Local artists argue that cardboard is the perfect medium for a city in transition. It is cheap, accessible, and imperfect—much like the raw beauty of Tbilisi’s crumbling balconies and Soviet-era architecture. One notable project, "Boxed City" (2022), saw artist Gio Sumbadze build a 1:1 replica of a typical Tbilisi courtyard dvor using recycled cardboard, complete with hanging laundry and a rusty swing. The piece was a commentary on impermanence: in a city where historic buildings are constantly being demolished for glass towers, cardboard reminds us that nothing lasts forever. There is also a darker side. On any cold winter night, beneath the Dry Bridge or inside the abandoned construction sites near Tamarashvili Street , you might see a different kind of cardboard box structure: a makeshift shelter. Tbilisi has a visible homeless population, often elderly or displaced, who use flattened cardboard as insulation against the freezing Georgian winter. Layers of cardboard between a person and the concrete pavement can save lives when temperatures drop to -10°C.
In most major cities around the world, a cardboard box is a utilitarian object—destined for recycling, moving apartments, or transporting consumer goods. But in Tbilisi, Georgia, the phrase "cardboard box" (or musha in Georgian) carries a unique social, economic, and even artistic weight. cardboard box tbilisi
Cafes in have begun using custom-made cardboard menu holders and coasters, branded with minimalist Georgian typography. The goal is not just to be eco-friendly, but to transform the lowly musha into something aspirational. Conclusion: The Soul of the Street Ask a tourist what they remember about Tbilisi: the sulfur baths, the wine, the hospitality. But ask a local, and they might point to the cardboard box. It is the vendor’s counter, the child’s toy, the artist’s canvas, the poor man’s blanket, and the recycler’s wage. Local artists argue that cardboard is the perfect
In a city that has been invaded, bombed, blockaded, and reborn, the cardboard box is more than packaging. It is a biography of survival. Next time you see a flattened box on Rustaveli Avenue, don’t just step over it. Consider the journey it took to get there—and the Tbilisi story it carries. The piece was a commentary on impermanence: in