immense knowledge and ability, but no money. Here he met people willing to help realize his ideas, and others happy to finance them. As a result, he was able to establish an institute of art, a museum, an exhibition center, a publishing house, and much more.

After his death, two of his closest American friends—Zina Fosdick and Catherine Campbell—who, incidentally, could scarcely tolerate one another, nevertheless joined forces to create a museum in New York dedicated to his legacy.

One brought energy. The other brought money.

The city, the country, and the wider world received the Nicholas Roerich Museum—where I now have the good fortune to serve as curator.

So it seems that any serious cultural project requires three things: knowledge, human effort, and financial support. Rarely are all three found in one person. More often, they must come together through two or three people.

To bring Roerich’s art and philosophy to a new level of visibility and impact—what would help the museum, and this work?

Dmitry Popov:

Anything that helps make Roerich’s life and creative legacy better known.

Like all meaningful things, it must first become visible. People need to know that it exists. After that, they will decide for themselves what place it may hold in their own lives.

But form matters too.

On social media, it may appear as a shower of bright sparks. In video, as a vivid and moving story carried by beautiful images. In essays and interviews, as something that captures attention. In serious monographs, as a rich body of facts, thoughtful interpretation, and an engaging style of presentation.

All of this is valuable, and we welcome any sincere help in that effort.

And for yourself—as curator, translator, collector, writer, artist—what do you need to continue your own path?

Dmitry Popov:

Ah, that may be the most difficult question. (Dmitry smiles.)

For creativity itself, one needs very little: silence, peace, and time.

But projects—whether modest or ambitious—also require the practical means I mentioned earlier.

There are other challenges as well. For example: how does one interest a literary agent or publisher in books written in Russian, which first require a truly literary translation into English?

And of course, one may still dream of meeting a patron moved by the idea of creating a museum of contemporary Native American art in New York.

For now, that remains an important part of my inner life.

Finally: is there anything I have not asked—anything urgent, any aspect of Roerich’s legacy or your own work—that feels most alive, and most in need of articulation at this moment?