First of all it is to be said that Tutunov is not an exceptional artist, in the sense that one can not expect from him an uninterrupted series of masterpieces; some works are well done, others not; but all them are pervaded by a sense of delicate poetry that we must not underestimate. Gender painting is particularly widespread in the USA and Russia, the motivations are certainly different, but in both countries it has an audience of fans almost nonexistent in Europe. What is the point to paint flowers today? Very little and it is spontaneous to think it is also anachronistic. Flowers cannot be a response to the many question posed by contemporary culture, how could they be? Flowers are simply an isolated aspect of reality often obscured by contemporary times. Pleasing to look at, they can represent a moment of passage, just a moment, between one thought to another, between an experience and another. A concept on which there is little debate. Yet, let's not forget them, they are carriers of beauty, too often distorted and misguided for reasons that have little to do with art. Contemporary artists seem to have lost sight of beauty in the name of immediate adherence to the real world for a total immersion in cultural debate which is no longer exclusively aesthetic but also social and political. Flowers, if they accidentally do their appearance in any contemporary installation or performance, are associated with the paradox and provocation as if they were insignificant or ridiculous objects. Of course all this is false and whoever does it knows well to lie. Unfortunately too many artists seem to avoid beauty as if they were ashamed and, on the contrary, leave the ugly predominate, and the more artwork is obviously ugly, the more they are convinced of representing contemporaneity. Tutunov and artists like him are outside of contemporaneity as their fans are, there is no shadow of doubt about this. The point is that among those admirers there is also the undersigned, although belonging to the infamous category of art critics, he is not afraid to experience a simple and banal pleasure in the sight of such works. Luckily in the world there are still living many artists like them, and I am convinced they will never cease to give us an instinctive pleasure. A pleasure now replaced by other pleasures brought by a prostitute culture promoting only provocation and disorder.
History is always that.