Exiled Russian artist Semyon Skrepetsky suffered a fatal gun attack, with multiple close‑range shots and a final bullet to the head. Known for his satirical, neo‑primitivist works—ranging from a Russian‑Orthodox style painting of Joseph Stalin cradling Vladimir Putin to a provocative depiction of Chechen leader Ramzan Kadyrov as a prostitute—Skrepetsky targeted a wide array of political figures.
He blended absurdity with sharp offensiveness, favoring bold, vivid colours and coining the terms “psychedelia” and “skreprealism” for his style. For him, humor was a coping mechanism for heavy themes such as communism, dictatorships, exile and death.
Until the end, he kept his audience engaged. On the Friday before his death, he staged a protest on Russia Day in central Berlin, carrying a painting of Stalin holding Putin like the infant Jesus, then dramatically discarding a Russian flag into a trash can—a final act of defiance against authoritarianism.
Skrepetsky was shot while walking his dog on the following Monday in Biała Podlaska, a Polish town near the Belarusian border.
“This murder is an unprecedented incident in Poland. It has deeply shocked many and heightened concerns among Belarusian activists and journalists living here,” said a Belarusian exile in Warsaw. “Given the region’s history of transnational repression, many now fear for their own safety.”
Born Robert Kuzovkov in 1981 in a remote Altai village, he emigrated to Poland in 2021 to escape political persecution. In recent videos posted to Facebook, he wore his trademark beret, displayed tattooed arms, and stripped down to T‑shirts bearing provocative slogans such as “Russia is a prison of nations” and a bleeding “Russian culture” logo draped over a Putin‑faced doll.
His move to Poland coincided with the turmoil following Belarus’s disputed 2020 presidential election, which sparked massive protests and a harsh crackdown backed by Moscow. Hundreds of Belarusians—and a number of Russians, including Skrepetsky—sought asylum in Poland and Lithuania.
A life in limbo
Exiles found themselves stranded: home was only a few hundred kilometres away, yet returning was impossible. Shifting host‑country policies and sabotage by Russian agents heightened fear and paranoia among locals.
Skrepetsky arrived alone, but soon reunited with his wife and five children in Biała Podlaska. He rented a 70‑square‑metre apartment in the city’s northern district and resumed work, filming himself filling drawings with colour at a table scattered with markers. Activism was his lifeblood.
His artistic output and activism grew together, as did the list of his targets. Decaying regimes and dictators such as Putin and Lukashenko were his primary focus, and he regularly mocked Chechen leader Ramzan Kadyrov. Among his more controversial pieces was a pencil sharpener shaped like Kadyrov on all fours, with the tip designed to “sodomise” him.
He also criticized the Russian opposition, especially the late Alexei Navalny and his wife Yulia, and even attacked Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky and the Ukrainian people in recent years.
Skrepetsky’s activism could shift quickly. When he learned Russia would have a pavilion at the Venice Biennale, he joined crowds waving Ukrainian flags and singing “We will fight for our freedom.”
As a Russian citizen, he understood how the Kremlin leverages cultural icons—from the Nutcracker ballet to Dostoevsky’s novels—to soften its image while ravaging Ukraine’s heritage. He aimed to expose the regime’s cracks; in a February portrait of Putin, the immaculate alabaster face is marred by maggots crawling from his cheek, a stark visual of rot.
