Nikol Aghababyan’s return to the “small corner of the great world”

2026-02-06 - 22:16

Our conversation begins at the roots. When asked about his birthplace, Nikol Aghababyan immediately turns to Koghb, a village in Armenia’s Tavush province that he describes as a “small corner of the great world.” For the painter, his birthplace is not a periphery, but the axis of memory, creation and return. Although fate took him to California for eight years, Koghb has always remained the center of his inner world. “Now I have returned, and I no longer want to live anywhere else,” he tells the Weekly. “I have returned to my childhood, to my great world.” It turns out that his departure was not voluntary. Because of his outspoken criticism of political developments at the time, he felt compelled to leave. The artist describes those eight-year abroad as an endless “blue dream,” marked by anticipation of return. He quotes the renowned actor Sos Sargsyan, noting that it is terrible when your body is in one place, while your heart and soul are entirely elsewhere. Click to view slideshow. An altered Yerevan, a familiar Koghb Returning home, Aghababyan said he felt estranged from today’s Yerevan. He notes with pain that the city has changed significantly, both in positive and negative ways. Many neighborhoods have become unrecognizable, but he most lamented the loss of an “Armenian-speaking Yerevan.” “I live in the village now,” he says. “I returned four months ago, but I have only visited Yerevan four times, and even then, I go back the same day. The city no longer attracts me. The Armenia I am looking for, I now see in Koghb,” he confesses. For Aghababyan, the homeland is inseparable from language, faith and identity. He is convinced that the Armenian language is God-given, and the word “Hay” (Armenian) itself signifies life. Art as breath, light and resistance “Love, Love, Love” When we begin to talk about his works, the artist emphasizes that each canvas is a living being. In his studio, a special place is held by the painting titled “Love, Love, Love.” He explains that, often, it is not he who decides the titles: “The paintings themselves say who they want to be.” His philosophy is rooted in affirming life. There is already enough negativity in the world, he says. “A creator should reflect life.” “The sun must come from within. If there is faith and light inside you, the surrounding darkness and negativity will not defeat you.” Aghababyan considers himself an intermediary between God and canvas. He says he never plans in advance what he is going to paint; ideas mature internally, and he simply tries not to interfere with the process. Today, as the country remains in a difficult psychological state following the loss of Artsakh, he values his work more than ever. Although the hundreds of canvases he painted in Shushi and Gandzasar are no longer physically accessible, they remain vividly alive in Aghababyan’s memory — a homeland lost, but eternally cherished. For the artist, this is a moment to “not spare ourselves” and to fill that void through creation. The theme of Artsakh remains an open wound. When speaking about the paintings created there, a quiet sorrow enters his voice. Those canvases have taken on even greater meaning, because people often begin to appreciate the value of what they had only after it is gone. For Aghababyan, however, the story is not one of loss alone, but of a continued struggle. “I went to liberated Shushi as early as ’92 and opened an exhibition there,” he reflects. “That was the culture of victory. What I am doing now — exhibitions in Koghb, Vanadzor, Ijevan, Yerevan — this is a war of love against evil. One must go to war with culture.” Click to view slideshow. He describes the exhibition series as something he did not plan intellectually, but as a form of inner calling. He recalls groups of children and teachers arriving from nearby villages to see his art: the greatest reward. I ask how the decision to return matured. It turns out that during his final months in the U.S., Aghababyan was no longer able to paint. “I was suffocating,” he says simply. In the year since his return, he has produced more work than during the previous eight years combined. He encourages Armenians living abroad to return, even if it means “suffering” on their own soil. “Material things are the least important,” he says. “God feeds the birds; He will certainly provide for us. We live with difficulty, but we live a spiritual life.” Following his example, three families among his friends have already chosen to return to Armenia. This “war of love” culminated in a series of exhibitions titled “Return,” which opened in Aghababyan’s native Koghb, followed by showings in Vanadzor and Ijevan. The final exhibition of the year was held in December at the Pyunik Development Center in Yerevan (Buzand 3/1 ). The event carried deep personal meaning for the artist, as it was dedicated to the memory of his dear friend, the late surgeon Artavazd Sahakyan. For Aghababyan, these exhibitions were not merely displays of art but a spiritual necessity to fill the void left by loss with the power of creation. A meeting of brothers During our interview in the gallery, Aghababyan was joined by his brother, writer and publicist Ashot Aghababyan, author of novels including The Resident, The Lone One, The Trap, The Black Panther and the recently published The Double. Speaking warmly of his brother, the writer says that Nikol’s use of color is singular. “His white, his yellow — you won’t encounter them anywhere else.” Click to view slideshow. “We” He adds that many characters in his novels often carry elements of Nikol’s personality, citing figures such as Aren Saryan in The Black Panther and aspects of Grigor Gurzadyan in The Lone One. Interestingly, academician Gurzadyan himself once stood before Nikol’s canvas “We” and could not pull himself away for a long time, feeling its cosmic energy. Painted in 2002 and dedicated to his brother Arsen, “We” depicts a circular dance around Mount Ararat. The artist says the homeland cannot be reduced to the “cadastre papers” mentioned by today’s authorities. “For 40 years, I did not dare to paint Ararat,” he admits. “I didn’t want to paint it ‘pretty’; I wanted to extract its essence. When I first started, it was a dialogue with the mountain.” For Aghababyan, Ararat is not simply a landscape, but a “holy mountain given by the Creator,” a presence rooted in collective memory. “Genetic memory cannot be erased,” even by what he described as false or imposed histories, pointing to an ancient spiritual worldview that predates Armenia’s adoption of Christianity. A message to youth At the end of our conversation, the artist addresses the younger generations, urging them to pursue professional education and to resist superficial artistic trends. “Armenia is a country of talents,” he states, “and our genes will never retreat.” As he prepares to continue his “war of love,” each canvas is a reflection that the Armenian is a creator, and the homeland is an inseparable sanctity. Click to view slideshow. This meeting with the Aghababyan brothers proved once again: the homeland is not just a territory, but an inner light shaped by memory and inheritance. Through Nikol Aghababyan’s brush and Ashot Aghababyan’s pen, that conviction continues to find expression — as a cultural resistance grounded in return, continuity and renewal. More of Nikol Aghababyan’s works can be viewed at https://www.artmajeur.com/nikol-aghababyan. He also shares his work on Facebook and on Instagram. All photos are courtesy of Nikol Aghababyan unless otherwise noted.