The work spotlights a niche, microscopic-scaled form of resistance in Russia, given that very few people ever see CCTV screens. But in Russia, political dissent is often treated with severity, and has ramped up since launching its full scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 and the introduction of wartime censorship laws. Meanwhile, according to Memorial, a group founded by human rights lawyer Grigory Vaypan, there are over 680 political prisoners in Russia. And that’s perhaps where the power lies, with the closed networks providing a low risk, difficult to trace canvas for rebellion.
For Caviezel, photography’s essence lies in being at the right place at the right time, a principle he describes while gesticulating with a pen in hand as if sketching the idea in the air. “With traditional photography, you must physically be in the right place with your camera at the right time,” he says, his movements emphasising the thought. “With surveillance cameras, the same rule applies, but differently. You need to find the right camera at the right moment. Maybe a bird or a cat passes by.” He pauses, letting the thought settle, before continuing. “This element of chance, it’s fascinating. It’s capturing moments you couldn’t create or even imagine yourself.”
As resistance unfolds, it is Caviezel’s voyeuristic all-seeing position in Putin’s Jail that makes the project such a moving, real time call to witness. “I don’t create the messages,” he clarifies. “I’m just the platform. Without my archive, this activism might go unseen. But even so, I don’t see myself as a political artist. My work isn’t about pushing a message. It’s about showing what’s already there.”
