Pllbllsbed byIheCollegeAn AssocImionofAmerlca

Foil 1981

EI Lissitzky, Design for the cover oftheexhibition catalogfor Die Erste Russische Kunst.

ArtJOU11

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Publisbed bytbeCollegeArt AssodationofAmerlca

Guest Editor Gail Harrison RomanMuseum NewsEditor Charles C. EldredgeBoo"Review Editor jennifer LichtManaging Editor Rose R. WeilCopyEditor Frances PrestonAdvertisingRepresentative Catherine M.ShanleyEditorial Board AnneCoffin Hanson,Ellen Lanyon, George Sadek, Jroing SandlerDesign The Cooper Union Centerfor Designand Typography

Art journal ISSN (0004-3249) is publishedquarterly by the College Art Association ofAmerica, Inc., at 16 East 52 Street, New York,NY 10022.Copyright 1981, College ArtAssoci­ation of America, Inc. All rights reserved. Nopart of the contents may be reproduced with­out the written permission of the publisher.Second Class postage paid at New York, NY,and at additional mailing offices. Printed bythe Waverly Press, Inc., Baltimore, Maryland.

Artjournal is available through member­shipin theCollege ArtAssociation ofAmerica.Subscriptions for nonmembers $12 per year,single issues $3.50.

For membership and subscription informa­tion call or write 00, 16 East 52 Street, NewYork, NY 10022, (212) 755-3532.

Advertising information and rates availablefrom Catherine M. Shanley, 663 Fifth Avenue,New York, NY 10022, (212) 757-6454.

Correspondence fortheArtjournalshould beaddressed to theManaging Editor at theCollegeArt Association, 16 East 52 Street, New York,NY 10022.

Art]oumal

The Russian AIlant-Garde

Editor's Statement byGail Harrison Roman 207

The Leonard Hutton Galleries' Involvement with Russian Avant-Garde Artby Ingrid Hutton 211

Artin Exile: The Russian Avant-Garde andthe Emigration byJohn E. Bowlt215

AConversation with Vladimir Stenberg by Alma H. Law 222

Kazimir Malevich byE.F. Kovtun, translated from theRussian by Charlotte Douglas 234

Autoanimals (Samozverl) bySergei Mikhailovich Tretiakov, translated by Susan Cook Summer INotes on Autoanimals by Susan Cook Summer and Gail Harrison Roman I Cinematic Whimsey:Rodchenko's illustrations for Autoanimals byGail Harrison Roman 242

Two Contemporary Artists Comment: Less is Less byGeorge Rickey I DonaldJudd 248

Museum News: Who Pours the Tea? by Charles C. Eldredge I Van Gogh and Cloisonism by HenriDorraI Gorky at theGuggenheim byJimM. Jordan 251

Boolls in Review: Virginia Spate, Orphism: The Evolution ofNon-figurative Painting in Paris1910-1914, reviewed by William A. Camfield; Ralph E. Shikes andPaula Harper, Pissarro: His Lifeand Work, reviewed by Richard Brenell; Le Corbusier Sketchbooks, Volume 1, 1914-1948,reviewed byMary Mcleod 267

Boolls and CatalogsReceived279

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Editor's Statement:The Russian Avant-Garde

Gail Harrison Ro"",n

The sociopolitical gap that has divided SovietRussia andthe West during most of this centuryhasinspired much mutual curiosity about artis­tic-among many other-activities. Owing togreater freedom andflow ofinformation, we inthe West have been better able to indulge thiscuriosity. It is significant that this curiosityseems destined to be continually whetted byexhibitions andpublications, I butnever sated!In particular, the more information we gainabout the period of Russian Avant-Garde art(circa I9IO-<irca 1930)-officially ignoredin the Soviet Union since the declaration ofSocial Realism in theearly 1930s--the morewedesiretolearnabout itandtoevaluate it interms of thedevelopment oftwentieth-centuryart. This issue oftheArtjournal isoneofmanycurrentmanifestations ofsuch interest.

The Russian Avant-Garde of artists, archi­tects, writers, and critics was not a stylisticphenomenon (since itencompassed Futurism,Suprematism, andConstructivism, among otherstyles), nor can it be identified with a singleaesthetic. Itsartist members--the best knownbeing David Burliuk, Natalia Goncharova, Mik­hail Larionov, El Lissitzky, Kasimir Malevich,Liubov Popova, Alexander Rodchenko, OlgaRozanova, the Stenbergs, Vavara Stepanova,Vladimir TatUn-were dedicated to creatingnew abstract or non-objective art forms thatwould satisfy both aesthetic and utilitariancriteria. They were allied to the social, eco­nomic, andpolitical goals ofthe1917 Revolu­tion and sought to match its anti-traditionalstance in their art. All mediums were trans­formed bytheAvant-Garde: painting, sculpture,graphics, photography, film, theater sets andcostumes, architecture, and industrial anddomestic design.

We are pleased to present a wide variety ofthemes and approaches in this issue, andweareespecially proud toinclude alarge numberof previously unpublished photographs andmuch original material, allofwhich addtoourunderstanding of the art and artists of thisunique period.

As a pioneer motivating force behind theAmerican interest in the Russian Avant-Garde,Ingrid Hutton shares with us memories andimpressions of her contacts with some of itssurviving members andofher search for fineexamples oftheirwork.

John 8owlt's study oftheartists' emigrationsduring the period in question should clarifymany Russians' social, political, and artisticcommitments, and their status in the youngSoviet Union or in theWest. The years underscrutiny were certainly exciting, butthey werealsopainfully confusing because oftheradical

social transformation and artistic re-assess­ment that marked them. The issue ofemigrationwas (as it still is today) anextremely sensitiveone.

Alma Law's interview with thelastsurvivingConstructivist, Vladimir Stenberg, provides uswith a rare personal view into the artworld ofthe1920s inRussia; itisinsightful andinform­ative, humorous andtouching. We aresimilarlypleased topresent Charlotte Douglas's transla­tion from the Russian of an essay on KasimirMalevich that includes previously unpublishedmaterial by Evgenii Kovtun, Curator ofGraphicsat theState Russian Museum inLeningrad. Theparticipation of these few Soviet scholars andremaining artists of the Avant-Garde is a rareprivilege for an American journal andis cer­tainly a welcome addition.

The close relationship between literatureand art that characterized the Russian Avant­Garde was represented by numerous publica­tions that resulted from the collaboration ofwriters and artists. One such projected workwas a delightfully silly poem, "Autoanimals,"written by Sergei Tretiakov and illustrated byAlexander Rodchenko in 1926. Until this wittytranslation bySusan Cook Summer, "Autoani­mals" was untranslated and unpublished inEnglish. The photo-illustrations are indicativeof the artistic innovation and synthesis thatmarked much Russian artofthe1920s.

We were eager to include some essays bycontemporary artists for two reasons. First,artists often have intuitions and insights notnecessarily accessible tothe historian or critic.secondly, there has been for the past twentyyears or so a concensus that some post-WorldWar II American art shares an affinity withRussian Suprematism andConstructivism. Al­though we do not seek to demonstrate or todisprove this suggestion and although the artists'statements do notdirectly address this issue,weconsider the interest in the Russian Avant­Garde bya number ofcontemporary artists tobesignificant initself. DonaldJuddhas writtena critical and impressionistic analysis of theRussian Avant-Garde, and George Rickey hassharedwith ushisideas onthis art'scontext inlight ofrecent artistic developments.

Ina sense, each new exhibition and each newpublication ontheRussian Avant-Garde repre­sents a plea: a plea for more information onthisfascinating subject. But thepleaisnotfor factsalone; itisfor open channels ofcommunicationamong both western and Soviet scholars inorder to foster careful interpretation of styleandcontent aswell as tosethigh standards forauthentication of individual works. The spateofrecent fakes andforgeries ofRussian Avant-

Garde art-aggravated by occasional (butnevertheless damaging) uninformed publishedcommentary-sends a shudder through theart world today. As a relatively new subject inthefield ofart history, the Russian Avant-Gardepresents not only the joys of discovery andre-interpretation, butalso thepitfalls ofover­enthusiasm andrelative underexposure.

Greater artistic detente is necessary-notonly among western and Soviet scholars, butalso within lessglobal academic andcommer­cial circles. Broader participation insymposia,exhibitions, and publications is also needed,as isincreased access toartworks and archivesin theSoviet Union.

Today, museums, galleries, collectors, andscholars are more eager than ever to learnabout the Russian Avant-Garde. Much recentactivity around the world attests to this vitalinterest, andwebelieve that itwill bea lastingone.

Indeed, theRussian Avant-Garde representsa sociopolitical phenomenon in the twentiethcentury, butits legacy remains in theart itself:especially insuch stylistic andtechnical devel­opments as dynamic nonobjectivity and boldphotomontage and in such revolutionary cri­teria as utilitarian productivism and utopianaesthetics. The impact ofRussian Avant-Gardeart, which shared many affinities with contem­poraneous western movements (among themCubism, Futurism, Dada, Bauhaus), has beenfelt in the West since it was first exhibitedabroad at theGalerie van Diemen in Berlin in1922. That impact has reverberated since thenin Europe andthe United States as a result ofemigrations, exhibitions, and publications. Itis to the creative spirit of the Russian Avant­Garde andto thecontinued worldwide interestinitssocial andartistic history that this issue isdedicated.! End

NotesI Alisting ofthese publications and exhibitions

appears inthe chronologies by Margaret BridgetBetz and myself in the groundbreaking catalogThe Auant-Garde in Russia, 1910-1930:New Perspectives, ed. Stephanie Barron andMaurice Tuchman, Los Angeles County MuseumofArt, 1980.

2The editor wishes tothank Rosalind T. Harrisonfor her invaluable technical assistance andsupport during the preparation of this issue.

Gail Harrison Ro"",n Is assistantprofessor ofart bistory at VassarCollege. Her boo" on Tamn's Towerwill beJnlbllsbed by tbe Arcbitect"ralHistory Fo"ndation.

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The LeonardHutton Galleries'Involvement withRussian Avant-GardeArt

I"grid Hutto" Is co-director with herhusbandLeonardoflbeLeonardHuttonGalleries I" New York City.

Twenty years ago in thesummer of 1961, myhusband, Leonard Hutton, was preparing hisfirst exhibition of the work of the Germanpainter Gabriele Munter. While researchingher pastexhibitions hefound onecalled SalonIzdebski, held in Odessa, St. Petersburg, andKiev in 1909-1910 and another Bubnowi Wolet(Bubnovyi Valet), held in Moscow in 191~

1911. At first heassumed thatBubnowi Woletwas the name of a gallery or museum wherethe paintings hadbeen shown. However, whenhe visited Munter in Murnau thatsummer andasked her, "What is Bubnoun Wolet?" shereplied, "That is Russian for Kam Bube (lack ofDiamonds), thename ofoneofthefirst exhibi­tions oftheRussian Avant-Garde painters, orga­nized byMikhail Larionov." She then launchedinto a fantastic description of the group ofRussian painters who tookpart,some ofwhomKandinsky invited to participate in the BlaueReiter exhibitions in Munich in 1911 and1912. Leonard asked Munter which painterswerestillalive. "Mikhail Larionov andNataliaGoncharova are notonly alive," sheexclaimed,"but they live in Paris."

Leonard visited Natalia Goncharova inParisthatsameyear. When hetold herthathewouldlike to holdan exhibition ofworks byher andLarionov in New York, she was very enthusi­astic and promised to send him all of theirpaintings which were then on exhibition inSWitzerland, plus several others. In 1962 hesaw her again, but she was already very frailand died soon thereafter. Unfortunately, ourproposed Larionov-Goncharova exhibition wastherefore never realized.

That was thebeginning ofLeonard's involve­mentwith the Russian Avant-Garde. My partic­ipation began when Leonard gave meCamillaGray's book, The Great Experiment: RussianArt 1863-1922 (published in 1962), where

Fig. 1 NaJalia Goncbarcua, Fishing, 1909,oiloncanvas, 46% x 41n. Private Collection.

for the first time I saw illustrations ofwork bypainters whom I had never before seen orheard of. I immediately felt a strong optimismabout the work; the creatiVity, inventiveness,and dynamism excited meand made mewantto know more. Very soon thedog-eared repro­ductions in thebookwere notenough-I hadto see thework itself.

In the early 1960s theRussian Avant-Gardewas one of the few art movements of thetwenueth century that had remained virtuallyuntouched bycollectors, gallery owners, andart historians alike, particularly in the UnitedStates. Many people encouraged me in mypursuit. In particular Alfred Barr, then directorof the Museum of Modern Art in New York,often visited our gallery from 1964 to 1966 toshare his knowledge about the Russian Avant­Garde and to recount hisexperiences duringhis travels in Russia in the 1920s. While in

Russia hehad met Alexander Rodchenko, whosework he greatly admired. Through a friendRodchenko later sent drawings and paintingsto Barr in the United States for theMuseum'scollection. Barralso talked of hisadventures,for example, of rolling up Kasimir Malevich'spaintings in his umbrella to get them out ofGermany. But most inspiring to me was hislove of the raw energy and genius of theseartists.

In the summer of 1964 Leonard attendedan auction ofImpressionist andModern paint­ings at Sotheby's in London. Midway throughthe sale a 1909 Goncharova painting entitledFishing (Fig. 1) came from behind thecurtain.The brilliant colorsand bold, simple outlinesof the forms captivated him andthenext thinghe knew he had raised his hand to buy it.Leonard was hooked.

By 1966 Leonard andI hadconvinced eachother that we had to plan a major RussianAvant-Garde exhibition, and we started to collectinearnest. During thenext two years we beganto see paintings that hadbeen reproduced inCamilla Gray's book come up for auction inLondon and Paris. As a result we acquiredLarionov's Dancing Soldiers (Fig. 2), Gon­charova's Moscow Street with House, andIvan Puni's Constructions (Fig.3), aswell asother works from private collectors and gal­leries in Europe. In 1968 we bought LiubovPopova's Early Morning (Fig. 4) and Puni'sFlight ofForms. Ourcollection began to havesomesubstance. However, we putoffsetting adate for the exhibition to open because wecouldn'tfind a work byVladimir Tatlin.

I decided to go to Paris and take out anadvertisement in the Russian language news­paperasking forRussian Avant-Garde artworksand costume and stage set designs by Gon­charova, Larionov, Alexandra Exler, Tatlin, and

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Fig. 2 Mikhail Larinou. Dancing Soldiers, 1909/10, oiloncanvas, 34% x 405/16". Los AngelesCounty Museum ofArt.

Germany. Although I do not read Russian, Iwas fascinated by theso-called synesthesia ofthe period, in which one sensation, such assound, can produce another, such as color.Many of the Russian artists participated inoverlapping disciplines-poetry, painting,music, and sculpture. 1 photocopied pagesand pages ofpoetry andexhibition catalogs inRussian, which I brought back to New York tobe translated.

While in Paris I was particularly pleased tomeet the son of Vladimir Baranoff-Rossine,Baranoff-Rossine was a prime example of anartist whose interests successfully spanned avariety of mediums. I discussed with his son,Eugene, the possibility of reproducing his fa­ther's notorious Piano opto-Phonique (Fig.5)for our show. Originally, the Opto-Pboniqueconsisted of glass discs painted by the artistwhich were attached to a projector. The discsrotated inopposite directions, throwing coloredlights on a screen. Baranoff-Rossine and his

wife simultaneously operated two electric pi­anos, playing music by Beethoven, Grieg, andWagner. The original performances took placeat theMeyerhold andBolshoi Theaters inMos­cow in 1920 and 1922. Eugene agreed toundertake the reconstruction of this instru­ment, and this fantastic synthesizer of light,color,andmusic didperform inourgallery.

Apainting that I was particularly eager toborrow forourshow was a portrait ofTatlin byLarionov (Fig. 6). The owner of this paintingwas Michel Seuphor, who lived in Paris butwhom I did not know and towhom I had noformal introduction. Not without some trepi­dation, 1 telephoned M. Seuphor. 1 knew hewas involved in writing his 0wtl volumes on

Fig. 3 Ivan Puni, Suprematist Construction,1915, paintedwood, metalandcardboardmountedonpanel, 27'/lx 187/1/ '.Washington, D. C, National Gallery ofArt.

goblets, butsaw nothing I was looking for.As wecontinued to research andestablish

provenances for the paintings we hadalreadybought, we learned more about what we needed.From 1965 on, I spent hours poring overphotographs and exhibition catalogs both inthearchives ofMme Larionov andin librariesin New York, London, and several cities in

soon.For a few weeks I traveled from one end ofParis to theother visiting those who respondedto the ads. To my amazement, these peoplewere primarily members of the old Russianaristocracy who lived in Paris in pre-Revolu­tionary splendor. 1 spent many afternoonsdrinking tea served from silver samovars orsipping sherry from exquisite cut-glass crystal

Fig. 4 liubouPopooa, Early Morning, 1914, oiloncanvas, 28x 35". New York, McCroryCorporation.

212 Artjou,.".'

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Fig. 5 Vladimir Baranoff-Rossine, Piano Opto-Phonie, 1914, glass disc.

abstractart, so I asked him if he would meetwith me to help me with my research onspecific Russian Avant-Garde artists, notmen­tioning my ulterior motive concerning his paint­ing. He was most generous and understandingandgranted mean appointment.

During our meeting I spent about an hourshowing him transparencies of the paintingsthatwould be in our exhibition. Then I turnedto himandsaid, "We can'thang theexhibition,however, without your Larionov painting." "Mypainting is not going to America," he tladydeclared. I tried to persuade him to change hismind by pointing out the significance of theportrait in Larionov's development. It signaledthe transition from Primitivism to Rayonismthrough theuseofboth styles inonework. Theheadwas clearly delineated in a bold, primitivestyle andrays oflight surrounded itandbouncedoff it into the background in the new mannerof Rayonism. M. Seuphor finally consented tolend us thepainting, andwhen [left hisapart­mentthatday[ felt as if I were walking on air.

Whenever I spenda day visiting galleries ina foreign city, I use the hours when they areclosed, between 1:00 P.M. and 3:00 P.M., tobrowse through bookstores. One time I dis­covered an Italian periodical called l 'ArleModerna, which had published two issues in1967 totally devoted to Russian Suprematismand Constructivism. In theJanuary issue, Iwasparticularly struck bythree paintings byOlgaRozanova, which belonged to a private collec-

tion in Rome. Around this time I alsopickedup a catalog of a Larionov/Goncharova/Mansurov exhibition which had been heldin1966 at LorenzeUi Gallery in Bergamo, Italy.When Leonard next visited Milan in 1968, hetelephoned the gallery andexplained our ideaof putting together a Russian Avant-Garde ex­hibition in America. Although the gallery hadno works for sale, they were very helpful andgave Leonard the address of Italian Futuristartist Filippo Tommaso Marinetti's daughters.We knew about Marinetti's connection withtheRussian art world through Vladimir Markov'sbook Russian Futurism.' A History. Markovmentioned thatMarinetti had traveled to Russiain the winter of 1914 and had returned toRome so full of enthusiasm about the art hehadseenthathe decided to holdanexhibitionwhich hecalledBxposizione Libera FuturistaIntemazionale, in the spring of thatyear. Heinvited members of the Russian Avant-Garde,including Olga Rozanova, to participate. Shesent paintings that had been shown at the19B-1914 Union ofYouth exhibition in St.Petersburg. Her work remained in Italy afterthe exhibition closed, in Marinetti's own col­lection. When Leonard visited Marinelli's daugh­ters, thepaintings were still in their possession.He was able to obtain from them a number ofexceptional works by Rozanova, including TheFactory andtheBridge (Fig. 7),Man on theStreet, Dissonance, andPort.

The jobof preparing the exhibition was by

no means finished bymerely finding and ob­taining the works of art. At the gallery wesearched painstakingly through the materialwe had accumulated for references to thepaintings, tides, anddates. We learned toques­tion everything written about (or on the back00 a painting. I spent hours looking at oneLarionov workcalled Blue Rayonism. 1keptturning ifon its side, its top, around andaround. It haunted me. Something was wrong.All ofa sudden, one day, I saw it-an angularhead wearing a cap. I rushed to Larionov's1913 catalog raisonne by Eli Eganbury andfound that therewasnoBlueRayonism listedbut there was Portrait ofa Fool (Fig. 8). Iknew this must be the correct tide because Ihad found that Larionov never made a totallyabstract painting; therewas always an underly­ingrepresentational element. The thrill ofsuchrevelations afterhoursand hoursof detectiveworkwas a greatreward in itself.

By 1970wewere itching to openour exhi-

Fig. 6 Mikhail Larinov, Portrait ofVladimirTatlin, 1911, oil oncanvas, 351/2X 28 114" .Paris, Musee National d'Art Moderne CentreNational d'Art etde Culture Georges Pompidou,Gift ofMichel Seupbor.

bition, butassoonaswehadchosen adate, welearned that the Cornell University AndrewDickson White Museum was planning a RussianAvant-Garde exhibition for thesame time andwanted to borrow some of our paintings. Weagreed to lend the work, so instead in ourgallery in thespring of1970 weheld aDiagbiJevBallet antiTheater Design exhibition, whichincluded works byLarionov, Goncharova, LeonBakst, Alexander Benois, and Exter, amongothers, The Cornell show andour own exhibi­tion turned out to be fortunate occurrences,since through them wemetthree people whowould later assist us in the preparation of acatalog for our show: Sarah Bodine, who wascoordinating theRussianArtoftbeRevolution

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Fig. 7 Olga Rozanoua, The Factory and the Bridge, 1913, oiloncanvas,325/1lX 24'/.i" . NewYork,McCrory Corpora/ion.

Fig. BMikhail larionoo. Portrait ofa Fool ,1912, oiloncanvas, 27'/zx 25'12 ".Private Collection.

Fig.9 Alexandra Exler. Danseur Espagnol,1926. marionette: metal. uood. cardboardmaterial. 22" high.

exhibition at theAndrew Dickson White Muse­um;John Bowlt, professor ofSlavic Studies atthe University ofTexas, who attended the Cornellsymposium on the Russian Avant-Garde; andFrederick Starr, then professor of History ofRussian Culture at Princeton University, whocame to thegallery during our theater designexhibition.

We finally set the date for our opening inOctober of1971. One day, a few months beforethe opening, Leonard came over to my deskand said, "We can'topen-we have noUdalt­sova." We did look for a work by NadezhdaUdaltsova, but in vain. And Russian Avan/­Garde 1~1922 did open in mid-October1971 to toasts with Russian champagne.

The purpose of our involvement with theRussian Avant-Garde-particularly in this firstexhibition--was to bring to the American publicworks that had previously been seen only inreproduction. We are still fascinated bythese

artists today andfind the period oneofcontin­ual surprises. Over the past ten years, sinceRussian Avant-Garde 1~1922 opened, wehave shown Alexandra Exter's marionettes(Fig. I)) and held a major lIya Chashnikexhibition. When a special exhibition is nothanging, we feature Russian Avant-Garde worksin thegallery.

Probably ourmost difficult problem in recentyears has been the upsurge of questionableworks attributed to various Russian Avant-Gardeartists. As we see it, the problem arises fromthe fact that the work of the Russian artists isso scarce and therefore is difficult to view inthe original. Many people who study the periodstill see most of thework inreproduction. Forexample, thename ofKasimir Malevich iswellknown, butyou can't go just anywhere to seehiswork. (Some ofitcanbeseen, however, atthe Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam.) Youcan't even goto thesource-the Soviet Union

-to see thedrawings and paintings in muse­ums, since for the most part they are notshown. Lack of first-hand exposure to workbreeds lack of feeling for the artist's use ofline, form, proportion, and color. Because ofthis, questionable works are being bought byunsuspecting dealers andcollectors. We our­selves have notbeen immune. Inthe future wewould like to set upa formal group includinggallery owners, art historians, and collectorsto acknowledge this situation anddiscuss howit could be remedied. End

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Art in Exile:The Russian Avant-Gardeandthe Emigration

Jobn E. Bowlt is professor ofSlavicStudies at tbe University ofTexas atAllstin and is tbe founder and directoroftbe Institute ofModern RussianCulture at Blue Lagoon, Texas.

The emigration of Russian artists andwritersto theWest just after the 1917 Revolution isacomplex issue. In spite of impressive factualstudies in recent times, I the reasons why par­ticular Russian intellectuals chose to movefrom Russia to Berlin, Paris, New York andother cities have not been clarified. Indeed,histories ofmodern Russian artgive compara­tively little attention tothe subject ofemigration,and tend to cite antagonism towards, or dis­enchantment with, the new Soviet regime asthe key occasion fora given artist's departure.Fortunately, the traditional and vulgar inter­pretation ofevents--tothe effect that theBol­shevik regime terminated allavant-garde activityas soon as it came to power-has now beenrejected, although thenew revisionist attitudeoften exaggerates thealleged liberalism oftheCommunist Party during the 1920s. Actually,neither disappointment in theproletarian dic­tatorship, noralarm atstate interference inthearts served as dominant reasons for the massemigration ofartists andwriters. Reasons wereoften much more trivial and more mundanesuchasthelackofsupplies, physical discomfi­ture, personal enmities. But how didthe Rus­sian Avant-Garde respond to the question ofemigration before andafter 19l7? Examinationof this issue, especially in the context of twoleading members ofthe Russian modern move­ment, i.e. Marc Chagall andVasily Kandinsky,might helpus to understand more readily theparticular development andorientation oftheRussian Avant-Garde during the post-Revolu­tionary period.

As faras Soviet sources are concerned, theemigration ofa Russian artist iseither ignored(many Soviet biographies of artists of the1900s-191Os end with a remark such as "In1924 went abroad"), or is regarded as a fatalmistake that led to commercialization anddegradation of the artist's work or to hissubsequent fall into oblivion. Both conditions

were trueofsome emigre artists, butthey werenotnecessarily theimmediate result ofemigra­tion. Inany case, unless they would have beenwilling tocapitulate tothedictates oftheStalinstyle inthe1930s, such artists would have faredno better in the Soviet Union. The impliedquestion astohow artists such asDavid Burliuk,Chagall, Naum Gabo, Kandinsky, andIvan Puniwould have evolved hadthey stayed inRussia ismerely academic. It is more important to at­tempt to understand the ideas that promptedsuch artists to emigrate from Russia sometimestemporarily, often pennanently.

The Russian Allant-6ardeThe term, "the Russian Avant-Garde," hasbecome almost a household word thanks tothe unprecedented academic andcommercialinterest in thework of artists such as NataliaGoncharova, Kandinsky, Mikhail Larionov,Kazimir Malevich, Liubov Popova, AlexanderRodchenko, andVladimir Tatlin. This interestis justified and even deserves to be expandedstill further aswe come toappreciate the greatsignificance, theprescience, ofthe theory andpractice undertaken by the primary and second­aryartists, critics, andpatrons in Moscow, St.Petersburg, Kiev, andKharkov during the 1910sand 1920s. However, the rapid rehabilitationof modern Russian art has also stimulatedsome misleading generalizations, including aninaccurate categorization ofall innovative artistsasavant-garde: there was nosingle avant-gardeand, in fact, the term avant-garde was neverusedbythose artists whom contemporary arthistory places in itsranks. Moreover, thetermwas notfavored byitsprotagonists andantago­nists, andtheavant-garde became a movementonly retrospectively, i.e. when itwas rediscov­ered in the 1960s. Both western and Sovietscholars now use the term as a convenientrubric that accommodates many varied talents.Needless to say, there was nosubstantial artistic

intercourse between Alexandre Benois andTatlin, Boris Grigoriev and Malevich, SergeiChekhonin and Kandinsky, even though suchnames now appear together atexhibitions andin catalogs dedicated to the Russian Avant­Garde.! Malevich and Tatlin were avowedenemies, Popova andVarvara Stepanova main­tained a very uneasy relationship, Ivan Kliunand Malevich, at one time friends, becamebitter opponents in the late 191Os. However,while aware of the dangers, I use the termavant-garde in thisessay simply because ithasbecome a convenient art historical categorywhich subsumes a vast diversity of artistictalents. As long as we remain aware of theheterogeneity of the Russian Avant-Garde andof its many internal dissensions and factions,wemay avoid thecrime ofoversimplification.

Emphasis onthepsychological andemotion­al differences, the caprices of character aswell as the social diversity in the biographiesof modern Russian artists helps us to under­stand how they behaved in every day life andpursued their artistic goals andwhy they chosetostay in Russia after 1917 or toemigrate. It iswrong to conclude that ideological pressuresfrom theBolshevik regime suddenly united ordisunited a very large group of idiosyncratic,experimental artists. Most ofthe key membersof this group-s-jandmsky, Malevich, Popova,Tatlin-were apolitical: they didnotextend anenthusiastic welcome toCommunism, buttheydidnotrenounce iteither. If they didacquiesceto the new order in the fall of 19I7, theytended to consider it above allasa vehicle fordeveloping anddisseminating their own artisticsystems-c-Cubo-Futunsm, Suprematism, andConstructivism. Ofcourse, many artists oftheavant-garde shared a common dissatisfactionwith the old order, and, in their audaciousantics and escapades, particularly during theperiod 1912-16, they did much in order toshock thebourgeoisie. But their behaviour was

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oriented against theuniversal vices ofcompla­cency and conservatism and not necessarilyagainst the Czarist social structure as such. Itshould not be forgotten that many of theseyoung artists fulfilled their patriotic duty forczarandcountry during the"imperialist" warof 1914-18: Pavel Filonov andLarionov foughton thewestern front; Petr Miturich andKlimentRedko were pilots in the Imperial Airforce;andVasilii Chekrygin, Aristarkh Lentulov, Vlad­imir Maiakovsky, and Malevich designed pa­triotic posters.

There is little or noevidence tosuggest thattheleaders oftheRussian Avant-Garde were­consciously andactively-supportive ofinter­national socialism, that they read Marx andLenin, or that they were suppressed by thestatus quo before 1911.3 We should rememberthat, before the Revolution, the avant-gardepublished itsmost vociferous manifestoes with­out theinterference ofCzarist censorship, trav­elled freely inwestern Europe, held exhibitionsthatwere tlagrant breaches ofcultural etiquettein the centers of Moscow and St. Petersburg,and paraded through town andcountryside inoutlandish clothes without being arrested. Inother words, with the exception of isolatedincidents, the Russian Avant-Garde enjoyedfull creative freedom before 1917: they hadtheir own publications and exhibitions, theirown societies and clubs, their own patronsanddealers. 4

Awareness of these conditions underminesthe still favored argument that the RussianAvant-Garde was in some way politically con­scious, that its leftist art retlected its leftistpolitics, and that, therefore, it supported theRevolutionary cause. True, most oftheprimarymembers of the Russian Avant-Garde did notemigrate, buttheir acceptance oftheBolshevikregime should notbe regarded as an enthusi­astic adherence to it. Rather, the fact that somany important artists did not leave SovietRussia demonstrates both thepolitical inertiaand indecisiveness oftheRussian Avant-Gardeandtheirconstant, deep attachment to Russia.Thanks totheir unfailing love ofRussia, Filonov,Malevich, and Tatlin never entertained theidea of emigration; and, if they haddeparted,there isnodoubt that they would have become asdepressed andasalienated aswere GoncharovaandLarionov inParis during the1930s-1950s.Of course, some artists--particularly GustavKlutsis, Rodchenko, andDavid Shterenberg­were initially staunch supporters ofthe Bolshevikgovernment, andtheirdeclarations expressedtheir faith in the new political system. Theparadox remains that their ideological commit­ment did not help them toweather the turbu­lenceofStalin's rule-Klutsis was arrested in1938 anddiedin a concentration camp; Rod­chenko andShterenberg were hounded in thepress for their formalist leanings; Filonov, aself-proclaimed Communist, did not exhibitbetween 1934 and 1941; andthetwo brilliantcritics, Nikolai Punin and Alexei Gan, who

tried to marry Communism andConstructivism,were imprisoned forformalism.

Reasonsfor EmigrationNotwithstanding the political sympathies ofKlutsis and Rodchenko, most members of theRussian Avant-Garde were notdissatisfied withtheir lot in pre-Revolutionary Russia and, inmany cases, they regretted the passing of theancien regime. Still, oneimportant qualifica­tion must be made here-regarding theposi­tion of theJewish artist in Russia before 1917.Because ofthe Czarist government's restrictionson themobility, higher education, andemploy­ment of Jews and because of the bouts ofanti-semitism in Russia (culminating in theBeiliss trial in Kiev in 1913), many Jewishartists took temporary or permanent refuge inParis and other western cities. S Among thosewho spent long periods outside Russia beforethe Revolution were Chagall, Naum Gabo, EILissitzky, and Shterenberg; there were alsomany artists who supported more moderatestyles, among them Lev Bakst, Nicolas deStael,and Leopold Survage (Stiurzvage). In anycase, just before 1917 Paris was a point ofartistic pilgrimage formany avant-garde artists,Jewish andgentile, such as Popova, Tatlin, andNadezhda Udaltsova. This traditional Franco­Russian association, the lively Russian-Jewishcolony in andaroundLaRuche, andthepres­enceof particular artists suchas GoncharovaandLarionov served asanadded attraction forRussian artists to settle in Paris before andafter the Revolution-andtocontribute to theformation ofa distinctive ecole russe de Parisin the 1920s.&

There is no question thatfear of Bolshevikreprisal and experience of the licentious be­haviour ofignorant Bolshevik plenipotentiariesin 1917-18resolved some artists andwritersto flee Russia. This was particularly true ofthose who hadbeenpartoftheMoscow andSt.Petersburg cultural bohemia, who had hob­nobbed with patrons, dandies andmerchants'wives at nightspots such as theStray Dog andtheComedians' Halt inSt. Petersburg, andwhohad passed nights of pleasure at weekenddachas. These artists included Yurii Annenkov,Grigoriev, andsergeiSudeikin, whose emigra­tion was motivated by the sudden disappear­ance of that very class-the bourgeoisie-thathad guaranteed the artist his patronage andhiswellbeing. Ivan Puni andhiswife, theartistKseniia Boguslavskaia, people of independentmeans, were simply alarmed by themaraudingsoldiers andcommissars in 1917-18, and, asBoguslavskaia affirmed in a conversation in1917,7 their escape across the frontier inOctober 1920 was an escape from theviolent,piratic aftermath of the Revolution andnot fromtheprinciples oftheCommunist doctrine. Gaboimplied thesame in a conversation in 1972.8

The material insolvency of the new regimebecame manifest immediately. Russian assetswere frozen in foreign banks, theoperators of

Russia's industrial economy escaped infear oftheirlives, production was halted, stores wereclosed, andeven barenecessities became veryhard toobtain. Transport andcommunicationsbroke down, giving rise to a drastic shortageof foodstuffs, and civil war raged on manyfronts. The resultant hardships provided theobvious occasion for theemigration between1917 and circa 1924 of many artists such asVladimir Baranov-Rossine, Mstislav Dobuzhin­sky, Nikolai Remizov, Konstantin Somov, DmitriiStelletsky, and Alexander Yakovlev. They weresuddenly alone, indigent. disoriented. What thecritic Andrei Levinson wrote ofSomov in 1921is applicable to many ofSomov's coUeagues atthat time: "As ofold, amidst the terrible desertof dead St. Petersburg in the isolation andestrangement ofhis studio, surrounded only bythe porcelain Iilliputs of his superb coUection,Somov imagines and depicts his harlequins,marquises andcupids."9

One result ofthe diaspora was that groups ofRussian artists converged in themost unlikelyplaces asthey travelled towards western Europeand America. As he moved through Siberia enrouteforTokyo andthen New York City, DavidBurliuk continued to preach his credo of Fu­turism, establishing a Futurist group calledTvorchestvo (Creativity) with Nikolai Aseev,Nikolai Chuzhak, andSergei Tretiakov inVlad­ivostok in 1918-19; andduring hisresidenceinJapanin 1920-22Burliuk created a Futuristalliance with the Ukrainian artist Viktor Palmov'?(Figs. 1 and 2). In 1919 Tiflis (Tbilisi),capital of the still-independent Georgia, alsobecame a bohemian center, maintaining thecafe culture of St. Petersburg and Moscow.Lado Gudiashvili, David Kakabadze, and KirillZdanevich were still resident inTiflis (althoughGudiashvili and Kakabadze left for Paris inOctober 1919) and they were joined by thepainters Savelii Sorin, Vasilii Shukhaev, andSudeikin andtheplaywright Nikolai Evreinov.!'Their combined forces inspired the productionofplays, designs for cafe interiors, lectures, andexhibitions. As the Georgian historian ReneShmerling writes: "Provocative self-advertise­ment, sincere rebeUiousness and not so sin­cere, the joy of freedom from all norms andtraditions, speculation in the right to knownothing, to be incapable of doing anythingcoexisted in theartofGeorgia at this time, justas it did in theart of Russia and theWest. "\1

By theendof 1919, however, this remarkablestate of affairs terminated since it was clearthat Georgia, then in economic and politicalturmoil, would soon capitulate to theBolshe­viks. (Georgia became partoftheTrans-Cauca­sian Federation of Soviet Republics on 25February 1921.) For countless Russian, Ukrain­ian,Armenian, andGeorgian artists in Tiflis in1919-20, Paris beckoned asa secure politicaland cultural haven, and the mass exodus fromTiflis began in thefall of 1919.

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Fig. 2 Visitors 10 lbe Exhibition ofSoviet Art, Tokyo, 1927.

Fig. 1 Pholograph taken at tbe second Exhibition ofthe Association ofFuturist Artists, Osaka,japan,November1921. In thecenter:DavidBurliuk.

Berlln--SteptnotberofRussllln Cltles l 9

Kandinsky's move to Germany was only oneofthousands ofsuchemigrations from Russia inthe early I920s. The Berlin of 1918-23 waslike a huge railroad station. Refugees fromRussia andfrom Hungary (the Hungarian SovietRepublic fell in August 1919 after only sixmonths) flocked into Berlin, andby 1922 theRussian population alone was estimated at100,000. Inaddition tothepermanent emigres,there was a large number of privileged tran­sients and temporary visitors such as NatanAltman, Iosif Chaikov, Ilia Ehrenburg, Ussitzky,Shterenberg, and Viktor Shklovsky, who trav­elled on Soviet passports and who did notintend tosettle outside the Soviet Union (FIg. 3J.Consequently, the most diverse personalities,ideas, and events were encountered in Berlinin the early 1920s: Alexei Tolstoi and AndreiBely, Lev Zak and Puni, the anachronisticZhar-ptitsa (Fire-Bird) (Fig. 4) andtheCon­structivist Veshch/Gegenstand/Objet (FIg. 5) ,the exhibition of Konstantin Korovin at theGalerie Carl Nicolai in 1922 andthe one-man

utilitarian interpretation, Kandinsky's assertionthata "fu ndamentalconcern oftheInstitute ofArtistic Culture must benot only thecultivationof abstract forms, butalso thecultofabstractobjectives" was highly debatable.' ? Not sur­prisingly, Kandinsky left the Institute soon afterits inception. Of an older generation and adifferent social environment, never a primarymover oftheMoscow andSt. Petersburg avant­garde before 1917, Kandinsky was misunder­stood andshunned by artists such as Lissitzky,Malevich, Popova, Rodchenko, andTatlin, andwas ignored or condemned by theleftist criticssuch as Boris Arvstov, Gan, andPunin.

How saddened Kandinsky must have been byPunin's review ofhisbook Tekst khudozhni/za(An Artist's Text) of 1918:

When Kandinsky received the offer ofa teachingpost at the Bauhaus, he could have had nosecond thoughts, andheemigrated from SovietRussia in December 1921. Although theInsti­tute ofArtistic Culture andtheRussian Academyof Artistic Sciences (which Kandinsky helpedto establish in 1921) owed much to his plan­ning and foresight, although six Kandinskypaintings remained on view at theMuseum ofPainterlyCulture in Moscow until at least 1925,although many young artists spoke ofhim withesteem, Kandinsky left noschool, nodisciples,no movement in his homeland. lake Chagall,Kandinsky could not be a prophet in hisowncountry: hisfellow artists denied him that.

Kandinsky writes seriously and sincerely.. . . But that has absolutely nothing to dowith painting.... I protest inthe strongestterms against Kandinsky's art . .. all hisfeelings. his colors are lonely. rootless andreminiscent offreaks. No, no! Down withKandinsky! Down with himP8

The reasons for the severance of relationsbetween Chagall and Malevich were artisticand emotional, notpolitical, andwe cancon­clude that the omission of any reference toMalevich inChagall's memoirs conceals adeep­seated personal enmity. No doubt, the suddenappearance in Vitebsk of the uncouth, robustMalevich must have pricked the self-esteem ofChagall, then Gubernatorial Plenipotentiary forArt Affairs. I S Chagall returned to Vitebsk inDecember 1919, buthe left thetown finally inMay 1920, and left Russia for lithuania inJulyof thesame year.

Kandinsky's departure from Russia, likeChagall's, was motivated more by hurt artisticpride than by any disenchantment in theforceof socialism. Even though Kandinsky was veryactive in education, research, and museumreform within the organization known as IZONKP (Visual ArtsSection ofthePeople's Com­missariat for Enlightenment) from 19]8 until1921, hewas never close totheextreme trendsof theavant-garde ("We took nopartin this,"affirms Nina Kandinsky in her book) .I b Symp­tomatic of Kandinsky's comparative isolationwas hisuneasy position attheMoscow Instituteof Artistic Culture which opened under hischairmanship in May 1920. Kandinsky com­piled an elaborate research plan for theInsti­tute, but most members--and they includedall the leading avant-garde artists-rejectedKandinsky's approach, questioning hisempha­sis on the role of intuition, the subjectiveelement, and the occult sciences. To artistswho were already doubting thevalidity of ab­stract art and who were tending towards a

I shan't besurprised if, after I have beenabsent for a long time, my town obliteratesevery trace of me and forgets me andforgets the man who put his own paint­brushes aside, fretted, suffered, and took thetrouble to sow the seeds ofArt there, whodreamt of transforming ordinary housesinto museums andthe common man intoa creator. And then I understood that noman isa prophet inhis own country.Ii

Cbllgllllllnd XondlnskyAlthough many artists left Russia because oftheharsh material conditions just after 1917 andbecause ofa genuine alarm atBolshevik atroc­ities, some, specifically Chagall andKandinsky,left for much more private reasons that hadlittle todo with thepolitical andsocial Revolu­tion. Chagall-from the moment he arrivedback in Russia in 1917-failed to win thesupportofthe avant-garde. InAugust 1918 hewas appointed director of theVitebsk PopularArt Institute andat once promoted an art that"would tum abruptly away from the compre­hensible,"!' arguing that a new, proletarianart did nothave tobe narrative or even figura­tive. But despite hisadvocacy ofamore abstractstyle, Chagall was considered passe by themore radical Malevich, who joined theInstitutefaculty in September 1919. The immediateresult was a sharp division ofloyalties within theInstinne, some colleagues supporting Chagall,others Malevich, andstill others rejecting both.Despite pleas to stay, Chagall resigned hisdirectorship in November ]9]9 and left forMoscow. He laterdescribed that episode:

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show of Puni at Der Sturm in \921 (Fig. 6),thecabarets such asDer Blaur Vogel (Fig. 7),and Alexander Tairov's Chamber Theatre ontour in 1923. As Chagall said ofthosedays:

After the war, Berlin had become a kind ofcaravansary where everyone travelling be­tween Moscow and the West came together.... In the apartments round the BayrischePlatz there were as many samovars andtheosophical and Tolstoyan countesses asthere had been inMoscow.... inmy wholelife I've never seen so many wonderfulrabbis or so many Constructivists as inBerlin in 1922. l o

Paradoxically, inspite ofthelarge colony ofemigres, thenew Soviet state enjoyed thesym­pathy ofthenew Weimar Republic. On both anideological anda cultural level thetwo nationsshared common ground. For example, bothwished to establish a relationship between the

Fig. 3/osifChaikov, Untitled Construction,1922. Present whereabouts unknown.

working-classes and art and both felt thatradical politics andradical artmade a reason­able combination. Naturally, there was a dif­ference in styles favored by the two regimes:for IZO NKP "new art" meant Suprematismand Tatlin's reliefs (Fig. 8), while for theArbeitsrat it meant Expressionism. Even so,both regimes, thanks totheir belief inimminentuniversal revolution, thought in terms of aninternational style, one that would be monu­mental and synthetic. At the same time, thiscultural rapprochement between the SovietUnion andtheWeimar Republic disguised other,morepragmatic needs foreconomic andtech­nological agreements. As soon as Lenin imple­mented his New Economic Policy (NEP) in1921, with thepartial return to thefree enter-

prise system, German industry andinvestmentmoved into Russia: Soviet influence in Berlinwas, therefore, ofvital economic andpoliticalimportance. Viewed in this light, the famousexhibition ofmodern Russian artat theGalerievan Diemen in Berlin in 1912 (Figs. 9 and10) emerges moreasa Soviet political gesturethan as an altruistic endeavor to disseminateculture. That is why Anatolii Lunacharsky, SovietMinister ofEnlightenment, was very pleased tosee that thegreatest success of the exhibition(in spite of its low attendance) 1I was "firstandforemost andwithout any doubt itspoliticalsuccess. Even those who are hostile towards itassert-not without much spluttering-thatonceagain theSoviet government hasdemon­strated itsdiplomatic capabilities inorganizingthis exhibition." II In the same way, Sovietvisitors to Berlin, not in the least Ehrenburgand Lissitzky, might be regarded as politicalemissaries dispatched to gain internationalgoodwill rather than assimple cultural attaches.

Fig. 4 Cover ofthefirst numberofjournalZhar-ptitsa, Berlin, 1922. Cover design bySergeiChekhonin.

How did Russian art affect the Germanpublic? Where did it manifest itself in Berlinand other cities? Russian artists and writerstended to settle inwell-defined areasofBerlin,forthemost partneartheNoUendorfplatz, andthere is little evidence for assuming that theGerman public interacted at all intensivelywith thisnew ethnic neighborhood. Still, therewere many opportunities for cultural inter­chang~es, th~,exttibitions, publishinghouses, publications, and artists' studios. Afavorite meeting place was theHaus derKtinsteat theCafe Leon, a kind ofBerlin Cafe Rotondeatwhich many memorable events took place in1922 and 1923. For example, Sergei Eseningave poetry readings there, andPuni delivereda cycle of lectures on theVan Diemen exhibi-

tion. l3 In April 1922 an entire evening wasdevoted toa debate concerning the Constructivistjournal Veshch, atwhich its editors, Ehrenburgand Lissitzky, were forced to repulse bitterattacks by anti-Constructivists, including theirown publisher Alexander Shreider. Among thosewho attended the evenings at the Haus derKtinste were Alexander Archipenko, Bely, NikolaiBerdiaev, Serge Charchoune, Romanjakobson,Gabo, Puni, Maiakovsky, and Boris Pasternak.

Reference toVeshch touches onthe complexand often politically ambiguous role that theemigre press played inRussian Berlin. AlthoughVeshch was printed in the emigre house Skythen,owned by Shreider, itwas not ananti-Bolshevikorgan, andthe note that appeared on the backpages of both issues ('The Publishing-HouseSkythen plays nopartin the actual compilationof Veshch") confirmed the hostility between itsanti-Bolshevik printer and its pro-Bolshevikeditors. Undoubtedly, it was more than Lis­sitzky's eulogy of the machine aesthetics and

._ .­---- -_.-""'--_._-­._- - ­._- - ­- _._---- - - --_...-_ 0_-- _._..- ----_ __ _ 0'------ --_.

~CH~CCTBO

06 EOTBEHHOOT

Fig. 5 PagefromjournalVeshch/Gegenstand/Objet, Berlin, 192}Design byEI Lissitzky.

the international style that caused the writerBely to describe Lissitzky and Ehrenburg as"masks oftheAntichrist" (the Bolsheviks beingfor many Russians a diabolical force). 2.

An art journal ofa very different order, butalso Russian and published concurrently inBerlin, was theelegant Zhar-ptitsa (Fire-Bird).IfVeshch (subtitled "Internationale Rundschauder Kunst der Gegenwart") aspired todevelopan international movement, then Zhar-ptitsa(subtitled "Russische Monatsschrift fur Kunstund Literatur") concerned itself with the na­tional traditions ofOld Russia andsought toup­holdtheconcept ofgood taste. Many oftheoldWorld ofArtartists such asBakst andShukhaevwere associated with Zhar-ptitsa andthe archi­tecturallandscapist Georgii Lukomsky (oneof.

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Lissitzky's early influences) was its artisticdirector. With articles on Bakst, the Russianballet, Sudeikin, and the poetry of KonstantinBalmont, to mention but a few, Zbar-ptitsawas a popular journal and enjoyed financialsuccess. Ironically, its clientele was far moreinternational than thatof Vesheh, and duringits six years of publication it could be pur­chased atWilenkin's in London, atBrentano'sinNew York, andat Kassian's in Buenos Aires.In its artistic orientation and in its layout,Zhar-ptitsa advanced no further than «fin­de-steele magazine, and, for that reason, itappealed to those who yearned for the peacefulRussia ofyesteryear.

To say "I'm in Paris" is to say"I'm nowbere"25Although Berlin was theprimary destination ofRussian artists and literati just after the Revo­lution, it was not the only one. As mentionedabove, a number ofartists left Russia via Tillis,

States after it closed. Among these defectorswere Sergei Konenkov andSomov.

Although Paris became themajor center forthe Russian emigration after 1923, it did notespecially impress those Russian artists whohadbeen close totheavant-garde. When Altmanarrived inParis in 1928 with Solomon Mikhoelsand the State Jewish Theatre, he was shockedto find thatFrench artists were reinterpretingthe classical tradition and that even Picassowas reevaluating Ingres. This state of affairsappealed, however, to themany moderate andconservative Russian artists such as Benois,Ivan Bilibin, Chekhonin, andSomov, who tookupresidence in Paris in the1920s andharmo­nized with their cult of Mir iskusstva andApoOon. 27 Their gentle retrospectivism, theirrestrained elegance expressed itself inthe exhi­bitions such as the Exposition d'Art Russe(932) organized by theParisian Russians, intheirbookdesigns (Fig. 11), andin theirartjournals. Even the most avant-garde of these

should be members of Le Monde Artiste, thiswas soon modified, so that many Russian artists,previously unconnected with theWorld ofArt,joined the new society. The first exhibition ofLe Monde Artiste opened in Paris in june1921 , and, in appearance, reminded visitorsof the catholic World ofArt shows just beforetheGreat War: Bakst displayed his portraits ofIda Rubinstein and Anna Pavlova, Gudiashvilishowed hisGeorgian miniatures, Larionov hiscostume designs for Chout, Shukhaev hisnudes, andSerafim Sudbinin hissculptures. Asimilar eclecticism was evident at the secondand lastexhibition of Le Monde Artiste held atBernheim jeune, Paris, in 1927. More thananything else, these exhibitions demonstratedthatParis was a center ofeverything anda cityof anonymity-something that prompted sev­eral Russian artists toreturn home toRussia inthe 1930s.

Even though the more innovative Russianartists in Paris in the 1920s-such as Altman

Fig. 6 Ivan Puni Exhibition, Der Sturm Gallery, Berlin, February 1921. Fig. 7 Coverforprogram ofDer Blaue Vogel,Berlin, 1922. Designed by KseniiaBogu/avskaia.

proceeding to Constantinople, Sofia, Athens,and then Paris; some artists such as DavidBurliuk, Varvara Bubnova, andPalmov settledin japan for longer or shorter periods. How­ever, after theattraction ofBerlin waned intheearly 1920s, Paris andthen New York becamethe major cities for the Russian emigration.Several important artists converged in NewYork in 1923-24 either on theirown initiativeor under the auspices of the grand RussianArtExhibition which theSoviets organized atthe Grand Central Palace in 1924.21' Thisshowing of modern Russian art (excludingabstract art), directed by Igor Grabar andIvanTroianovsky, served as a convenient pretextfor certain artists to accompany it from theSoviet Union-and then to remain intheUnited

journals-Sergei Romov's lJdar (Blow) of1922-23-advocated Cubism as the latestartistic development and completely ignoredConstructivism and industrial design. Conse­quently, itsaesthetic orientation was typified byitsparticular concentration on Braque, Derain,and Lhote and by itsparticular choice of Rus­sian artists, i.e. jacques Lipchitz (notGabo) ,Constantin Terechkovitch (notKandinsky) .

Symptomatic ofthemore conservative, moreacademic mood of Parisian cultural life in the1920s was the fact that, in March 1921, aWorld of Art society (Le Monde Artiste) wasfounded there by Prince Alexandre ShervashidzeandLukomsky. Although the initial understand­ingwas that only original World ofArt members(i.e. theDiaghilev/8enois group of1898-19(6)

(Fig. 12), Robert Falk, and Redko-weredissatisfied with the French return to moreconventional artistic values, their own worksoon expressed a similar conservatism. InRussia these artists had been associated withtheavant-garde, butthey soon ceased toexper­iment and, like their French colleagues, re­turned to a simpler, figurative art. Perhaps forthisvery reason, they didnotdistinguish them­selves inFrench artistic circles--they lost thosevery qualities of exaggeration, vitality, andenergy thatthe French hadcome to expect ofRussians. In spite of publicity in the Frenchpress, in spite of monographs published inParis,2M artists such as Altman and Redkonever integrated with themainstream of Pari­sian artistic life. Beckoned by false promises

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Fig. Bttan Puni, Still-Life with Coffee Pot,1922, oiloncanvas. Present whereaboutsunknown.

Fig. 10 Pbotograph ofNatan Altman at DieErste Russische Kunstausstellung,Berlin, 1922. Fig. 9 HI Lissitzky, Designforthe cover oftbeexhibition catatogfor Die Erste Russische Kunstausstellung,

watercolor, 23 x 16ems. Moscow. Treliakov Gallery.

of cultural freedom and material abundance,Altman, Falk, Gudiashvili, Redko-who hadnever renounced their Soviet citizenship--re­turned to Soviet Russia in themid-1930s. Butfor them and many like them, this was anirreversible and tragic step towards an evenharsher emigration.

ConclusionIn 1927, while curating anexhibition ofRussianart inJapan, the critic Punin wrote the followinglines toGoncharova: "As far asart is concerned,things arenowatacomplete standstill in Russia.There's hardly any new strength, and onlyscorn for theold. Generally speaking, peoplejust aren't up to art."29 Sad to say, Punin'sobservation remained true of Soviet art formany years. By thetime Punin wrote this letter,it was already becoming difficult to emigrate

from Soviet Russia, and from 1930 until the19605 legal emigration was virtually closed.wOnly in exceptional circumstances, as in thecase of the writer Evgenii Zamiatin,·il wereSoviet intellectuals able to leave for the West.During the Stalin regime, many artists, includingAlexander Drevin, Falk, Alexander Shevchenko,andNadezhda Ddaltsova were exiled from Mos­cow and Leningrad (or at least advised toleave) andspent long periods inSoviet CentralAsia. j 2Now, thethird wave ofRussian emigresis building a new culture in Paris, Jerusalem,and New York. Many of these recent emigreartists are disoriented and often feel slightedthat the West does not recognize their talent.But let us hope that this new generation ofartists-Vagrich Bakhchanian, Vitaly Komar,Alexandr Melamid, Ernst Neizvestny, Lev Nuss­berg, Yakov Vinkovetsky-will not repeat the

mistake of their predecessors andreturn, de­ceived, tothemotherland, only toface acruelerexile. E~

Notes1Of particular importance is the book by Robert

Williams, Culture in Exile. Russian Emigresin Germany 1881-1941, Ithaca, 1972-

2 Exhibitions ofthe Russian Avant-Garde ofthe19605 and early 19705 were especially prone tosuch eclecticism. See, for example, the catalogof the exhibition Avantgarde 1910 -1930Osteuropa at the Akademie der Kiinste, WestBerlin, 1967, and thecatalogofthe exhibition1/ contribulo rus» a/Je avanguardie p/aslicbeat the Galleria del Levante, Milan, 1964. Theconcept oftheRussian Avant-Garde continuestobe used in its broadest sense at auctions ofmodern Russian art and books at Sotheby

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Fig. 11 Ivan Puni, illustration for the children's book Tsrefen (Pollen), 1922.

Fig.12 NatanAltman, Untitled (sometimescalledVarnishj, 1921, varnishandhirch bark.Present whereabouts unknown.

Parke Bernet in London andNew York.3 The only member oftheRussian Avant-Garde

who was actively engaged inpolitical agitationbefore 1917 andwho was imprisoned for thiswas Vladimir Maiakovsky (August 1909 untilJanuary 1910).

4 Particular mention should bemade ofNadezhdaDobychina, whose so-called Art Bureau in St.Petersburg (operative 1912 -18) dealt inworksby Altman, Puni, andOlga Rozanova.

5 For more information on the position of theJewish artist in Russia just before andafter theRevolution see Avram Kampf, "In Quest oftheJewish Style in theEra oftheRussian Revolu­tion,"Journal ofJewishArt, Y, 1978,48- 75.See also Igor Golomshtok, "Sovratiteli iiisouchastniki?" 22, Tel-Aviv, 1979, No.6,160-81.

6 For some information on the role of Russian

emigres in art and literature in Paris of the19205 see the special issues of TriQuarterlyentitled "Russian Literature and Culture inthe West 1922 - 1972" (Evanston, lllinois,1973, Nos. 27and28).

7 From a conversation conducted with MmeBoguslavskaia by Herman Berninger andJohnE. Bowlt at her residence outside Paris in thesummer of1971.

8 Gabo ina conversation conducted with himbyMilka Bliznakov and John E. Bowlt at hisresidence inConnecticut inthesummer 1972.

9 A. Levinson, "Somov," Zhar-ptitsa, Berlin,1921, No.3, 20.

10 For information on Burliuk and Palmov inthis context see Kazuo Yamawaki, "Burliukand Palmov-Russian Futurists in Japan,"Pilotis, Hyogo, 1978, No. 28, 4- 5 (inJapa­nese).

11 For some information on Tiflis in 1919 seeI.P. Dzutsova and N.A. Elizbarashvili, "S.Yu.Sudeikin vGruzii," Muzei, Moscow, 1980, No.1,23-26.

12 Quoted in Dzutsova and Elizbarashvili, ibid.,23.

13 M. Shagal (Chagall), "0 Vitebskom narodnomkhudozhestvennom uchilishche," Shkola irevoliutsiia, Vitebsk, 1919, No.2, 7.

14 Marc Chagall, My Life, London, 1965, 143.15 This ishow Chagall signed himself. See, for ex­

ample, his declaration "Ot Vitebskogo podotdelaIzobrazitelnykh iskusstv," Iskusstvo kommuny,Petrograd, 1919,30 March, 1.

16 Nina Kandinsky, Kandinsky und ich, Munich,.1976,88.

17 V. Kandinsky, Institut khudozhestvennoi kul­tury (programma) (920). Reprinted in 1.Matsa et al., eds., Sovetskoe iskusstvo za 15let, Moscow andLeningrad, 1933, 131.

18 N. Punin, "0 knigakh," Iskusstvo kommuny,1919, No.9, 3-

19 Many Russian emigres referred toBerlin asthe"stepmother of Russian cities" in the early19205.

20E. Roditi, "Entretien avec Marc Chagall,"Preuoes. Paris, 1958, February, No. 84, 27.

21 Georgii Lukomsky, in his review of the 1922exhibition, commented that his admissionticket bore the number 1697 when he viewedtheexhibition on itsfifteenth day: "That's notmuch. 15,000 people visited the 'World ofArt'in Paris within two weeks" (G. Lukomsky,"Russkaia ~stavka v Berline," Argonatty,Petrograd, 1923, No. 1,68).

22 A. Lunacharsky, "Russkaia vystavka v Berline"in his collection ofarticles Iskuss/l'O i retoliut­siia. Moscow, 1924, 177.

23 Puni's lectures formed the basis of his bookSorremennaia zbioopis which was publishedby Frenkel, Berlin in 1923. AFrench edition,L'Art Contemporain. was also published byFrenkel in 1922.

24 This was reported in Veshch. 1922, No.3, 21under thetitle "Krestiny Veshchi."

25 A, Bely, Mezhdu dl'ukh rel'Oliu/sii, Leningrad,1934, 140.

26For information on this exhibition see MarieTurbow Lampard, "Sergei Konenkov and the'Russian Art Exhibition' of1924," SOlie/ Union.Arizona State University, Ill, Parts 1-2, 1980,70-88.

27 The reference is to the two art journals-Miriseusstoa (World ofArt) published under theeditorship of Sergei Diaghilev and AlexandreBenois between 1898 and 1904, andApollon(Apollo) published under the editorship ofSergei Makovsky between 1909 and 1917 [1918).Both journals were published inSt. Petersburg.

28See, for example, Waldemar George and lIyaEhrenburg, Natan Altman. Paris, 1933 (inYiddish): Maurice Raynal, Lado Goudiachlili.Paris, 1925: A. Lounatcharsky andAndre Sal­mon, Redko. Paris 1930.

29Letter from N. Punin toN. Goncharova dated 7June 1927 and postmarked Yokohama, Japan.Collection Institute ofModern Russian Cultureat Blue Lagoon, Texas.

30One of the last of the avant-garde artists toleave Soviet Russia was Pavel Mansurov whoemigrated from Leningrad to Italy in 1928.

31 Zamiatin wrote a letter to Stalin in 1931asking for permission to emigrate. To thesurprise ofmany, Stalin complied with Zamia­tin'srequest.

32Some idea oftheextent ofthis exile ofRussianartists to Central Asia under Stalin can begained by consulting the biographies in thebook Stareisbie sove/skie khudfJzhniki 0 Sred­ne; Aziii Katkaze by M.B. Miasina, Moscow,1973.

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A Conversation withVladimir Stenberg

Alma H. Law, a tbeater blstorian andprofessional translator, bas publishedwidely on Russian and EasternEuropean tbeatre and stage design.

The conversation below.is drawn from a numberoftalks with Vladimir Stenberg recorded over thepast several years. I first went to see him inOctober 1978. At the time Iwas gathering materialon Meierkhold's production ofTbe MagnanimousCuckold andwas followingupa clue tothe effectthat Meierkholdhad first approached the Stenbergbrothers to design the set for the production.Since myfirst visit, I have returned manytimes tothatextraordinary apartment studio hidden awayon the top floor ofa building onone ofthebusiestboulevards in Moscow where Stenberg has livedsince the late I930s. Our conversations haveranged over many topics from childhood memoriestoStenberg's tenyears ofassociation with Tairovat theKamerny Theatre.

Today, Stenberg (Fig. I} iseighty-two years old,and the only voice remaining tospeak firsthandfor thatfearless band ofavant-garde artists,amongthen Rodchenko, Tatlin, Popova, Stepanova, andVesnin, who set out in the years just before andafter 1918 to revolutionize Russian art. Whatcomes through more than anything else in talkingwith him isthe sense ofenthusiasm and optimismthese artists possessed at that time.The world was,indeed, their oyster, and even though many ofthem were hardly more than youngsters-t-orperhaps for that very reason-they were fearlessin taking onanyandallchallengers. A.H.L

Alma Law: Let's begin, if you're agreeable,simplywith somebiographical information.

Vladimir Stenberg: My father was born inSweden in the town of Norrkoplng and hefinished theAcademy inStockholm with a goldmedal. Then he was invited to come here toMoscow to do some kindofwork. At thattime118961 therewasan exhibition inYuzovka­now it's called Donetsk-so there in Yuzovkamy father worked onanexhibition. Later at theNizhninovgorod fairhedidsome kindofwork.In Moscow he met my mother. They married

Fig. I Vladimir Stenberg in his studio, 1978.

and had threechildren.I

My father lived andworked in Moscow andIwanted toentera technical school. Iwas veryfond of technology, mechanics, and so forth .!But conditions were such that I had to enterStroganov, theart school. My father worked asa painter, and from the time I was sixyears ofage, we had pencils, brushes, and the likeinour hands. We began todraw very early. Well,like children, they see their father drawing,and so we drewtoo. And here's what's inter­esting aboutour father, When wewere goingto school, wewould bring home our drawingsat theendoftheyear, My brother, Georgii, andI would play a trick and switch some of thedrawings. But my father always knew. We wouldsit together and draw figures. Everything. Andit seemed to us that we had everything thesame. But nevertheless our father would still

distinguish the hand of one son's work fromthe other's.

When wehadto do perspective, tostudy allthat, wetoldtheteacher that our father was anartistandhe hadtaught usa little. The teachergave us a test assignment and we did it. Hesaid, "That isn't the way it's done. The planshould be at the bottom, and at the top, therepresentation of that perspective... But ourfather had another method: the plan on topand underneath the representation. Becausewhenyou're working, it's more convenient tohave at the bottom what is most important.Therefore wehadittheother way around. Whenthe teacher asked, "Why do you do it thatway?" weanswered, "Ourfather taught us thatway," "Well, of course," he said, "with for­eigners, they have things theother way around."

Here isanother story ofourf~er's method,

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how he taught us. In Petrovsky Park, whereDynamo Stadium is now, there was a summerrestaurant. Our father did his work there.Housepainters were there painting those win­dows, andour father sentus there towork forpractice. He said, "Go there tomorrow ateightinthemorning." But before we went, heshoweduswhat we had todo: "Think about what youhave to take with you todothework." Well, wewent. We took big brushes and little ones forwhere theglass was. We took rags, a scraper,andso forth, so that we could puta ragontheother end of the brush and wipe thewindowwhere itwas smeared. Inshort, we worked, wetried hard. About ten or eleven, our fatherarrived. He looked at usandlaughed andthenhe said, "To hell with such work!" That wasthe only expression he hadof thatkind. "Tohell," he said, "with such work!"

There was some thick paper lying on thetable. He took it, toreoffa piece, laid iton theg1ass-covered theglass with that paper-andwith the big brush, did like this: one, two.Then heturned thepaper: three, four. "There,"hesaid,"that'show ithastobedone. No rags,nolittle brushes, nothing." He said, "First, youhave to think, then do.lfyou're going toworklike that, it'll take six months. This isa summerrestaurant. It must be done in two or threedays. Like that." So itwas clearto us. I mean,before doing, onemust ... We hadthought ofeverything, butwe were thinking in thewrongdirection as far as neatness went. He haditallneatandgood. Like that.'

When westudied atStroganov, we hada lotonart andonthehistory ofart. Our father alsohad books on style, on everything. We werealready prepared so that for us all that was arepetition of what we'd already done. Forexample, when we drew thefigure ofMichel­angelo's David, or the figure of Apollo, wewere no longer interested in the usual poses,that is, there stands the figure, everyone sitsand draws it at a great distance. We would sitclose to the figure and lookat it from below,with a strong raccourci. The same ifwedrew aplaster head. We did the same thing, lightingalso from somewhere below. That's how wedid all kinds of tricks during our studies. It'strue, some of the teachers didn'twelcome it,butwewere clever. We said there wasn't a seatand we had to sit there, but then they under­stood thatwewere being tricky andwe wereinterested insuchpoints.

Parallel with Stroganov School we workedinthetheatre. At first we worked inthe operettatheatre, then in other theatres. But we didn'tgotowork assome student-artists, asassistantsto thestage designer. We went tothe theatre onlyto execute some assigned work. TakeFedorovsky, or another artist, say, Kazokhin;4all the students dreamed ofbeing his assistant.But wesaid, "No, we'll go towork inthetheatrewhen they askusasartists." And we took partinexhibitions, organized exhibitions too.

At that time, Stroganov was the Imperial

Stroganov School. There were professors andteachers. They even hadsome kind ofgovern­ment rank,andthepupils were like universitystudents. Then came 1917, and in 1918,Stroganov became the Free State Art Studios,without uniforms. S All that was abolished. Theyorganized the school differently. Fedorovsky,Konchalovsky, Yakulov, Tatlin, Osmerkin,s andsoforth were masters, andwe were theappren­tices-their students. Each master ina work­shophadabout thirty, or let'ssay, forty tofiftyapprentices.

And Mayakovsky, Kamensky, Khlebnikov,these writers often came to the Free State ArtStudios to talk with us, and to read theirworks. Well, ofcourse, they infected everyone,so to speak, with theirmethod ofbehavior. 7

At one time we were living together withMedunetsky.e That was in 1918. Iwas eighteen,my brother, seventeen, and Medunetsky alsoseventeen. When we got home after going aroundto all theworkshops toseewhat was going on,wehadto make some kind ofresponse. Itwasall wrong. At Tatlin's they were making thosesculptures outofsamovar metal. At Konchalov­sky's, everything was like Konchalovsky. AtFedorovsky's, like Fedorovsky. Well, to makeit short, we composed a text. Just as Mayakov­sky often said, "Me andPushkin ... ," we hadsuchan opening too. We often changed it,butthemeaning was always this: that we three, themost remarkable painters born on theearth'ssphere, proclaim ... Then there would be thetext. So here, too,was aproclamation like this:Down with the titans, Picasso, Gauguin, andothers ofthese French artists. All those Impres­sionists. Further on we wrote an address likethis: No more manufacturing! It begins: "Nomore manufacturing Tatlins KonchalovskysLentulovs .... "9 And we wrote a full list ofallour teachers. No periods or commas, nothing.The signatures: Stenberg Medunetsky Stenberg.

Now, where to hang it? In the school therewas a large lobby on theleft, andon theright,coatrooms, andstraight ahead in thecomer, ahuge window. On theotherwall, a mirror anda landing. Awide, wide staircase to thesecondfloor. That was the only entrance, so all theteachers, all the masters andapprentices hadto pass. We got to school early, a half hourbefore classes, and hung the poster while noone was there. Then we stood and watchedwhat would happen.

The apprentices began to pass and theyread, at the very beginning, this: "We three,themost remarkable bornon this sphere." Allof them, you know were filled-some withenvy, some with disdain. Imagine, thethree ofthem! Well there were all sorts, and eachreacted inhisown way. But thenext thing was,"Enough manufacturing!" And what do youknow, his favorite teacher, he went to him tolearn, andsuddenly-a-enough manufactUring!And, "Down with the titans!" They adored theFrench, French painting. And now, "Downwith the titans! Picasso, Gauguin, and the

others!" What then? This excited them, so therewere arguments. Some were for us, someagainst us. The matter ended with classes beingcalled offonthatday. No onestudied anything.

All the teachers readthe proclamation tooandalsoreacted. They gathered anddiscussedwhat kind of prank it was, and what did itmean. At four.tn the afternoon a meeting wascalled in the assembly hall. Everyone came,andwehadtoanswer forourprank. The chaircalled forspeakers. Then those activists, youngfellows, began tospeak, allthose very appren­tices who hadbeen so upset. And we, too. Theygave us thefloor. Sowe explained what it wasall about. Then it was theturnof theteacher­masters. One after another they began tospeak."Well, of course," they said, "thatopening isvery impertinent, and an impertinent text. Itshould be done, but more politely. It's an artschool, after all."Sotheteachers said, "Well,they're right, after all. How isitpossible tocopyone's teacher? You'll get thirty Konchalovskys.That means Konchalovskys from Konchalov­sky. And further, what then?"

Well, in short, we felt cramped working inthat place, in those State Art Studios, andweoften went toallsortsofdebates, meetings. Wespoke, and often organized exhibitions. We'dmake several works and then organize anexhibition, somewhere in a lobby, or on astaircase. Always with some kind ofproclama­tion and besides, without permission. We'dmake some works, hang them up, then afterawhile we'ddo it in another place. The thingwas, when Mayakovsky, for example, spoke,there was the impression that he spoke notonly to the audience, to us, but that hisvoiceand all his gestures flew over our heads, faraway, maybe across allEurope toAmerica. Hespoke so powerfully, so energetically. Wecouldspeak, too, butnotaspoets, we couldn'tread our works. But when we showed ourwork, we always accompanied it by all thoseproclamations.

At that time there was a State PurchasingCommission. They bought works from eachartist. They would buy one from a sculptor,one from a painter, and so forth. When weshowed our work for the first time to thePurchasing Commission andsigned it, "Vladi­mir Stenberg, Georgii Stenberg," they said,"No, only one,we'll take only one. Two arenotallowed." But how can it be, onework? Afterall, there are two of us! We each have anappetite, desires. We began signing ourworks,on one "V. Stenberg," on another, "G. Sten­berg." They'd give thirty thousand for paintings,and for three-dimensional sculpture worksthey'd give fifty thousand roubles. So we didthree-dimensional works too. And somethingwould go through every time for sure. If notone thing, then another. In most cases con­structions andalso colored things.

There we hadtofill ina questionnaire. Whowe were, a university student, pupil, or artist.We wrote "artist." We didn't write that we

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werestudents because we didn'tbring studentwork. What the teacher in class set, we drew.But we also did our own compositions, ourfantasy--everything our own-so we wrote"artist." And our things were accepted like allthe other artists. The price for everything wasthesame.

Well, our comrades in school saw what wewere submitting and they also began to workfor the Commission. But we warned them thatforstudents thepricewas fifteen thousand, notthirty. We warned them not to write that theywere studying. Well, some were wary. What ifthe thing didn't go? It was better to be sure offifteen thousand. But we, never. We were, ingeneral, very sure somehow. You know, evenprovocatively sure. But they were afraid andsigned themselves as students. And what hap­pened? The Commission bought from halfofthem, therewere aboutten, andfrom half theydidn't buy. And they bought them for onlyfifteen thousand. But we submitted two workseach, both sculpture. and flat, and they tookboth. In short, our pockets were full, and intheothers' there was nothing. We said, "What'sthe matterwith you? Why didn'tyou write thatyou were artists? After all, you created yourown works. Those aren't student works thatyou did in class. You made them specially forthis, didn't you?" "Yes." "Well, then, whywrite student?"

Inshort,ouryouth passed very stormily. Webegan to work early, andearly weunderstoodeverything. We always had friends, good friends.There werepeople twenty years older than uswho recognized us because of our work. Atthat time it was somehow different. Now it'sconsidered this way: twenty years-that's akid. But then, itwas different among theartists.They looked at who didwhat. They judged onthe quality of the works. And then, of course,those exhibitions. They gave a person animage,so to speak, who andwhat he was.

Sotime passed, andtherewas an exhibitionat the Cafe of Poets on Gorky Street. Then itwas Tverskaya Street. As with all our earlierexhibitions, we accompanied it with a kind ofproclamation that we put up just before theopening sothat itwouldn't bepublished earlier.It went likethis [VS readsfrom thecatalog] :

Constructivists tothe world. Constructivismwill bring mankind topossess the maximumachievement ofculture with the minimumexpenditure ofenergy. Every man born onthis sphere, before returning toits covering,could master the shortest route tothe factorywhere the unique organism of earth isfashioned.

To the factory ofcreators ofthe highesttrampoline for the leap towards universalhuman culture. The name ofthis road isCONSTRUCTIVISM.

The great seducers ofthe human breed-the aesthetes andartists-have demol­ished the stern bridges onthis road, replac-

ingthem with a bundle ofmawkish narco­sis: artandbeauty.

The essence oftheearth, man's brain,is being wasted to fertilize the morass ofaestheticism.

Weighing the facts on thescales ofanhonest attitude toward the inhabitants ofthe earth, the Constructivists declare artand its priests outside the law. 10

And here are the signatures: "K. Medunetsky,V. Stenberg, G. Stenberg." The point is thestyle ofthatWriting. Then there were poets likeKamensky, Mayakovsky, Khlebnikov. Especiallytherewas one, Kruchenykh, whose words weresuch expressions as: tyr, pyr, myr. II Words,you see, that issounds that don't mean anything.They couldonly express some kindofsound.Therefore we wrote in language like that be­cause we were affected, as it were, by thatperiod, the performances by these poets, andso forth.

Now whom did we call aesthetes? Thoseartists, those non-objectivists, abstractionistswho made works fornoreason. We called ourworks "laboratory work." Actually we believedin this,andcorrectly, I think. Whatever wedidfurther-if you take thetheatrical productions,if you take the movie posters-all were builton that same principle.'! that is, on Construc­tivism. There was a short period when wemade ceramics. All kinds of ware and otherthings. Nowadays, they make some object andsomehow it's notcomfortable to take hold of.Look! One finger here, two fingers.... Yousee? Take a teapot. The teapot is hotand thecover istoo. Today ourcontemporary designersmakeit in thisform: hereisthelidandthereisthe whole pot. And when it becomes hot, youcan't take it with your fingers. To pick it upwith something is impossible too. Or here isanother teapot. When you begin to pour, thelid flies offand into theglass.

At thattime, Malevich andsome other artistsworked on ceramics forawhile. But they madeit something like this: here are paintings, saysome kindof stripes or circles, andwhat theydid was to translate them to a plate or saucer.That somehow didn't take into account theform or anything. And these paintings peopleweresupposed tohang onthewall instead ofalandscape. When a portrait hangs, that's under­standable. It recalls something, gives emotionto a person. But such completely abstractthings are unnecessary for an artist. Therewere many such things--no reason, no basicprinciples, nothing. For that you don't evenhave to think. You can shut your eyes andmake it. At that time therewere painters whoargued that itwas necessary. We had arguments.We spoke out sharply. We declared their art,thatis,theartofthose priests, outside thelaw.

We knew when we were studying atStroganovthat artists, ifthey had done well, were rewardedwith a trip abroad when they graduated. Butwhen we were finishing, it turned outdifferently.

There was the war of 1914, so sometimes aperson who was finishing his studies wouldn'tsubmit his diploma painting. From 1914 to'1919, therewere a lotlike that. We called them"eternal students." They didn'tsubmit becauseofthewar. If a student had already received thetitle "artist," they'd send him to a militaryschool to make camouflage, or to thefront. Soat the Stroganov School from 1914 to 1919,therewere nograduations.

In 1919, a groupofartists decided tosetupan exhibition. We announced ourselves asartists, printed upposters andinvitations, andfound a place for ourselves, a large circularhall, a sculpting workshop. There wesetupanexhibition and invited all the members of thegovernment, artists, and so forth. There wereten of us, even fewer, andlater a viewing wasarranged, a kindofclosed exhibition, atwhichLunacharsky and the Commissar of the Arts,David Petrovich Shterenberg, were present. 13

Sothen Lunacharsky recognized usasartists-there wasa Commission from Narkompros-and they called us the "FirstGroup of RedArtists." Some artists from those ten wereinvited to receive diplomas. But we didn'tgotoget them. An artist doesn't need a diplomabecause an artist works all his life, exhibiting,and that, so to speak, is hisdiploma. It's onlyanengineer who needs adiploma, orsomebodylikea doctor. We weren't afraid ofthecivil warbecause wewere already making posters forthefront. When wewere proclaimed "Red Artists,"we were given an exemption. But my brotherand I didn't need it since we were Swedishcitizens.':' Besides, we were serving, makingpostersfor thefrontandfor theliquidation ofilliteracy, andwedid allotherkinds ofwork.

This continued until 1923. There werefourexhibitions of Obmokhu.t? And yes, when wewere thinking of a name, someone proposed"Soul Hole." Soul hole? What's that? What's asoul, anda hole to boot? Sowewere very inven­tive. Someone saidwecould callit "theSocietyofYoung Artists." Allourinstitutions atthat timeusedsyllables for theirnames: "Narkompros,"for example. So we made "Obmokhu." Thatwas right andgood, andat thesame it time wasobscene--the last two letters especially. Sothat's how Obmokhu got started. We found aplace, weproved wehad permission, andwe allworked well. But in 1923, this society broke up.Everyone went offin his own direction. And wetookup theatre.

At: The Third Obmokhu Exhibition (Fig. 2)in 1921, where wasit held?

vs: There was a kindofsalon cafe onBolshaiaDmitrovka Street and Kuznetsky Bridge. That'swhere theexhibition was, in thathall. Ithadanall-glass ceiling. When we brought our con­structions, Rodchenko and Ioganson's con­structions were already there on pedestals,and all were the sameheight. When they sawour stands, they said, "Listen, why didn'tyou

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Fig. 2 The Third Obmokhii""E.fhibition, May 1921.

Fig. 3 Spatial apparatus, 1920-21.Photograph taken by Vladimir Stenberg in 1921.

tell us you were making stands like that?" Weanswered, "What doyou mean? Aconstructionlike this you have to show at one height, andthisone at a different height so, that they canbe looked at."16

The next day or a couple of days later,Ioganson brought new stands andputhiscon­strucuons on them. He had, you see,a triangleabove and below (see Fig. 2). Rodchenkocouldn't do that. He stretched wires andhunghis constructions on the wires. There werefour-eircles, hexagons, ellipses, andtriangles.

At: What kinds ofworks didyou exhibit?

vs: We exhibited constructions ofspatial appa­ratusmade ofvarious materials (Figs. 3 and4). We also displayed drafts of constructions

Fig. 4 Spatial apparatus, probably 1921.Photograph taken by Vladimir Stenberg.

built on a large scale. Not, you see, as theyusually didthen. The other artists made objectsofvery small dimensions. But since this was anexhibition, we thought itwasn't right to makethings likethat. You ought tomake thedimen­sions close to natural size. 17

Everything we did was on a large scale. Itwas always like that. If you make a smallobject, people gather and they interfere withone another. But if you make a large object,you canlookat it from a distance.

At: Sothen, therewere drafts andcolor con­structions?

YS: Sometimes we worked with texture, madethem like a bas-relief. Inaddition, there weresimple color constructions and there werespatial color constructions. They weren't simplecolorconstructions ona flat surface like otherartists made. We saw what other artists weredoing and then tried todo things differently.

At: And theb~-reliefs, what were they like?

YS: How can I explain it to you? Well, if wewere working ona surface, ifwe were workingwith texture, then we would use all kinds ofthings: grain or something else, some sawdust,and so forth. Also little pieces of veneer, say,pieces of wood, or metal. All this was on aplane. We also made things like this: on aplane and there would be a spiral going intospace. And there was a corresponding coloredbackground.

Sowe hadcolorconstructions offour types:one, simple color constructions; two, colorconstructions involving texture; three, colorconstructions that were like bas-reliefs; andfour, those color constructions that involvedperspective, that is, they were spatial. Thesewere all lost in a fire. You see how lucky wewere! Even in theBakhrushin Museum, allourworks were there, andall were lost. Only somethings were saved inourplace, some sketches,you know, preliminary drawings. And we evensaved some photos ofmodels so that we couldreproduce them. Right now I am working onrecreating those works that distinguished usfrom otherartists.

At: Turning to the theatre, how didit happenthatMeierkhold invited you towork?

YS: He was attheexhibition attheCafe ofPoetsand after thathe invited us to work. We knewhim earlier, but he saw our work at thatexhibition, so he invited us towork, to do theproduction ofThe Magnanimous Cuckold

We were supposed tomeet with Meierkholdseveral days after reading theplay inorder tohear hiswishes. But we said, "No, we'd ratherfirst think andwork outourown solution, andpropose to you our solution." That way wecouldworkmorefreely. Inthree days, after wehad decided what we would do and how wewould do it, we went to him. We didn't haveany sketches, butwe took a sheet ofpaper withus and on the paperwe showed him what wewanted t do. We made a drawing of thatcomposition and of those elements on whichthe production should be built. Well, Meierk­hold liked it so much, he was so enchanted,andhe laughed so. Ingeneral, hewas like thatwhen I got to know him better. He was anamazingly infectious person. When he laughed,everyone began laughing.

Well, some kind of connection with thetheatre had to be worked outofficially. Therewas some administrator there who proposedthatwe receive a percentage ofthebox office.

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But whatkindof per centcouldit be when aloaf of bread cost a million roubles at thattime? Ourwish was to receive threeRed Armyrations, because the Red Army ration was astable thing, modest, but it would be fullyenough to feed each of us for a month. Weaskedfor it for thefull time we were working,beginning when westarted. But it was delayedsomehow.

Once we met at the movie theatre-thetheatrewas on Maly Dmitrovka. They showedthose hit movies there and we always went tothe openings. There at the opening, when theaudience was strolling in thelobby waiting forthe show to start, we saw Meierkhold siltingwith a student ofhisoneitherside. We greetedhim from a distance. "Hello, Vsevolod Emile­vich!" He asked, "Well, when will wehave themaquene?" And Medunetsky made a gesturewith his thumb and fingers like this, as if tosay, how about the money, the pay, so tospeak Well, several days after that wesuddenlyreceived a lettersaying that ifwedidn't bringthe maquene in three days, they would give itto anotherartist. They gave it to Popova.

At thepremiere alltheartists came, includingour former teacher, Yakulov. But Yakulovhadturned from a teacher into our good friendand weoften met and talked with him. He wasalways interested in us and we told him thatMeierkhold had invited us to work. Yakulovwas already working then, doing productionsfor the Kamerny Theatre.v He asked, "Andwhat are you doing?" We answered, "TheMagnanimous Cuckold," andtold him how wewanted todo it. We even, maybe, sketched itforhim, I don't remember exactly now. Well, andthereat theopening, Yakulov suddenly spoke.

At that time in the theatre it was like this:when the performance ended, people didn'tleave as now when everybody runs quickly tothe coatroom togettheircoats. They stayed inthe auditorium to discuss theproduction. Theart historians, artists, sculptors, writers, actorspresent in the auditorium all spoke out andgave theiropinions. And thegeneral audience,too. They would go up on the stage and fromthe stage give theiropinions. Suddenly Yakulovwent up to speak. He called Popova a "Sovietyoung lady," andsaidthat thesetdesign wasn'ther work, that itwas plagiarism, andingeneralspokevery sharply. Such a fiery Armenian!

At that time we were all members of theInstitute for Artistic Culture (INKhUK) in the[Working) Group of Constructivists and weregood friends. Suddenly neither Popova norVesnin, who was her good friend, would greetus. They shunned US. 19 Then a hearing ofourpeers wasorganized. Before thehearing whatit was all about came out. It turned out thatthey had submitted a statement alleging thatwe had persuaded Yakulov to speakand thathe hadspoken atour request. That was ridicu­lous,ofcourse,because afterall,hewas morethan twenty years older than we were. Howcouldweaskhimtosay thatwewere offended?

We weren'teven offended. If Popova didit,shedid it. At the hearing it turned out that therewasn't any plagiarism and that Popova wascompletely innocent. Meierkhold hadbeen soenchanted by our proposal. Even when hetalked to us he hadsaid, "Well, what I had inmindI won't talkabout. I likethisvery much. "So, he didn't tellher hispreliminary proposaleither and he gave her what wehadtold him.The ideawas very simple: a mounting, a setofstairsup, the chutefrom which thegrain runsdown, andthesewings thatrotate. When thosewings rotated, then thewhole thing was alreadycompletely clear.The whole subject andall. l O

And she had done all that. So it turned outthatMeierkhold had given her a theme, a task. Shecarried it out. She also liked it. Well, we wouldhave done it differently, if we haddone it. Butthat's another matter. Everyone has his ownstyle. l l

At: And afterthe incident with The Magnani­mous Cuckold, you went to workforTairov?At the Kamerny Theatre?ll

YS: Then Tairov made us an offer. He toldVesnin to tell us he wanted us to dropby. AndVesnin said to us, "Tairov wants you to makehim a new emblem for the theatre." Well,Tairov was quitea diplomat andheonly askedus to make an emblem. We went toseehim inthe evening during a performance. After theInstitute for Artistic Culture, we stopped in astore to buy some wine. When we got to thetheatre, we went right into Tairov's study inour topcoats. Hehada wardrobe, with a sepa­rate placebelow for rubbers. We tookoffourtopcoats-it wasautumn-hung them up,butwe didn't have any rubbers. And Medunetskysaid, "Let's, instead of the rubbers, put thebottles ofwine there." We putthem there, mybrotherandI. And Tairov saw it,ofcourse, andsaid, "What kind of behavior is that, puttingbollles on the floor?" We told him wedidn'thave anyrubbersandso they werein place ofthem. He said, "You shouldn't put bollles onthe floor." We asked himthen ifwecould putthem on the table. "Well, of course," he said.Soweput them on the table andhe called andordered some sandwiches from thebuffet.

Sowebegan our talk. Well, it turned outhewanted to have uswork forhim because inthefirst ten years or so he hadhadmorethan tenartists. Almost twenty.l3 And he told us hewanted for the next ten to twenty years to haveone artistinthe Kamerny Theatre. We toldhimthere were three of us and that it was eitherthree or no one. He agreed and then he ex­plained about the future, that the theatre wasgoing abroadon tour, and thatwe, as artists,would gowith the theatre. From our group ofthirteen artists, only one, Denisovsky, had beenabroad. That waswith Shterenberg toGermanywith the exhibition in 1922.24 So we wereready togive our agreement toTairov immedi­ately. But we decided to hold off. We were

greenhorn kids, sowehad toappear important.We said, "Aleksandr Yakovlevich, we'll thinkaboutit and tell you in threedays." After we'dleftwethought maybe weshould gorightbackand tellhimimmediately.

So we began working for Tairov. In theInstitute, all the artists called the Kamerny anacademic theatre. Ingeneral, weConstructivistsdidn't recognize the theatre," so we toldourcomrades that we were going to work in thetheatre in order to carryit to the absurd. Wehad that idea. But there wasn't any kind of"absurd." We enjoyed the work. Our firstproduction was The Ye//owJacketl6 (Fig.5).

At: And you went abroad? You were in Paris?

YS: We were in Paris in 1923. That was reallysomeevent. Can you imagine? Five artists trav­elling with the Kamerny Theatre. Atroupe offifty, and five artistsP

At: And thereinParisyou metPicasso.

YS: Yes. There was a rumor in Moscow thatPicasso hadbecome a Realist. There was awarbetween the leftand right artists, between theConstructivists and the Realists, that had beengoing on since 1917. Suddenly in 1922, therightists, that is the Realists, told us, "Yourking andgod, Picasso, has become a Realist. "28

Well, ofcourse, alltheartists hung their heads,that is the Constructivists, the leftists. And theothers took heart. So when the artists foundout we were going abroad with the KamernyTheatre, they asked us to be sure to visitPicasso andverify if this was really so.

When wearrived in Paris, Tairovwas alreadythere ahead of us. He had metwith Larionovwho hadearlier worked in the Kamerny Theatre,and Goncharova too, hiswife.29 Larionov wasinterested in who Tairov's artists were. WhenTairov saidhisartists were theStenberg broth­ers, right away Larionov said, "Oh, I've seentheir work in Berlin." Because you couldtravel from Paris to Berlin freely, as betweenMoscow and Leningrad. Larionov came to thefirst performance, and after the performancehe looked for us in the theatre. He found usand tookusaroundParis, made usacquaintedwith other artists, professors, and so forth.Paris at night! We didn't stay in justone cafe.We would drinka glass ofwine inone,then goon to the next and the next in order to seeeverything. We met more people that way.When wewould tell our names, all the artistswould say, "Oh! We've seenyourwork" Be­causeour works, of course, against theback­ground ofothers' paintings andscul~urconstructions ofmetal andsoforth-stood out.

We very carefully, cautiously toldLarionovof our desire to visit Picasso and hesaid, "I'llarrange it!" It turned out that Larionov andGoncharova worked for Diaghilev. Picassoalso worked for him, andPicasso's wife, OlgaKhokhIova, too.That is, itwas (Ill onetheatrical

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Fig. 5 Set designed bythe Stenberg brothersandMedunetskyfortheproduction ofThe YellowJacket,1922. Painting madeby Vladimir Stenberg in the 1970s.

Picasso gotvery interested andstayed untiltheopening. At eleven o'clock when theexhibitopened and people started coming in, well,everyone-the people engaged in art-theyall greeted him. Everyone knew him. Whenthey came up to greet him, he pointed at ourmodel and demonstrated how you had to pullon it. He was very excitable. This got backtoTairov right away, of course, that Picasso hadbeen explaining anddemonstrating toeveryonethis model andourother works. (Our construe­lions were exhibited there too, andsketches ofcostumes.) After this, fora month anda halfinBerlin, Tairov wouldn't talk to usat all.

At: How did you work with Tairov? Did youmake proposals to him? Did you readtheplayand then present him with your ideas, or didyou work itout together with him?

vs: Never together. With Tairov, we set theconditions. You understand, we couldn't do ittogether. Even with Medunetsky, our friendlyassociation didn't lastlong [they broke up in1924 following the production of The Storm(Fig. 6)], because from childhood my brotherand I hadgrown uptogether.»

Fig. 6 Maquette designed bythe Stenberg brothers andMedunetslzy for Tairov's production ofOstrovsky's The Storm.

--_.

family, so itwas very easy forhim.InParis, anexhibition oftheKamerny Theatre

was set up in a gallery.30 This gallery wasn'tfree until evening. We had to make a curtain,organize the display of the Kamerny Theatreworks, andourworks too that wehadbroughtalong. When we were preparing thisexhibition-itwas onforjust oneday-Picassocame. Hegotinterested inthework ofExler, Goncharova,andtheotherartists.We showed Picasso wherethings were because itwas impossible to displayeverything. We showed him and he started

looking. We were busy with our work. Whenwewere doing our lastcorner, heapproachedandsaw this maquette [ofThe YelJowjacket].He was terribly interested. There were tenlittleglobes hanging andwe showed him how whenyou would pull at them, the scenery wouldchange. And when you letgo,itwould gobackagain. There were four different positions.One thing, for example, would begin to spinaround. This [with thewheels], would creepalong thetrackhereandoutthatway (seeFig.5), andanother would riseupwards.

At: You always worked with your brotherthen?

VS: We always worked together, beginning in1907. We did everything together. It was thisway from childhood, because from the firstgrade my brotherand I studied together. Thesecond year I was kept back because I wassicka lotandwhen my brother entered schoolwe sat together at the same desk. It was thatway until the end. There's nothing surprisingin thatbecause wewere thesame size, broughtup in one family, andby thesame system. Weatealike andfollowed thesame work routine.If we, for instance, were decorating a squareworking inbadweather at night andI caught acold, hecaught a coldtoo. If, by chance, Iwasgoing down thestreet alone andsaw something,some shoes I liked, I'd buy two pair. If mybrother saw a shirt or something, he'd buytwo: one for himself, oneforme. There was atime, that was in 1927-28, when we woredokhas. Adokhaisa long coat with furonbothsidesthat reaches to theground. We dressedalike, only with a little difference. At thattimetherewasn't much choice. You could only buysomething bychance. Well, my brother's coatwas pony, andmine was deerskin.

When my brother and I were working to­gether, weeven made a test. What colorshouldwepaint the background? We would do it likethis: he would write a note and I would writeone. I hadno ideawhat hehadwritten andhedidn't know what I hadwritten. So we wouldwrite these notes and then look, and theycoincided! You think maybe onewas giving into the other? No. We would make onevariant,say, look at it, maybe one of our comrades

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would come over. We would talk, say somethinghere isvery good. And you know, therewas nobargaining, nothing.

We worked likethis: there was a production,thatwasNegro, at the Kamerny Theatre.V Wehada largeboardand my brother andI wouldsit next to each other talking. We told eachothera lotofamusing things. There was laugh­ing, and all thewhile we were drawing some­thing. We justcouldn'tworkout an approachforNegro. We satand satandthen we looked,you know, to see what we had drawn. Well,thatwe could use for something, and that forsomething else. Suddenly wefound it! That onewe could make intoNegro. It was a tiny, tinydrawing. I can't remember now which one ofus drewit, meor my brother.

AI: How long didyou work forTairov?

vs: About ten years. We began in 1922 andbroke up in 1931.

AI: Broke up? What was thereason?

Fig. 7Ascenejrom theproduction ojline ofFire, 1931, showingthe setconstruction designed bytheStenberg brothers.

Fig. 8 Mural ojLenin on the wall ojVladimir Stenberg's studio.

VS: What canI tellyou? There were a lotofrea­sons. Whoever went towork attheKamerny wasimmediately a slave ofthat theatre. Nothing out­sideexisted, not family, not anything. The theatrewas absolutely everything. But we couldn't bethat way. We were working, making posters,decorating the city-we decorated varioussquares during that time-and that didn'tinterfere. But in 1928, when we began todecorate Red Square, there was the OctoberCelebration, and the May Day Celebration,then there was MYUD (International YouthDay), and Anti-War Day, on thefirst ofAugust.That was a month and a halfeach time. Thatmeant four times a year, sixmonths a year wehadto devote ourselves fully andcompletely tothat work. We missed coming to the theatresometimes, when we had to be there. Therewas thatconflict.

Then when thetheatre was being rebuilt, wedid theauditorium. The architectural construc­tiondidn'tallow foreven distances tobemadefrom the floor to thefirst Circle, to thesecondcircle, and to the ceiling. Those differencesoccurred because of the lobby which wasalready in existence. The lobby was undertheprotection of theMonuments ofArt andAntiq­uities. Butwefound a way outof thesituation:to make the back wall of the theatre and thewhole ceiling in the auditorium all black.When webegan, Tairov said, "Why black?" Wesaid, "Aleksandr Yakovlevich, thatwill beverygood because we've donelighting forthecirclesand it'llbevery effective.

Do you know how we persuaded him? Whenthe painters put on the first coat-it was aprimer-it turned out such a messy daub.Tairov called us up. "Come immediately.""What's the matter?" "You primed the wallsand it's impossible even to lookat." We said,"That'sright, wedid. It's impossible to lookat

the firstcoat, but when wecover it thesecondtime, thenyou can look. Then itwill be velvetyblack." But Tairov just wouldn't listen. Hedemanded, "Come, and that's final. We needanother color." We said, "No. It mustn't beanother color. If after we've done the wholething it turnsout to bebad (we always arguedthis way), we'll repaint itatourexpense." Thenext daywe talked to thepainters. And in twodays they had painted everything. After theyfinished we came. We hadn't come after thefirst coat to have a look because we knew itwould be impossible to look at. We looked,everything was perfect. We went in to Tairov."Well, wereyou there?" "Yes, I was, unfortu-

nately." "And so, then?" "I never thought itwould turn out so well."

Then, when the theatre was being rebuilt,wehadan ideaabouttheunderstage area. ForThe Line of Fire,H we could take out theentire floor. Here, I have thatdecor (Fig. 7).It starts from beneath the floor, from a floorlowerthantheauditorium. Here weseethetopof the decor. All the actors come out frombelow. They don't come outon thelevel oftheformerstage. But Tairov, outofhabit, just thesamehadsomeactorscome outon thelevel ofthe regular floor. Well, thatwasone thing. Thesecond was that when we were doing thedecor, we arranged with the engineer how it..

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Fig. 9 The Stenberg brothers with a number oftheir theatre posters in the background

shouldbe done,so thatitwould be dismount­able. There, in other words, is the floor, andhere thegirderscouldmove backandforth onrails. But the engineer who was doing it, hisnamewasTrusov andhewas a coward likehisname. That means hewas afraid ofeverything.He persuaded Tairov to do it so that thesegirderswould be shorter, likethis: halfof thegirderswould behere,andtheotherhalfhere.Tairov agreed to that. But we didn't knowanything about it. At that time we were alsobusy with Red Square. There was a phone call."Your decor won't go into the hold." "Whywon't it go in?" And when we arrived, we sawthat there were these girders coming fromhere, and from there on the other side. Andtherewasa meter difference here,anda meterthere. Also, there were two electric transfonners-they weredecorative-and now they didn'tfit. We hadto remove onetransformer inorderto getthe girders in.Tairov said, "You gave usthe wrong scale, and the decor was madewrong." But everything was correct. It turnedout thathe had made it hisown way. We said,

"How could you do it like that?" If theactorshad come out from below, that would havebeen a new effect. Aconstruction. Here is theline of fire, and all the actors come out fromthere, and notfrom thewings, you see. Balle­rinas run in and out from thewings. But herethere is no floor, only the narrow forestage,and further all the action comes out frombelow. But he didn't usethat.

Well, all this piled up. And Tairov had agrudge against us. He thought weshould giveourselves over completely to the theatre. Buthowcouldwegive ourselves to thetheatre? Tothetheatreor toRed Square? Forus,itwas RedSquare. There, a million people passed byon

celebration days. Fourtimes a year.

At: And you did all thedecorfor the celebra­tions?

YS: We did everything beginning in 1928 to1963. For thirty-five years I decorated RedSquare. At first with my brother, then after hisdeath with my sister, Udiya, and then with myson beginning in 1945. In 1963 I began tolosemy sight, then I hadto stop.>

At: And when did you do this mural here onthewall? (Fig. 8)

YS: There'sa whole story with thatmural. Anarchitect was building a new apartment build­ing, not far from the center, on a main thor­oughfare, Bakunin Street. He asked us to do amural. It was included inhis project. The build­ingwas already built, only theinternal finishingwas going on. The mural was to be like this:Lenin on theConstruction Site. My brother andIdida sketchofthemural. When we hadmade

thesketch, wetookit toshow him andhelikedit a lot.

At: It waslikethis one here?

YS: No. Here, Lenin is on an armored vehicle.AJid in that one, Lenin was against a constructionsitebackground. That director liked this sketch.He said,"We are a workers' coop. We haven'tgot much money so don't name a large sum.Make it cheap." We said, "Do you want us todo itfornothing?" "How canitbefornothing?"he said. "You must have something in mind."We said, "Yes. The house has four stories."(That's how they built in the twenties, and

without elevators.) "Now on the fifth floor, inthe attic, give usa cornerthere. Astudio." Hesaid to the architect, "Listen, canwedo that,make a studio?" The architect said, "Astudio?Yes." He thought forawhile. "You know what;'he said, "we'll use the attic over the wholehouse and make a fifth floor under the roof.We can putso many people there. Make apart­ments for toot many inhabitants. " They werepleased. "Let's go ahead and make the plansright away," the director said. The architectmadethem and he gave uswhat we hadaskedfor. Well, we had asked too modestly: oneroom of thirty-five meters. But they made aroom like thisfor us, andwith thisroomtheymade a bathroom and a corridorWith all theconveniences. In thecorridor was a little comerwith a stove. Something like a kitchen. Evenwhen all that had been done, we somehowdidn't believe it would beso simple.

We settled thereandtherewelived. And wedid themural. There was this artist who hadaninvention: special paints that could be paintedon plaster. They were advertised at all theconstruction sites and organizations. We couldpaintwith them and neither rain nor snow­nothing-would affect them. We didthemuralin thefall , andinearly spring,when everythingbegan to thaw, it dripped, it rained, and thepaintflaked off. You know, you could just runyour hand over it and only naked plasterremained. Well, we called the organizationthat made the paint. They tried all sorts ofexcuses, said they'd give us new paints andallthat. But we decided that to risk it. . .. Wewould have to putthescaffolding upagain anddo everything over. Well, we began to discussthe matter. Where was the guarantee that thenext spring again. . . . Then there was this:duringthewinter, various defects hadalreadyappeared there. Sothat, well, onsucha theme-the figure ofLenin-it was just impossible.

Sotime passed. In 1930, they asked meandmy brother to make for the front page of thenewspaper Izvestia, "Lenin on the ConstructionSite." Well, we hadthat theme already resolved.We had a sketch and we did it. That waspublished in the newspaper. The work on thefacade was lost. And 1 somehow wanted torestore that work we had done there. Butconstruction is already different, because bythattime therewere already missiles andsput­niks flying. But the right side 1 decided toleave. You see thatbrickwall there, and fromthe left side, there is that border.

At: When did you begin making film posters(Flg.9)?

YS: The first poster we did was The Eyes ofLove.·is That was in 1923. On itwe wrote "Sten,"ihefirst four letters ofourlast name, because wedidn't know if wewere going to make more ornot. The second poster wesigned .'Stenberg,"and the following ones,"2 Stenberg 2." Whenwemade posters forthemovies, everything was

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Fig. 10 Posterfor thefilm High Society Wager, 1927.

in motion because in films, everything moves.Other artists worked in the center, they putsomething there and around it was an emptymargin. But with us, everything seems to begoing somewhere (Figs. 10 and 11). Onetime they asked us to make a poster for themovie theatre at the Metropole, an outsideadvertisement for a movie called Pat andPatasbon. We made these huge figures , andthey spun. They were illuminated from below.It was very effective.

Then therewas a film called To the VirginLands, that is, where earlier nothing was plowed.And we did a bookcover advertising il.-ib Onthe cover we showed a peasant against thehorizon, with his wooden plow and a skinnynag. When we brought that cover toNovy Mir,one of the editors, Tugendkhold, a famouscritic ofoursanda character, took onelook>?He said, "You know, draw a shadow herefromthe horse and the plowman." We said, "Itwouldn't fit thestyle. Here there'sno shadow,nothing. You can'tdo that." He gave usa look."No, draw it," hesaid. "!fyoudon't do it, thenI won 't accept yourwork. "Wesaid"Verywell,we'll do it. But all the artists will understandthatwe didn't think it up, that itwas your idea.You forced us todo it like that." He said, "Justthe same, otherwise I won't take it." He wasstubborn likethat. We thought, really, theywillguess that it isn't ours. We wanted to do thecover because we thought it was very effective.

Tugendkhold hada huge office.There weretwo tables here and two tables there whereother assistants were sitting. And herewas histable. When we came,Tugendkhold said, "Well,did you do it?" We answered, "We did it." Wegave him thecover. At first he looked at it thisway, then he looked at it that way, then helooked at it the other way. "Yes, yes. What'sthisyou've done?" hesaid. We said, "Well,youtold us. You forced us to do it. And wedid.""Do you know what?" he said, "Take out the

shadow!" We said, "No! We're not going totake it out. Let the other artists see. They'llunderstand that you forced us to put in theshadow. We did theshadow. Now everybody isgoing to laugh. That's why we won't take itout."

Then to spite him we put several artists upto a trick. Friends of ours. "When you're atNovyMir," we said,"drop inonTugendkhold.Say something abouttheshadow he forced usto do." "What, what's this? What did theSten­bergs do?That shadow? That's not theirs!" Sothey went tohim andsaidthat, He gotso angrythat he wrote an article. It was a very loudarticle. He wrote that the Stenbergs, withoutconsidering our streets, made posters withsuch sazhen-size heads. (A sazhen-that'stwo meters.) He said, "They make two-meter

heads. Not only the passers-by, but even thehorsesshyaway from these posters."

Well, we read that thing, the article of his,my brother and I, and we decided to go andthank him. After several days, wewent to seehim. When he caught sight of us, he said,"Comrades!" And turning to his assistants,"Help meout.There are two of them, andI'monly one. They came to beat me up. Fromthem, you can expect anything." My brotherand I had already agreed what we would do.We both approached him. We went shoulderto shoulder. We approached the desk, calledhim byhisfirst name and patronymic. "We'revery happy. We're very grateful to you forwriting an article like that. Thank you verymuch!" We bowed so, and a long pause. We

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- _.-

Fig. 11 Posterforthe Dziga Vertov film Man with a Movie Camera, 1929.

stood like that. He looked at us and then saidto everybody, "You saw what they did? Theycame to thank me. That's some kind of trickon their part." Then westraightened up. "No,we sincerely thank you. Write more articleslike that." "Why?" he asked. "Because afteryour article, people don't just walk by ourposters. They stop and look to see the name.Who made that poster? The people are inter­ested, and after that, there's always a crowd.Everyone whoreadsthearticle goesouton thestreet to seewhere those bigheads arethatthehorsesshyaway from. Write morearticles likethat." Then he turnedto everybody and said,"Well, I didsaythey were bandits. What canbedonewiththem. You seewhat they're like."

With Tairov there was also an interestingthing. We noticed that Tairov, like every director,of course, when he looked at a poster, hedidn't look at what was portrayed. He onlylooked to see the size of the letters in AliciaKoonen's name, andwhat size were thelettersof the others' names. Well, wedecided to dothis kind of a trick. We made a poster on ablackbackground. Alittle square inthemiddle.Then in that little square we used differentcolorsandwrote insmall letters thatonsuchadatetherewould besuch-and-such a premiere,the name oftheplay, thedirector isso-and-so,and thestar,Alicia Koonen, andtheotherstoo.Everything smaller andsmaller. And we broughtthe poster to show him. He looked and said,

"Well," he said, "you're joking. You're goingto put a poster like thatup on thestreet?" Wesaid, "Yes, exactly, on thestreet. We did it forthe street." We'd worked in the cinema andknew thisstyle ofpublicity. We knew what kindof posterswould be pasted up tomorrow andthe day after. They had a program for theweek. And if tomorrow they hung a poster likethis.... All the otherswould be white posterswith the text written in black andred letters. Aposter like this on a black background wouldstandout. We knew that. We said it had to bedoneprecisely thatway. He said, "What doyouwant, for the theatre to go broke completely?No onewill readit, noonewill come." We saidwe were certain it would be exactly the otherway around. But in case it did happen, wewould make him a new poster and pay forhaving itprinted. We convinced him. Ingeneral,wedidn't usually have to convince Tairov. Butin thiscasewehad to.

When theposterwas putup,theartists, thatis the actors, going along thestreeton thedaybefore the premiere saw a crowd. They wentup. What's this? They're standing near thatblack poster. The actors didn't know whatkind of poster there would be. They went upand there was a crowd of people. They wentfurther, andagain a crowd ofpeople. Everybodywaspushing, they wanted to read it.There ontheposterwasan announcement thatsaid, ..Atthe Kamerny Theatre, onsuch-and-such a date,there will be a premiere." They came to thetheatre and told Aleksandr Yakovlevich, "Listen,do you know what's happening on the streetright now? Everywhere where there'sa posterwith a black background.... We didn't evenknow thatit was the Kamerny Theatre. There'sa crowd ofpeople standing. Everyone's pushing,everyone wants to readit." Well, ofcourse, weknew when it was going to be put up andwewent too. We gottothetheatre. "Well, AleksandrYakovlevich? Will we have to make another

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poster?" He answered, "How could you do it?You took a risk." We said, "We didn't riskanything. We were certain. And actually, wedid tell you what would happen." "Yes," hesaid,"actually, you're right!" You know, therewere many suchamusing and interesting epi­sodeslikethatin my life. End

NotesI Vladimir Avgustovich Stenberg, born 4 April

1899; Georgii Avgustovich, born 20 March1900. The third child was a sister, LidiyaAvgustovna, born 1902. Additional biographicalmaterial on the Stenberg brothers may befound in : A. Abramova, "2 Stenberg 2,"Dekoratiunoe Iskusstvo, 9, 1965, 18-25; 2Stenberg 2. exhibition catalog, Galerie JeanChauvelin, Paris and elsewhere; The AvantGarde in Russia, 1910-1930, exhibitioncatalog, Los Angeles, 1980, 244 - 45.

2 In 1933, when Georgii died (in a motor bikeaccident), VS considered abandoning art andreturning to his first Jove, engineering. SeeAbramova, 24.

3 They also helped their father paint the ceilingofthe Hotel Metropole restaurant in 1912. It isclear from the way VS talks that his father hadan enormous influence onthe two brothers.

4 Fedor Fedorovich Fedorovsky (1883 -1955).Also a graduate of the Stroganov Art School,Fedorovsky began his career asa theatre artistin 1907 at the Zimin Opera Theatre inMoscowwhere he worked for a number of years. In1921 he became assistant, and later chief setdesigner at the Bolshoi Theatre. 1 have noinformation onKazokhin.

5 All of the state-subsidized art schools wererenamed Svomas (Svobodnye gosudarstvennyekhudozhestvennye masterskie). The StroganovArt School and the Moscow Institute ofPainting,Sculpture, andArchitecture were combined toform the Moscow Svomas. In 1920, it wasrenamed VKhUTEMAS (Higher State Art-Tech­nical Studios) and in 1926, VKhlITEIN (HigherState Art-Technical Institute). Characteristicof the new spirit that prevailed in these artschools at thattime was the resolution passedby art students in Petrograd inApril 1918 that"art and artists must be absolutely free inevery manifestation of their creativity artaffairs are the affairs ofartists themselves "(Quoted in John E. Bowlt, ed. and trans.,Russian Artof tbe Aiant-Garde: Theory andCriticism 1902 -1934, New York, 1976, xxxv.)

6 Pyotr Petrovich Konchalovsky (1876 - 1956),Georgii Bogdanovich Yakulov (1882-1928),Vladimir Evgrafovich Tatlin (1885 - 1953),Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Osmerkin (1892­1953). For biographical information on theseartists (except Osmerkin), see entries in TheAuant-Garde in Russia, 1910-1930.

7 All three poets were leading figures in theRussian Futurist movement. The artist VasiliiKomardenkov (1897-1973) also recalls in hismemoirs (Dni Minuvshie, Moscow, 1972, 53­54) how Mayakovsky would come to the Free

State Art Studios and read his poetry to thestudents. One ofthe first artists tosupport theBolsheviks, Mayakovsky proclaimed in one ofhis poems, "The streets areourbrushes! Thesquares-s-our palettes!"

8 Konstantin Konstantinovich Medunetsky(1899 - 1935). Very little is known aboutMedunetsky aside from the fact thathewas apupil ofTatlin and the Pevsner brothers andwas an active member along with the Stenbergbrothers inObmokhu.

9Aristarkh Vasilevich Lentulov (1882 -1934),painter and theatre artist.

10 KonstruktilJisty, exhibition catalog, Moscow,1921. The cover and page with the text arereproduced in Von der Ftache zum Raum:Russland 1916-24/From Surface toSpace:Russia 1916-24, exhibition catalog, Cologne,Galerie Gmurzynska, 1974, 29. In the catalogarelisted three types of"Constructions": colorconstructions, projects for spatio-constructionalapparatus, andspatial apparatus. Four ofthespatial apparatus from this period have beenreconstructed. See 2 Stenberg 2, 70ff.

II Aleksei (Aleksandr) Eliseevich Kruchenykh(1886-1969). ACubo-Futurist poet who calledhis style ofwriting zaum (beyond the mind).Designated by Kruchenykh asthe language ofthe future, zaum was intended tocommunicatedirectly the internal state ofthe speaker.

12 In connection with their work in the theatre,at a meeting at INKhUK on 19 January 1924,the brothers gave a report titled, "New Principlesfor the Material Design of Theatrical StageSpace," inwhich they critically analyzed varioustraditional forms ofscenic design and statedthat the basic principle oftheir work was "theuse of all the material resources of the stageexclusively for utilitarian objectives, a strivingfor themaximum ofscenic possibilities with aminimum ofconstruction." From the archivesofA.B. Babichev, quoted inAbramova, 22.

13 Anatolii Vasilevich Lunacharsky (1875 -1933),head of the newly-established Narkompros(People's Commissariat for Enlightenment);David Petrovich Shterenberg (1881-1948).The exhibition referred to here is the firstObmokhu (Society ofYoung Artists) Exhibition.It was held in May ofthatyear. The group wasgiven the former Faberge shop onthe corner ofKuznetsky Most andNeglinnaya Street astheirworkshop. Here they installed metal cuttingmachines and welding equipment and set towork turning out stencils for postcards andbadges, constructing travelling libraries anddecorating streets and squares for holidays.See Bowlt, xxxvii - xxxviii.

14 Vladimir Stenberg became a Soviet citizen in1933.

15 The second Obmokhu Exhibition was held inthe group's own workshop in May 1920, thethird exhibition a year later (see below) andthe final one in 1923, By 1923, the Stenbergbrothers were no longer participating in thegroup's activities.

16 See Von der Placbe zum Raum, 18, for a

photograph of the invitation to this exhibit.The photograph (Fig. 2) isone oftwo extantphotographs of the exhibition, both taken byRodchenko. Unfortunately, the wall onwhichmany ofVladimir's works were exhibited isnotshown ineither photograph.

171n thephotograph (Fig. 2), according toVS,the large work by his brother in the center ofthe right hand wall was about 1.5 meters inheight andthelarge standing construction inthecenter about three meters tall.

18 Yakulov's productions at the Kamerny Theatreincluded theCube-Futurist baroque setting forE.T.A. Hoffman's Princess Brambilla (1920),and the Constructivist set for Lecoc's operettaGirojle-Girojla (1922).

19 INKhUK was formed in May 1920 asanauton­omous group for analyzing anddiscussing theproperties andeffects ofart. It was originallyheaded by Kandinsky, but the group soonrejected his psychological approach toartandhe left at the end of1920. The group was thenreorganized by Rodchenko, Varvara Stepanova,the musician Nadezhda Bryusova, and thesculptor Aleksei Babichev who drew upa morerational program based onobjective analysis.In early 1921, the Stenberg brothers andMedunetsky joined a number ofthese artists atINKhUK-Rodchenko, Stepanova, and logan­son, all ofwhom were by then rejecting "pureart" for industrial Constructivism-in formingtheWorking Group ofConstructivists. Popovawas a part ofanother faction, "The WorkingGroup ofObjectivists," and Vesnin, although amember ofINKhUK, was not an active memberofeither ofthese groups. However, by the endof 1921, all of these artists were united inheeding the call for INKhUK members to takeup "practical work in production" (cf Bowlt,xxxv - xxxvi). For a more detailed study ofthese groups see: Christina A. Lodder, Con­structitJism: From Fine Art into Design, Russia1913-1933, New Haven and London, to bepublished 1982.

20 The play, by Fernand Crommelynck, isabout apoet-scribe, Bruno, and his wife, Stella, wholive inanabandoned mill. Bruno isso insanelyjealous ofhis wife thathe forces herto go tobed with all the men in the village in order tofind out which one isher lover. InMeierkhold'sproduction, the three wheels andwindmill allrotate atdifferent speeds toreflect the intensityofBruno's jealousy. Inthe climactic scene, allthe village males line up at Stella's door. Inassembly-line style, each one enters, exits, andthen comes down the "chute" to the stagefloor. For a fuller description of Popova'sconstruction and of the production see AlmaH. Law, "Le cocu magnifique de Crommelynck,"Les uoies de la creation tbeatrale, VI, Paris,1979,13-43.

21 From the available information, the actualgenesis ofthe construction for Cuckold isnotat allclear. Ivan Aksyonov, who had translatedCrommelynck's play from the French, main­tained thattheplanning ofthe set was worked

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out in open discussion in the MeierkholdTheatre Workshop. He also assigns a key roletoPopova for the final conception and executionofit ("Proizkhozhdenie ustanovki 'Velikodush­nyi rogonosets," ,3Afzsha TIM, 1926,7 -1 1).Meierkhold also takes a similar position inregard toPopova's role in a letter tothe editoroftziestiia (9May 1922). As Christina Lodderpoints out inher article, "Constructivist Theatreasa Laboratory for anArchitectural Aesthetic,"Popova's accomplishment isn't diminished bythe fact that the original idea of a skeletalapparatus may have come from the Stenbergbrothers andMedunetsky !..Architectural Asso­ciation Quarterly, 11,2, 1979,30-33). Infact, the works the Stenberg brothers wereexhibiting in 192 I, and particularly the standsthey hadconstructed for displaying them, aremuch more suggestive of the design for theCuckold construction than are either Popova'searlier theatre designs in 1920 - 2I at theKamerny Theatre (which Lodder characterizesas "a complex construction of perspectivalconfusion and ambiguous planes defined bycolor") orher"preparatory investigations" inthe "5 x 5 = 25" exhibition which hadprompted Meierkhold to invite Popova to joinhis Workshop. For a further discussion ofthisquestion, see E. Rakitina, "Liubov Popova,iskusstvo i manifestv," Khudozhnik, stsena,ekran. Moscow, 1975, 152-167.

22 A1eksandr Yakovlevich Tairov (1885 - 1950)formed theKamerny Theatre in 1914 togetherwith his wife, actress Alicia Koonen, and agroup ofyoung performers. The theatre was at23 Tverskoi Boulevard (where the PushkinTheatre isnow located).

23 Among the prominent artists who had workedfor theKamerny Theatre uptothattime were:Pavel Kuznetsov, Natalia Goncharova, SergeiSudeikin, Aristarkh Lentulov, Aleksander Exter,and Boris Ferdinandov. See Abram Efros,Kamernyi teatr i ego khudozhniki, 1914­1934, Moscow, 1934. The fact thatthere wasno love lost between Meierkhold and Tairovmay have hadsomething to do with Tairov'sinvitation to the Stenbergs andMedunetsky atthat time. In a review ofTairov's book, Notesoja Director, Meierkhold called the KamernyTheatre, "imitative and amateurish" (PechaI'i revo/iutsiia, I, 1922,306).

24 The Erste Russische Kunstausstellung at theGalerie van Diemen inBerlin. Three construc­tions byGeorgii Stenberg were inthe exhibition(Nos. 563, 564, 565, in the catalog) andoneconstruction (No. 566) and one TechnicalApparatus (No. 567) by Vladimir. See 2 Sten­berg 2, 64. Nikolai Fyodorovich Denisovsky(1902 - 1981).

25 The only justification the productivist Con­structivists saw for working in the theatre waseither to hasten its demise (they felt it shouldgooutinto the streets and transform itself intouseful work such asbuilding houses) ortouseit as a laboratory (asStepanova did with her"furniture" and costumes for Meierkhold's

production ofThe Death ojTare/kin in 1922).See Rakitina, 152 - 53- The opposition oftheConstructivists to theatre explains why Popovawas so reluctant to get openly involved in thedesign of the Cuckold construction until thevery last moment.

26 Ashort-lived production staged by the studentsofthe Kamerny Theatre School-Studio, directedby K. G. Svarozhich. Tairov had himself directeda production ofthis "poetic romance" in theChinese manner by George C. Hazleton, Jr.(1868 - 1921) and]. Harry Benrimo (1875­1942) in 1913 at the Free Theatre in St.Petersburg.

27 The theatre left for Paris on20 February 1923and spent ten months abroad. In addition tovisiting Paris, where they performed at theTheatre des Champs Elysees, they also touredGermany, performing in numerous cities in­cluding Berlin and Munich.

28 "Picasso's 'realism'" isno doubt a reference tohis second Neoclassical period ofthe early 19205.

29 Mikhail Larionov and Goncharova had designedthe decor for Goldoni's The Fan in 1915. Thetwo artists settled in Paris in 19I7.

30The exhibition was in the Galerie PaulGuillaume on23 March 1923-

31 The trio worked together ononly three produc­tions at the Kamerny Theatre: The YellowJacket, The Babylonian Lawyer by AnatoliyaMariengof (1923), and Ostrovsky's The Storm(1924).

32 All God's Chillun Got Wings by Eugene O'Neill(1929). Tairov also staged two other O'Neillplays: The Hairy Ape (1926) and Desire Underthe Elms (1926). The Stenberg brothers designedthesets for both ofthese productions aswell.

33Aplay about the construction ofa hydroelectricstation by Nikolai Nikitin (1895 - 1963). Ithad its premiere on6June 1931, and was thelast production the Stenberg brothers did attheKamerny Theatre.

34An operation for cataracts partially restoredVS's eyesight.

35 According to Stenberg, he and his brotherdesigned about 300 film posters. Many ofthenrank, along with those ofRodchenko, Klucis,andLavinsky, asamong the best Soviet postersmade in the 1920s.

36This was a popular way to advertise films inthe 1920s.

37Yakov Aleksandrovich Tugendkhold (1882­1928).

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Kazimir MalevicbE.F. KovtunTranslatedfrom tbe Russian byCbarlolle Douglas.

E.£. Kovtun is curatorofgrapbics at tbeState Russian Museum, Leningrad.

Charlotte Douglas bas done extensiveresearch on tbe worlts ofMalevlcb andIs currently writing abouttbe worlls ofVellmir Kblebnillov.

sense which establishes con­nections between superficialphenomena. Russian painting,especially Malevich's experi­ments, attempted to achieve adeeper knowledge of theworldthrough intuition, to master in­tuition as a creative method.Similar aspirations may be dis­cerned in the poetic work ofV.V.KhIebnikov, A.E. Kruchenykh, E.G.Gum, and others. That which wasclosedto the usual reasonhadto become clear in the intui­tion, whose working ought tobe forced and come out of theunconscious. "The new creativeintuitive reason, by replacingunconscious intuition; ' M.V.Matiushin wrote, "will give tothe artist all the strength of itsknowledge."2

Malevich's Cow and Violinof1911 (Fig. 2) was the earliestmanifesto of Alogism. On thereverse of this canvas Malevich

wrote: " An alogical confrontation of the twoforms-a cowanda violin-as a moment ofstruggle with logic, with naturalness, withPhilistine senseand prejudice. K. Malevich."The combination of cow and violin, absurdfrom the point of view of common sense,proclaimed a universal connection of phe­nomena in the world. Intuition reveals "re­mote links in the world," which the usuallogic sometimes perceives asabsurd. To real­ize that any particular event is included in auniversal system, to see and embody the in­visible which is revealed to spiritual sight­thisis theessence ofpost-Cubist explorationsin Russian painting. It is most keenly expressedin theworks ofMalevich. For him thetransra­tional is notthe irrational; it has.its own logic

Fig. 1 Ma/evicb,Black Square,1913, oiloncanvas. Leningrad. State Russian Museum.

Beyond-tbe-Mlnd RealismFrom the beginning of the 1910s, Malevich'sworkwas a kindof proving ground in whichpainting tested and perfected new possibili­ties. Explorations were carriedout invariousdirections. Malevich was attracted to Cubismand Futurism, but his principal achievementin these years was a cycle of pictures whichhe termed "Alogism," or "Beyond-the-MindRealism": Cow andViolin, Aviator, English­man in Moscow, Portrait of Ivan K/iun.These presented a new method of spatialorganization in thepicture, unknown inFrenchCubism. In Alogism Malevich attempted tomove beyond the boundaries of the common

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In recent years a rather exten­sive literature about KazimirMalevich hasaccumulated, andit continues to grow. And theworkitselfhas turned out to bemuch more varied than it ap­peared to scholars only a fewyears ago. In theshort time be­tween 1903 and 1913 Malevichwent from Impressionism to thevarying forms of Russian Fau-vism (Primitivism and further)to Cubism and Suprematism.But the objectless canvases-his Black Square (Fig. 1)-werenotthelastphase in Male-vich's creative development.The present essay includes adiscussion of the later, almostunknown works by Malevich,done beginning in the late1920s. In thesecanvases Male­vich returns toa figurative style,but one that has memories ofSuprematism. This lastperiod isperhapshisgreatest.

The decades thatwere passed in France inthe renewal of art (beginning with Impres­sionism) were consolidated in Russia intoten or fifteen years. Malevich's growth as anartist was similarly compressed. From thefirst , features inherent in the personality ofthe artist appeared in his work: a rigorousenergy, a striving for a specific end, andfinally, a genuine passion for painting. Male­vich once said to a pupil about hisyouth, "Ionce worked as a draftsman, . .. as soon asworkendedI would rushstraight toa sketch,to my paints. You justgrab them and rushtothesketches. And thisfeeling forpainting canbe extremely, unbelievably strong. Apersoncouldsimply explode."!

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butofa high order. In 1913 Malevich wrote toMatiushin: "We have come as faras therejec­tionof reason but we rejected reason so thatanother kind of reason could grow in us,which incomparison towhat we have rejected,can be called beyond-reason, which also haslaw and construction and sense, and only byknowing this will we have work based on thelaw of the truly new, the beyond-reason.' Itwas not bychance, therefore, that even as hewithdrew even further from visual reality, Male­vich persisted in using the word realism todefine his styles: Cubo-Futurist Realism, Beyond­the-Mind Realism; even theSuprematist mani­festo bore the subtitle The New Realism inPainting.

ABeyond-the-Mind Realist picture enteredinto a new relationship with the surroundingworld. It still hadan upanddown, butit lackedweight, as if its plastic structure were suspendedin universal space. The absence ofgravity asanorganizing structural principle is especiallykeenly felt in Aviator, in which the figureseems to riseupor soarin itsweightlessness.

Victory over tbe Su"The ideafor futurist performances aroseafterthe joining, in March 1913, of the Union ofYouth artists' with Hylea, a literary groupwhich included Vladimir Mayakovsky, VelimirKhlebnikov, Elena Guro, Alexei Kruchenykh,Vladimir and Nikolai Burliuk, and BenediktLivshits. At Matiushin's summer house inUusikirkko (Karelsky Isthmus), Finland, inthe summer of 1913, the First All-RussianCongress of Futurists was held. Malevich andKruchenykh attended. The Congress partici­pants issued a manifesto, in which they an­nounced the creation of a theater for Future­People and coming performances.' Work onthe opera Victory over the Sun began rightthereat thesummer house. The poets Khlebni­kov and Kruchenykh," the composer MikhailMatiushin, andtheartist Malevich joined forcesfor theproduction oftheopera; it played on 3and5 December 1913 attheLuna Park Theaterin St. Petersburg.

Malevich's sketches for thecostumes wereCubist, but inclined towards objectlessness.The drawings Futurist Strongman, GraveDigger, and A Certain Evil Intender," havecoloredplanes andblack squares andrectan­gles. Malevich's reorientation towards Su­prematism is felt even more clearly in thesketches for the curtain and backdrops; theSuprematist square is thebasis oftheir compo­sition. Asimilar drawing was published on thecover of thepublication Victory overtheSun(December 1913). But the artist himself hadstill notrecognized these important changes inhis work. This is evident from his letters toMatiushin, who intended to publish a newedition of Victory over the Sun in 1915. "Iwould be very grateful ifyou would include adrawing of mine for the curtain in the actwhere thevictory took place.... That drawing

Fig 2 Malevich, Cow andViolin, 1911, oilonuood. Leningrad. State Russian Museum.

will have great significance in painting. Thatwhich was done unconsciously, now bearsextraordinary fruit."8 Enclosing the drawingin a following letter, Malevich added: "Thecurtain depicts a black square, theembryo ofall possibilities; in itsdevelopment it acquiresa terrible strength. It is the ancestor of thecubeand thesphere; itsdisintegration bringsan amazing standard in painting."? Here, indrawings for Victory overthe Sun, the finaltransition toSuprematism was accomplished.

The "LastFuturist" ExblbltlonThe new direction in Russian painting, evenafter itappeared, remained without a name forquite some time. Until thefall of 1915 noonebut Malevich knew what was happening inhisstudio. Only in the middle of 1915, when atleast thirty objectless paintings had been fin­ished (Fig. 3), did Malevich give the nameSuprematism to hiswork. The Moscow artistsduring 1915 were preparing a final exhibitionofCubo-Futurism, but in it Malevich intendedto exhibit and affirm hisnew style. Ivan Kliunand Mikhail Menkov exhibited with him, thefirst artists to adopt theSuprematist idea. Theother participants in theexhibition, however,objected to calling Malevich's work Suprema­tism inthecatalog. The artist hadtoacquiesce,butthebrochure about Suprematism which hehad prepared was available at the opening oftheexhibition. 10 Inaddition, theartist hung up

a sign saying "Suprematism in Painting. K.Malevich."

The Last Futurist Exhibition 0,10 (Zero­Ten) opened at N.E. Dobychina's PetrogradArt Bureau on Mar's Field on 17 December1915. No scholar hasyet considered theoddnumerical ending of the exhibition's name.Apparently, it has been taken as the ordinarycapriciousness of the Futurists. One contem­porary critic commented that thename oftheexhibition was "mathematically illiterate." Ac­tually, "O,lO"-that is, "one tenth"-doesnot correspond at all to the translation in theparentheses, "zero-ten." Malevich's letters,however, illuminate the problem. On 29 May1915 he wrote, "We are undertaking thepub­lication of a journal and are beginning todiscuss how and what. In view of thefact thatin itweintend to reduce everything tozero, wehave decided to call itZero. We ourselves willthen go beyond zero. "II The ideaof reducingtheforms ofallobjects tozero andprogressingbeyond zero into objectlessness belonged toMalevich. In thebrochure that was soldat theexhibition the artist announced his completebreakwith the forms ofobjects. He wrote: "1have turned myself into the null of forms andhave gone out beyond 0-1."12 The nine otherparticipants in the exhibition also aspired togo beyond zero. This is the source of thezero-ten in theparentheses. Aletter from IvanPuni to Malevich from July 1915 corroboratesthis interpretation oftheexhibition's title: "Wehave to paint a lotnow. The space isvery largeand if we, ten people,'> paint twenty-five pic­tures apiece, then itwill beonly just enough. "I ~

SuprematlsmAt thebeginning ofthetwentieth century, manymajor artists and poets-Malevich, Pavel Fil­onov, Khlebnikov, andothers-recognizedorguessed intuitively that a person islike a smalluniverse, andthata work ofart isan indepen­dentworld which hasitsown, essentially spiri­tual essence. In the art of early twentieth­century artists this autonomous world, which,of course, a genuine work of art has alwaysbeen, acquired special features. It was orga­nized like the universe, correlated with it,ratherthan with the earth and its particular laws; itjoined theuniverse asan equal.

Malevich's Suprematist canvases were likethat. Their artistic structure, as distinct fromthatof the Alogist period, did notcorrelate atallwith thedirection ofearthly gravity, andsonotonly theimpression ofheaviness andweightdisappeared, but also even the notion of upanddown often was lost. Yet the objectlessnessofSuprematism was notan absence ofreality,it was an exit from theworld ofobjects, a newaspect of reality, which nature, space, andreality hadrevealed to theartist.

Malevich's thought, hisattitude as an artisttowards theworld, was imbued with theinspi­ration of space, just as the ideaof time runsall-absorbing throughout theworks of Khleb-

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Fig. 3 Maletlich. Dynamic Suprematism, 1916, oil on canvas. Moscow, Stale Iretyako»Galler)'.

of merefantasy; they originated inthedevelop­mentofa certainconcept ofartistic space.

From the beginning Suprematism exertedsubstantial influence on the work of manyartists, at first in Russia andlaterabroad. Suchmajor artists as Kliun, Puni, Olga Rozanova,Nadezhda Udaltsova, Varvara Stepanova, UubovPopova, and Alexander Rodchenko followedMalevich; Suprematism became the bannerofthe time. From the beginning of the 1920s, itmoved beyond the confines of easel painting.In 191 S, at theLast Futurist Exhibition, Kliunexhibited several volumetric Suprematist con­structions. They wereessentially thefirst ofthearchiteetons (arkhitektony) , onwhich Malevichwould begin to work in the 1920s. The archi­tectons substantiated MaJevich's pictorial space,the Suprematist structures entered into realvolume and became a prototype for contem­porary architecture. Also in the 19205, MaJevichand his pupils Nikolai Suetin and Ilya Chashnikworked a great deal in the production ofporcelain, textiles, typography, andotherformsof applied art.

The Revolutionary Years-UNOVlSIn the yearsof the Revolution, which Malevich-like Mayakovsky-welcomed, the artist'screative work and his social activity reachedthe highest intensity. He directed theart sectionof the Moscow Council, wasa member of theboard of IZO Narkompros (theVisual Art Sec­tion of theCommissariat of Education), was amajor artist of the First State Free Studios inMoscow, andwas a professor at thetransformedAcademy of Arts. Hepublished programmaticarticlesin the newspaperArtofthe Communeand the journal Visua/Art, andheparticipatedin public debates. The announcement for onesuchdebatereads: "FirstState Free ArtStudios(formerly, theStroganov School). Open studios.Meeting about'TheNew art andSoviet Power.'Speakers: D.P. Shterenberg, V.V. Mayakovsky,KoS. Malevich, Rodchenko, andstudents."2, Atthe same time Malevich did not cease hiscreative work. In thefall of 1918 Mayakovsky'sMystery-BoujJe, with decor by Malevich, pre­miered in Petrograd. And in 1919, Malevich'sfirstone-man show openedin Moscow.

Malevich left Petrograd for Vitebsk in thefall of 1919. At thebeginning ofthe Revolutionthisquiet, provincial city was transformed intoa major artistic center. Vitebsk wasunusuallylucky then; the art school was organized byMarc Chagall, andbesides himself, in thecourseof two or three years such major figures asMalevich, Puni, Mstislav Dobuzhinsky, KseniaBoguslavskaya, Robert Falk, Vera Ermolaeva,and Alexander Kuprin taught there. With Male­vich's arrival at the Vitebsk school its artisticlife acquireda special intensny, His advocacyof the new art fired the students, who wereattractedbyhisunflagging energy, hisbelief inhis ideas, his uncompromising courage in thesearch for new directions.

In January 1920the group POSNOVIS (an

in the works of Kuzma Petrov-Vodkin. "Toovercome gravity is tosenseplanetariness withone's whole organism," wrote the artist,20Khlebnikov's prognostic excerpt A Clifffromthe Future (I921-1922) describes humanlife in Flying Cities, in a gravity-free environ­ment: "Peoplewalk along a path, weightless,as if they wereon an invisible bridge. On bothsides a precipice drops off into an abyss; aterrestrial black boundary marks the road.like a snake swimming through thesea,raisingits head high, breast first through the air,swims a building-a reversed 'L'. A flyingbuilding snake."!'

In thedevelopment ofhisideas aboutspacein art, Malevich was the first Russian artist toarrive at analogous futurological conclusions.As earlyas 1913 he dreamt ofthe time "whenlarge dtiesandthestudios ofmodem artists willbe supported byhugezeppelins."22 In a bro­chure published in 1920,23 he set down thepossibility ofinterplanetary flight, orbiting earthsatellites, and interplanetary satellite stationswhich would enable man to develop cosmicspace. Some of these futurological projectsare called "Planits for Earthlings" (Fig. 4).Possibly the philosophy of N.F. Fedorov, athinker highly valued by the Futurists, influ­enced these "cosmic enthusiasma."24 But it isalso important to emphasize something else:Malevich's plans and ideas were not the fruit

nikov. In the summer of 1917 Malevich evencalled himself the"president ofspace." I, Whenhe moved away from hisformer understandingof space in art, Malevich observed that inFuturism and Cubism, "space is cultivatedalmost exclusively; form because it isconnectedwith objectness doesnotconvey even an inklingof the presenceof universal space. This spaceis limited to the spacewhich separates thingsfrom one another on the earth."16 Space inMalevich's Suprematist pictures is a modeland an analog ofcosmic space. His painting iscramped on theearth, ityearns fortheheavens."Mynew painting," hewrote, "doesnotbelongexclusively to the earth.... And in fact, inman, in his consciousness, there is a strivingtowards space,a yearning to 'take offfrom theearth'." I 7 By assimilating the space of thepicture to cosmic space, where the motion ofplanetary systems are unified, Malevich reducesthe structural formation of pictorial space torelationships in which "weight is distributedinto systems ofweightlessness." 18

The theme ofovercoming gravity andenteringinto the cosmos attracted many artists andpoetsearlyin thetwentieth century. InVictoryoverthe Sun, oneofthecharacters (the Reader)declares: "Free oftheweight ofuniversal gravity,we arrange our things fancifully, as if a richkingdom were settling in."19 Resistance togravity isexpressed by thespherical perspective

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"" w ..... . ,, ~.

r _

~ I

er,...

, ..,,, t,

' ...

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mlr Malewttsch

Fig. 4 Malevich, Suprematist Architectural Drawing, 1924, pencil. New York, The Museum ofModern Art.

acronym for Followers of the New Art) arosewithin the school; its exhibition opened on 6February. Shortly afterwards, on 14 February,at a meeting at which Malevich spoke to theartists, the group UNOVIS (Affirmers of theNew Art) was organized. The aim of UNOVISwas the complete renovation of the artisticworld on the basis of Suprematism and thetransformation, through new forms, of theutilitarian aspects of life. Besides Vitebsk,UNOVIS groups were organized in Moscow,Petrograd, Smolensk, Samara, Saratov, Perm,Odessa, andother cities. The Vitebsk UNOVIS,headed by Malevich, had a nucleus whichincluded Ermolaeva, El Lissitzsky, Nina Kogan,Lazar Khidekel, Chashnik, andSuetin. UNOVISbroughta special poignancy and effort to theartistic life of Vitebsk. The City experienced akindofsudden explosion, felt especially keenlyduring thedays ofcelebration oftheRevolutionwhen Vitebsk was hung with unusual decora­tions-incomprehensible to theinhabitants. "Iwent to Vitebsk after theOctober celebrations,"the artist Sophia Dymshits-Tolstaia recounts inher memoirs, "but the City still glittered withMalevich's decor-circles, squares, dots, linesofvarious colors, andChagallian flying figures.I felt thatI hadlanded in a city bewitched-butat the same time that it was all possible andmarvelous, and the people of Vitebsk for that

period hadturned intoSuprematists. Inessence,the population probably thought it some newkindof raid, incomprehensible butinteresting,which hadto be lived through. "26 The VitebskUNOVIS showed an exceptional persistence instriving to transform through arteven thecolor­less existence ofthecity, itseveryday life. UNOVISartists painted factory banners and decoratedtrolley cars, made designs for speakers' plat­forms, drawings fortextiles, andcolorplans forinteriors. Malevich often remarked that Vitebskwas a most important landmark in his work.Here for the first time Suprematism movedextensively intothevarious aspects oflife. Thetime in Vitebsk was also unusually fruitful forMalevich's theoretical studies. "In this workVitebsk played a large rolein my life. "27

GINKbUK. The Theory oftbe AdditionalElement'In 1922 Malevich left Vitebsk for Petrogradwith a large group of his students and beganwork at Petrograd's State Institute of ArtisticCulture (GINKhUK). The idea for establishinga research center for the study of the newproblems in art originated with a circle ofartists who felt thesignificance oftheprocessesthatweretaking place inRussian artespeciallykeenly. Filonov defined thesignificance ofthismoment as the time of "transfer of thecenter

of gravity in art to Russia." 28 New stylesdemanded a theoretical basis and the criticaltradition was insufficient to provide it. As thebreach between thepublic andtheartistgrew,the artists themselves felt compelled to takeover the theoretical work. This was all themoreimportant since, given thecomplex, uni­versal, and prognostic structures and modelsthat the new art embodied, they demanded aseriousscientific analysis andfoundation. Ac­cording to information published in thecatalogof The First Report-Exhibition ofGlavnaukaNarkompros (Main Scientific Branch of theCommissariat of Education) from Moscow in1925, the State Institute for Artistic Culturewas founded in 1919. However, itwent througha certain incubation period after its foundingbefore the ideaof the Institute was fully func­tional. There isa list ofdocumentary landmarkswhich led from the beginning in the MuseumofArtistic Culture (MKhK) to theestablishmentofGINKhUK.

On 5 December 1918 a meeting was heldoftheOrganizational Commission oftheMuseum:Nathan Altman, A.E. Karev, and A.T. Matveev.On 11 February 1919 a museum conferenceopened in the Winter Palace; this conferenceaffirmed the organization of the museum. Itwas assigned exhibition halls in the MiatlevResidence on St. Isaac's Square. Altman was

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appointed toorganize theMuseum. On .3 April1921 the Division of Painting, which showedworks of the new art, was opened to visitors.Later, the divisions of drawings, icons, andcrafts opened. The Museum ofArtistic Culturethusbecame thefirst state museum ofmodernart. On 9 June 1923 at a museum conferencein PetrogradFilonov introduced a proposal inthename ofa "group ofleft artists" totransformtheMuseum ofArtistic Culture into an"institutefor research in modern art."29 In the sameyear, on 15 August, Malevich was selected asdirector of the Museum and on 1 Octoberresearch divisions oftheMuseum were opened.In October of 1924 the Museum was reorga­nized into the Institute ofArtistic Culture withMalevich asdirector andNikolai Punin, deputydirector. In addition to them, Vladimir Tatlin,Pavel Mansurov, and Matiushin served on theAdvisory Board. On 17March 1925 the Institutewasaffirmed by theCouncil of People's Com­missars (Sovnarkom) asa state institution.

The Institute became ;1 major center oftheoretical research in art. Its divisions wereheaded by Malevich, Tatlin, Matiushin, Man­surov, andPunin. The research program oftheInstitute and all of its divisions derived frompost-Cubist concepts in Russian art, whichdiffered considerably from thetheoretical posi­tions of the leading European schools. TheItalian Futurists and the French Purists basedtheir art (painting and architecture) on theform and likeness of themachine, thehighestachievement of twentieth-century technicalcivilization. But themachine issomething sec­ondary, i.e, it is aproductofcivilization. TheGINKhUK artists strove foran art in which thespatial structure would arise according to theprinciples of natural generation of form, thatis, on a primary base. The mode offormationandconstruction inartmust arise outofexperi­ence of nature. The research inspiration ofGINKhUK may bedefined asorganics, asopposedto mechanics, toa machine civilization. Tatlin,a Constructivist, rejecting thelogic ofthe rightangle usual for Constructivists, designed hisMonument to the Third International (1920)on the basis of an inclined structure and aspiral. The model of Tatlin's Tower shown atthe 1925 Paris Exposition was created inGINKhUK. Filonov's method ofanalytic art triedto make thepicture grow andtake onform inaway similar to the development of a naturalorganism. Even in 1912, in his unpublishedarticle "Canon and Law," Filonov spoke outagainst "Cube-Futurism which hasreached animpasse due to its mechanical and geometricbases."3o Matiushin, whose work was baseduponvery attentive study ofthelaws ofnature,developed the concept of a widened viewing,and expressed most directly the problems ofan organic art. His division intheInstitute wascalled theDivision ofOrganic Culture. Finally,Mansurov in his Experimental Division wasalsoconcerned with theproblems ofanorgan­icist. He studied theinfluence ofnatural struc-

tures on the generation of form in art. Thetheoretical studies of the Institute onprinciplesofformation anticipated toa certain extent theideas of bionics which became current tenyears later.

The most outstanding section oftheInstitutewas the Formal-Theoretical Division headed byMalevich. It housed researchers, graduate stu­dents, andtrade workers. Many well-known len­ingrad artists went through Malevich's division:Suetin, Chashnik, Khidekel, Anna Leporskaya,K.I. Rozhdestvensky, Yurl Vasnetsov, V.I. Kurdov,Vladimir Stergilov, andothers. Two laboratorieswere created within the divison: Color andForm, headed by Ermolaeva and Lev Yudin.Malevich's collective began a thorough study ofthe five major systems ofthe new art: Impres­sionism, Cezannism, Futurism, Cubism, andSuprematism. The results of this work servedas the basis of the theory of the additionalelement in painting which Malevich developed.

Inaddition to his talent for painting, Malevichalways had the heartofa researcher who triedto understand the reasons that impelled newforms in theworld andin art andthe logic oftheir development. There were even periods(the early 1920s) when, carried away by hisresearches, he abandoned the brush for thepen. In Suprematism, Malevich saw the nextconsecutive step in thedevelopment ofa uni­versal artistic culture, in spite of its apparentbreakwith tradition. InMay of1916, hewrotetoAlexander Benois indefense ofSuprematism:"And I am happy that the face of my squarecannot merge either with an artist or a time.Isn't that so? I have not listened to thefathersand I am not like them. I am a step." Andfurther on: "In art there is an obligation tofulfill its necessary forms. Apart from whetherI like them or not. Art doesn't askyou whetheryou like itor not, justasnooneinquired whenthe stars were set in the sky."31 From thesewords it is apparent that Malevich consideredSuprematism a stage ofdevelopment in a uni­versal art. The transmutation ofartistic formsand structures, the artist believed, was notarbitrary, butratherhadaninternal logic. Thelawfulness detected inthepastdefines avectortoward the future. ForMalevich, Suprematismwas a continuation ofFuturism andCubism: "Iaffirm: Futurism, viaanAcademism of forms,moves towards dynamism inpainting. Cubism,via theannihilation ofthe thing, moves towardspure painting. And both efforts in essenceaspire to Suprematism ofpainting."32 Malevichsaw theinterconnection ofallfive basic systemsof the new art, he noticed thedevelopment ofone artistic form or structure from another,but he had notyet discovered thereasons forandthemechanics ofsuch changes.

It is difficult to say exactly when, on thebasis of these thoughts, the concept of theadditional element occurred to Malevich, butin Vitebsk-by his own account-he had al­ready seenit.Here hehadencountered youngpeople obsessed with art but in whose work

the most varied influences from the latesttrends collided. "Before me was the opportunityto do various experiments to study the actionofadditional elements," theartist remembered."I began to adapt theVitebsk Institute forthisanalysis and it let me conduct my work fullspeed ahead. I divided thepainters into severaltypical types which, so far as was possible, Igrouped according tooneor another additionalelement. I was determined toconfirm innaturesome of my theoretical conclusions about theaction ofadditional elements."33 With the estab­lishment ofGINKhUK, working outthe theory ofthe additional element became the principaltask of Malevich's division. By 1925, the artisthadwritten thefirst general text, AnIntroduc­tion to the Theory oftheAdditionalElementin Painting. An expanded version was publishedby theBauhaus in 1927.34

By an "additional element" Malevich under­stood a new structural formative principlewhich arises in theprocess ofartistic develop­ment. Itsintroduction into a plastic system thatis taking shape reorganizes that system. Astructural analysis of a multitude of works ofthe new art revealed such additional elementsas Cezanne's filamentous curve, the CubistSickle-line, and Suprematism's straight line.The additional elements are defined both bycolor and by form foreachsystem. The intro­duction of theCubist sickle-shaped curve intoa Cezannist structure, forexample, canchangethepicture being painted into a Cubist painting.Malevich's theory of theadditional element isan original experiment in thestructural analy­sisofa workofart;it revealed active elements,or signs, which defined theorganism ofaworkin eachstyle. The merit of this system ofsignswas its ability clearly to explain the develop­ment ofplastic form andestablish a mechanismfor thetransformation ofoneform into another.

The Berlin ExbibitlonMalevich had long-standing connections withGerman art. At the 1912 Munich exhibitionorganized by the Blue Rider Society, theartisthadexhibited his Peasant Heod In 1922 a largeRussian exhibition arranged by IZO Narkomprosopened in Berlin. Malevich showed five worksat this exhibition, four Suprematist canvases-among them White on White-and a Futuristcanvas from 1911-Knife Grinder: PrincipleofFlashing. Also, during the Vitebsk period therehadbeenmeetings with German artists. On 20November 1920, UNOVlS announced that"thetransportation ofUNOVlS materials toGermanyhad beensent" (Vitebsk Art Committee List).Unfortunately, it has not yet been possible toestablish what that "transportation" was.

In 1927 Malevich made a tripto Berlin. Hetookwith him, besides paintings anddrawingsofarchitectons, explanatory theoretical chartsshowing the main tenets of the theory of theadditional element, drawings, anda number ofMatiushin's charts. A major portion of thismaterial isnow kept inAmsterdam. On hisway

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Fig. 5 Malevich, Sportsmen, c. 1928- 32, oiloncanvas. Leningrad. State Russian Museum.

toGennany Malevich stopped inWarsaw,wherehe was known butwhere his work had neverbeen seen. His exhibition opened ina sectionof thePolonia on 20March. The Polish avant­garde received Malevich wannly andtheexhi­bition enjoyed great success. In a note fromWarsaw Malevich wrote to Matiushin: "DearMisha, I showed your charts together withmine; both created great interest. Oh, thisrelationship is remarkable. Glory pours downlike rain."H Malevich delivered a lecture tothePolish artists onthetheoretical research atGINKhUK on 25 March. Also in March, hearrived in Berlin, where hewould remain until5June. His one-man show formed partof theGrosse Berliner Kunstausstellung andwas openfrom 7 May until 30 September. When hevisited the exhibition, Anatoly Lunacharsky,the Soviet Commissar ofEducation, wrote: "Inhis genre Malevich has achieved remarkableresults andgreat skill. I do notknow whethersuch canvases will be painted after him, but Iamsure that his style, which has already beenapplied as a decorative device-for examplebythelatePopova-mayin this respect have arichfuture."36

The Bauhaus published Malevich's book DiegegenstandslOse Welt in the same year, 1927,and hisarticle 'Suprematistische Architektur"appeared at about the same time.>? The lasttime while Malevich was alive that his paintingwas shown inGennany was atthe SowjetmaJerei

exhibition in July, 1930. In June of 1927,before the closing of his show, Malevich leftBerlin. His work remained in Germany untilafter the war, when a major portion of itwenttotheStedelijk Museum inAmsterdam.

After SuprematlsmMalevich's last period ofunusual creative activitybegan soon after his return from Berlin. Inthree or four years he made more than ahundred paintings and a large number ofdraw. Some ofthis work, done between 1928and 1932, was dated in the 1910s by the artist.How canoneunderstand this disparity?

On 15 December 1920, ashewas completingthe brochure Suprematism. 34 DraWings,Malevich wrote: "I have established thedefini­tive plans of the Suprematist system. Furtherdevelopment into architectural Suprematism Ileave to young architects, in the wide sense ofthe word, for I see the epoch of the newarchitecture only in this. I myself have moved.into an area of thought new to me and, as Ican, I will setoutwhat Iseewithin theendlessspace of thehuman cranium."38 And, indeed,paintings by Malevich from the period ofVitebskUNOVIS and Leningrad GINKhUK are almostunknown. There were mainly old works at1920s exhibitions. During these years Malevichcreated a large portion ofhisarchitectons andworked intensely on his theoretical research.After quite a long painting silence, the artist,

making up for omissions, attempted to realizesome of the ideas he had had in the pre­Suprematist period. This explains, possibly,theartist's notes on the reverse ofcertain latecanvases: "motif of 1903," "motif of 1910."

Malevich's one-man show ofsixty works atthe Tretiakov Gallery was held in 1929. Abooklet containing an article by A. Fedorov­Davydov was published butnot a catalog oftheworks.r' ln a listofworks exhibited which hasbeen located,~O several ofthetitles allow ustoconclude that canvases from a late peasantcycle were actually shown. But these workswere first recorded in the catalog for theexhibition ArtistsoftheRSFSR afterXV Years,which took place in the Russian Museum in1932. Here were shown Color Composition,Three Figures, Sportsmen, Red House, andother late canvases (Figs. 5 arul6). We canjudge that Malevich's white faces appearedlate from similar personages anddecisions intheworkofhis followers. Only after the 1932exhibition can they be seen in the work ofSuetin, Ermolaeva, Leporskaya, Stergilov, andE.M.Krimmer.

The artist's late work elucidates his uniquecreative evolution. In the 191Os, he came toobjectlessness, to the Black Square, whichwas a rejection ofpainting in the usual sense.It would seem that there could benoreturn totheforms ofobjects in art. And in fact, in thetwentieth century, it is hardly possible to findan artist who, like Malevich, would be able to

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Fig. 6 Malellich, Man with a Saw, date unknown, oilon wood Leningrad, State Russian Museum.

return from objectlessness to figurative paint­ing. And not only to return, but to createsplendid works. The last works of Malevichbearwitness toa new flowering ofhis paintingtalent. He returned to figurativeness, but afigurativeness enriched by the achievements ofSuprematism which made itself felt in a previ­ously unknown sensation ofcolor andform­clean, disciplined, andpossessed ofa pervasivebrevity of line. In the faces and figures of thepeasants who stand against backgrounds ofcolored fields there is an indirect, more mod­erateconnection with Old Russian artthan waspresent in the earlier peasant heads. The econ­omy of plastic means and a kind of depictivereticence create a special graphic keeness towhich Malevich consciously aspired. "The

objectless and the half-formed works (likemy peasants)," he said to Yudin, "have themost significance at this time. They act mostkeenly ofall."!'

Peasant images appear throughout Malevich'sentire work. From 1908to 1912 his paintingsdepicted work inthefields, andheads close intheir fervor to those ofRussian icons. Even intheearly period ofSuprematism the artist triedto preserve a connection with these images.Thus, forexample, thewell-known RedSquare(similar to Black Square) was entitled in the19150,10catalog PaintedRealism ofaPeas­ant Woman in Two Dimensions. When hespoke about hisyouth, Malevich inhisautobi­ography (published only in 1976) kept empha­sizing his interest in the peasant way oflife and

infolk art. "The whole peasant life attracted mestrongly."42 The attraction was part ofananti­urbanism which the artist retained his wholelife. In thevast Ukrainian fields where Malevichspent hisyouth, there were sown the impulsestowards thecolor ofhis future canvases. "Thepeasants, large andsmall, worked onthe [sugar)plantations, andI, thefuture artist, fell in lovewith the fields andwith the 'colorful' workerswho weeded andcutthebeets. Throngs ofgirlsin colorful clothing moved in rows across thewhole field."43 Malevich's second peasant cycle,done in 1928-1932, is significantly differentfrom the first. The characteristics ofeverydaylife are absent, there arenoreapers or mowers,in all we see peasants standing against back­grounds of colored fields. They are alwaysfrontal; an air ofsolemnity, of monumentalityand significance of origin is elicited by everywork, although the paintings are completelywithout narrative action. It seems as if thePeasant (with a Black Face) and other per­sonages of this cycle have entered organicallyinto Malevich's Suprematist universe, whichhad, up until then, been unpopulated. Createdafter Suprematism, the cycle preserves in anumber ofitsworks (Girls in a Field, Sports­men) the cosmic feeling which Malevich'sobjectless works convey so strongly.

These last pictures by Malevich have becomeoneofthe clearest and most original phenomenaof twentieth-century painting. Malevich diedmorethan forty years ago, butthroughout theworld interest in his work continues to growand his aesthetic ideas have retained theirvalue. The pastdecades have left nodoubt thatMalevich belongs among those few artists whosework alters theartofanentire epoch. End

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NotesI L.A. Yudin, Diary, entry for 27 October 1934.

Archive oftheartist's family, Leningrad.2 M. Matiushin, "On theExhibition of'The Last

Futurists' ," Ocharovannyi strannik, Petrograd,1916, 18.

3 KS. Malevich, letter to MY Matiushin, June1913. Manuscript Division ofthe State Tretiakov­sky Gallery, f. 25, d.9,1.8.

4 The organizers of the society Union of Youth(1910 -14) were M.V. Matiushin and E.G.Guro. Members included P.N. Filonov, O.V.Rozanova, LS. Shkolnik, and V.L Matvei. On 3January 1913 the Muscovites K.S. Malevich, V.E.Tatlin, andD.O. Burliuk were elected members.M.F. Larionov and N.S. Goncharova were con­stant participants in the Union's exhibitions.

5 M. Matiushin, A. Kruchenykh, andK Malevich,"The First All-Russian Congress of Singers ofthe Future (Poet-Futurists)," Za sem'dnei, 15August 1913-

6 V. Khlebnikov wrote the "Prologue" tothe opera,which was played onstage by A. Kruchenykh.

7 These drawings along with seventeen more arein the Leningrad State Theatrical Museum.

8 Letter to M.V. Matiushin from K.S. Malevich,27 May 1915, in E.F. Kovtun, "Letters toMatiushin," Ezhegodnik rukopisnogo otdelaPushkinskogo doma na 1974god, Leningrad,1976,185-86.

9 Letter to M.V. Matiushin, late May 1913,Ezhegodnik, 180.

10See the note by A. Rostislavov, Apollon, I,

1916,37.II K.S. Malevich, letter to MY Matiushin, 29

May 1915, Ezhegodnik, 186.12 K. Malevich, From Cubism toSuprematism.

The New Realism in Painting, Petrograd,1916, 14.

13 These tenpeople were K.L. Boguslavskaia, LV.Kliun, K.S. Malevich, M.L Menkov, V.E. Pestel,L.S. Popova, LA. Puni, O.V. Rozanova, V.E.Tatlin, N.A. Udaltsova. To them were added

N.L Altman, M.L Vasileva, V.V. Kamensky,andA.M. Kirillova.

14 Manuscript Division ofPushkin House, f. 172,N.971.

15 K.S. Malevich, letter toMY Matiushin, Ezhegod­nik, 182.

16 K.S. Malevich, letter to MY Matiushin, Ezhegod­nik, 192.

17 Ibid.18 K. Malevich, God is not Cast Down, Vitebsk,

1922, 15.19 VICtory over theSun, opera by A. Kruchenykh,

music by M. Matiushin, St. Petersburg, 1913, 18.20 K.S. Petrov-Vodkin, lecture theses, 1920s. Man­

uscript Division oftheState Russian Museum,f. 105, ed. Khr. 15,1.28.

21 Velimir Khlebnikov, Collected Works, IV, lenin­grad, 1930, 296.

22 K.S. Malevich, letter toMY Matiushin, 9 May1913- Manuscript Division ofthe State TretiakovGallery, f.25, d. 9, l.2.

23 K. Malevich, Suprematism. 34 Drau~ngs,

Vitebsk, 1920.24Nikovai Fedorovich Fedorov (1828-1903), a

librarian at the Rumiantsev Museum in Moscowanda mentor ofKE. Tsiolkovsky.

25/sRusstvo. VestnikotdelalZONKP, N.8, 1919.26S. I. Dymshits-Toistaia, Memoirs. Manuscript

Division of theState Russian Museum, f.!00,ed. khr, 249, 1.67.

27 K.S. Malevich, "On the Theory ofthe AdditionalElement in Painting," paper given in GINKhUK,16 June 1926. State Archive ofthe October Revo­lution and Socialist Construction (GAORSS),Leningrad, f.2555, op. 1,d. 1018.

28 P. Filonov, "Declaration of'World Flowering',"Zmzn'iskusstva, 20, 1923.

29Archive ofthe Filonov family, Leningrad.30Manuscript Division ofPushkin House, f. 656.31 K.S. Malevich, letter to A. Benois, May 1915.

Manuscript Division oftheState Russian Mu­seum, f. 137, ed. khr. 1186.

32K. Malevich, From Cubism toSuprematism.

The New Realism in Painting, Petrograd,1916,9-10.

33 K. Malevich, "Introduction to the Theorv ofthe Additional Element in Painting," 1925(Printer's proofs). Private archive, Leningrad.

34Kasimir Malevich, Die gegenstandslose Welt,Munich, 1927.

35 K.S. Malevich, letter to M.V. Matiushin, 20March. Manuscript Division ofthe State Tretia­kov Gallery, f.25, d. 9, 1.24.

36A. Lunacharsky, "Russian Artists in Berlin,"Ogonek, 30, 1927.

37 WasmuthsMonatsheftefurBaukunst, x, 1927.38K.S. Malevich, Suprematism. 34 Drawings,

Vitebsk, 1920, 4.39Exhibition oftheWorks ofKS Malevich, State

Tretiakov Gallery, Moscow, 1929.40 Manuscript Division of the State Tretiakov

Gallery, f.8.11, d. 286, 1.31.41 LA. Yudin, Diary entry for 21 September 1934.

Archive oftheartist's family, Leningrad.42K.S. Malevich, "Chapters from the Autobiog­

raphy ofan Artist," N. Khardzhiev, K. Malevich,M. Matiushin, Kistorii russkogo atangarda.Stockholm, 1976, 107.

43Ibid, 103.

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Autoanimals (Samozoeri)

Autollnimills

By Sergei Mikhailovich TretiakovTranslatedbySusan Cook Summer

Have I fallen from themoon?Elephants are a walk in the room.I see a kangaroo doesboundBehind the kennel ofthehound.With thecuttlefish goes theseal,Along the hallI see them steal.The kitchen door stands ajar­Apair of turtles crawls quitefar.

Ah!Help!

Against thedoor I throw my bulk,Crushed beneath theelephant's hulk.With my headagainst a beamSuddenly therecomes a scream:There--coward!Ah! How silly can I be,Surely they will noteatmeThese animals--autoanimals.

Busy with affairs quiteimportant,Carrying a burdenis theelephantHehasa collected characterAs he pumps water and hauls lumber.Theelephant's life isvery long,For threehundred years hegoes on strong.Go ahead, tryandseeIf the elephant with hiskneePicks

histrunk.

Hehasbeenbrought upandhasbeen coachedNot likepeople-but almost.Yasha, Gavrik along with PetyaHave theirvery own Africa.For the tusk-a log, for the trunk-pants,And a blanket for theskin.Citizens! Look thisway!

Figs. 1-6 Alexander Rodchenko,photo-illustration for Autoanimals, 1926.Private Collection.

Seewhat they can portray!In a knothistail is bound,And through thehousehe walks roundand

round.Heavily hissteps do sagAs he musthistrunk todrag.He lives in an apartment chaliceAnd frightens allwith hiscryofmalice.But he cannot be called realForhe walks aroundin heels.

The courtyard is sown with someone.It is the tortoise, trying to run.From the fence to thevase,Two vershoks an hour hispace.The tortoise never bearsa scowl,And ifa dogbegins to howl,Thetortoise answers with a squeal

Fig2

And leaves protected by hisshield.Fedya crawls down on theslyTobe a tortoise hecanon thewashtub rely.Ahand-to Fedya. The tubfalls with a fuss.Butis he worse offthan thetortoise?

Make a note, allofyou fellows,In the souththe ostrich grows.It runs allday amongst theheathersCovered up in ostrich feathers.Greater thanwind velocity,At 100miles an hourhe's quite speedy.The ostrichwould noteat anyone,He eats butgrassandnails: bong, bong.Butwhen he feels theneedto hide,This dumbbird lifts hisarm upwide.Underneath he putshisheadAnd thinks he will be neglected. •

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Fig. 3

Right into hisback MatveiPokes in branches ina special way.All he really hastodoIs create a head on thecount oftwo.With a ballon theendofa stickHe makes a head that looks quite slick.But ifanyone tries tocatch this one,The head under hisarm, off hewill run.Crossing bridge andriver onhisway,It is thehead that hewill mislay.

There on theiceslick and smoothSleeps theseal, too lazytomove.Just like anoar ishishand-like fin,And hislayers offat warm him under theskin.Near thepoles lamps arenotneeded,The sunstays aloft, quite unheeded.Tomeet thesunthefish does swim,

Fig. -4

And waking theseal says "thanks" tohim.The seal'snottoolazy toeatthebeast,And grabs him quickly with histeeth.While looking at thesky and mooring,He eats thefish without even salting.It takes quite little tobecome a seal,Justwrap upina blanket andstartto reel.lie on thefloor andtry toswim,While catching fish with your hand-like fin.

Eating alltheleaves with ease,The giraffe lives amongst thetrees.With a neck that almost never ends,He eats andever prettier tends.He could hardly bea house dwellerWith nose inthechimney and feet inthecellar.When it comes to the apartment's heatThe giraffe requlres a truly great feat.

Fig. 5

Lyolka andKolka, noses inair,Try tocopy thegiraffe's manner and flair.But as they arewalking they arequite blind,Eventually they will probably befined.When their giraffe walks it can'tseeahead,With eyes on thechest and not in thehead.

Out there where thewaves rush and swishlivesandnests thecuttlefish.Itsbody looks like a small cupolaAnd from it protrude two antenna.About safety not tohave to think,Itcarries around a sack ofblack ink.There sheis, there is the crayfish,Go ahead, enemy, ifyou sowish.But

don'tfight.

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Fig. 6

The onewho will fightWith allhism-i-g-h-tIs thecu-tt-le-fi-sh.And into thewater with a great big rush,All is black-s-complete darkness.The enemy's eyesAre blinded bysurpriseAs thecuttlefishQUicklyglides

backback

backHome.In a tiny cornermoving backKatya's cuttlefish peersoutofa sack.And asshepeersattheenemy through acrackSuddenlyThe enemy

Jumps!And they meetprfff?And they meetChufff!Ajump-a meow-a great big blitzExults and rejoices thecuttlefish.Don't you want to appreciateHow thevictors jubilate?

Out in Australia where it'shotday andnightLives the kangaroo with a jump so light.She knows how, aswith a piece of rail,To help her jump using her tail.She is fashioned quite convenientlyWith a bagbuilt on toher belly.This bagwhich is onher stomach hungIs thereforthe little ones.And there inthebag squeezed together like glueThere are five merry little kangaroos.And to a jump filled with frenzyThey gaze about whistling continuously.Vanechka is busy with a game:Like the kangaroo, he jumps thesame.Vanechka hasquite a speed,Though histail he must always heed.And to Vanechka's lively danceTwo pupsin hisschoolbag sobandprance.

Twenty versts in half an hourRushes by theOrlov trotter.The oneswho can lift five tonsAre thefurry legged percherons.Ina horsecloth decorated tosurplusAtiny pony walks in thecircus.for what thebrave cavalry needAre racerswho have really topspeed.Who carriesus, do you want to know?Who plows thefield, carries theheavy load?The horsewith spots from endtoend,The dark gray horse, theBay--oureternal

friend.

There's a realhorse, just look at him,If you touch your spuragainst hisskinHe will gallop offfrom theplace,Leaving his rider ina total daze.Butover a question quite trivialThe headof this horsebreaks from thetail.It was a disgrace, all this fret andfrayAnd eachhorse-half ran offina different way.ThefrontTothecorridorThe behindTotheyardAnd theridersatwhere hewas with a scream:"BUT WHAT CAN THIS ALL MEAN?"

Susan Coo1l Summer is a specialist inRussian ballet bistory alUla freelaneetranslator ofRussian alUlFrenebcultural alUlliterary texts.

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Notes on Autoanimals

Tbe author: Ajournalist, novelist, anddocu­mentary photographer specializing in the Orient,Sergei Mikhailovich Tretiakov (1892 -1939)received his first recognition as a member oftheSiberian Futurist organization Tvorchestvo(Creativity), active from 1919 to 1921. In1923, he was a founding member ofLEF (LeftFront of the Arts), the Moscow journal ofliterature, criticism and art, whose editorialstaff included the poet Vladimir Mayakovskyand the critic Osip Brik. LEF was publishedfrom 1923 to 1925 and published as NovyiLEF (New LEF) in 1927 and 1928. Tretiakovtook over the position of editor-in-chief ofNovyi LEF from Mayakovsky for the last fivenumbers issued in 1928.

Tretiakov's most important works includeListen, Moscow!, an agit-play produced in1923 by the cinematographer Sergei Eisen­stein; Roar, China, a propagandistic play of1926; andChina Testament: The Autobiogra­phy ofTan Sbib-bua of1934. Also, in 1929 hecontributed seven essays to theLiterature ofFact, edited by Vladimir Chuzhak, which hailedthe death of fiction and advocated literaturethatwould express Marxist-Leninist theories asthecornerstone ofthenew (Soviet) society.

Tretiakov was purged and apparently exe­cuted during the late 1930s. His works were"rehabilitated" in theSoviet Union in 1956.

Tbe b«"ground of tbe poem: WhereastheearlierLEF was more insistently devoted toagitational propaganda ("agit-prop")-includ­ing optimistic manifestoes and excited rallyingcries ("For Innovation!")-the later Novyi lEFplaced greater emphasis on straightforwardfactography and advocated a platform ofutili­tarian arts. Tretiakov's unpublished text forAutoanima!s dates from 1926, ayear inwhichtheLEF presses lay dormant. This poem seemsto represent for theauthor a breathing periodbetween the stringent ideological demands ofLEF and Novyi LEP. Perhaps Tretiakov wasindulging some personal whim, seeking creativeexpression in a work not necessarily motivatedbyexternal sociopolitical conditions.

Unlike much Soviet children's literature ofthis period, Autoanimals isnotpropagandistic.It retains thewhimsy ofOld Russian fairy talesandsome ofthefantasy ofNikolai Leskov's 1873novel Tbe Bncbanted Wanderer. The poem isunusual in Tretiakov's oeuvre, which is moregenerally ofa documentary nature, but it stands-along with Alexander Rodchenko's photo­illustrations-as a splendid example ofSovietchildren's literature. (The works of SamuelMarshak arealso called tomind inthis regard.)

Tbe poem: Autoanima/s describes eight ani­mals-elephant, tortoise, ostrich, seal, giraffe,cuttlefish, kangaroo, horse-anthropomorph­ized to a high degree. Tretiakov attributeshuman emotional and social values to these

creatures. Forexample, thetortoise is a goodhumored animal ("never bears a scowl")and the elephant has been brought up well(vcoached/Nct like people-but almost").Each stanza is divided into two parts: thefirstis devoted to the animal itself andthe secondto a child'sportrayal ofthat animal.

Susan Coo"Summer andGall Harrison Roman

Cinematic Whimsy:Rotkhenllo's Pboto­IllustrationsforAutoanimals

In 1926, Sergei Mikhailovich Tretiakov (1892­1939) commissioned theartist Alexander Mik­hailovich Rodchenko (1891-1956) to designillustrations for a projected (but unrealized)bookofhispoem Autoanima/s (Samozveri). I

In 1921, Rodchenko had turned from easelpainting andsculpture toutilitarian, "produc­tivist" art:domestic design (furniture, clothing);typography (posters, publications); and pho­tography (photomontage, film titles). Through­outthe 1920s, Rodchenko increasingly devotedhisefforts to books, journals, posters, photog­raphy, and film titles. Above all, his bookdesigns- represent thedynamism andoptimisminspired by the social, political, and culturalhopes oftheyoung Soviet Union. Experimentalbookdesign- in Russia dates from as early as1910, but post-Revolutionary activity in thearts especially encouraged innovation andproduction.

Rodchenko's book designs areboth politicaland artistic. As chief designer for the avant­garde journals LEF andNovyi lEF, heproducedcovers, title pages, illustrations, and layouts,aU ofwhich show hisenthusiasm forvanguardart forms as a manifestation of thenew socialand artistic organization ofSoviet life. 4

From hisearliest association with LEF, Rod­chenko hadexperimented extensively with pho­tography. S He introduced photomontage to theSoviet Union, and created film titles for thecinematographer Dziga Vertov (1896-1954).Tretiakov-himself a photographer-appre­ciated Rodchenko's photographic talents andchose him as theillustrator ofAutoanimals.

For his projected illustrations, Rodchenko-along with his wife Varvara Stepanova­photographed cardboard cut-out figures thathe had constructed in theform oftheanimalsand children mentioned in the text (Figs.1-6). Itseems highly possible thatRodchenkointended such pop-up figures to be the finalillustrations forAutoanima/s but that hewas

forced byeconomic stringencies tousephoto­graphic illustrations instead. Such actual, three­dimensional designs would have accomplishedRodchenko's artistic goals of presenting themultiple viewpoints and heightened realismthat are best achieved in cinematic art. Thephotographic medium provided him with anexcellent alternative forachieving these goals.

The reason for employing cut-out modelsinstead of creating two-dimensional designswas to exploit thestarktonal effects resultingfrom the shadow reflections of the figuresphotographed in bright light. The sculptural,angular forms ofthe characters boldly challengethe two-dimensional quality of the book. Theplay of theshadows energizes thebackgroundand extends the book-page into a stage-likespace. Furthermore, these works suggest cine­matic motion and dynamism as actual andsilhouetted forms are relieved through tonalanddimensional contrasts with the backgroundspace. It was undoubtedly hisexperience withfilm design (titles, posters, books) that inspiredRodchenko to create such highly animatedfigures. The shadows ofthe animals andchildrenecho their actual forms, thus suggesting theirextension, or "movement," from the two-dimen­sional page to a potential three-dimensionalportrayal.

The elimination of unnecessary details andthe use of silhouetted forms emphasize theelegant, simple geometry of the animals andchildren astheirshadows form patterns onthebackground of thepages. Perhaps theexcitedanimation described in thetext motivated Rod­chenko to create these mechanically whimsicalfigures. Unlike Tretiakov, forwhom Autoani­mats seems to represent a psychological andartistic respite from straightforward documen­tary works, Rodchenko employs for this projectthesame artistic devices that can beobserved inhis more agitational, productivist work inbothtypography and photography; he even adaptedcertain stylistic tendencies ofhis pre-utilitarianpaintings andsculpture inthese designs.

The bold planar juxtapositions of the geo­metric forms--circles, cylinders, rectangles;curvilinear and straight-edged shapes-aredrawn from the geometric abstraction thatcharacterized Rodchenko's art during thepre-LEF years. The dynamic rhythm of hisCompass-and-Ruler works andhisexperimen­tal sculpture- reappear in the illustrations to"Autoanimals." The marvelous combinationof geometric precision in the cut-out formsandthefantasy-shapes ofthefigures representthe whimsical abstraction developed by Rod­chenko earlier in the 1920s in film titles,advertising posters, and commercial logos."For example, inthelogo for "News" reproducedhere (Fig. 7), theprecise, colored geometricshapes are relieved from their backgroundsurface by hard-edged contour and comple­mentary relationships (red-green). The geo­metric precision is repeated in the cut-outforms ofthe"Autoanimals," andthe chromatic

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Notes on Autoanimals

Tbe author: Ajournalist, novelist, anddocu­mentary photographer specializing in the Orient,Sergei Mikhailovich Tretiakov (1892 -1939)received his first recognition as a member oftheSiberian Futurist organization Tvorchestvo(Creativity), active from 1919 to 1921. In1923, he was a founding member ofLEF (LeftFront of the Arts), the Moscow journal ofliterature, criticism and art, whose editorialstaff included the poet Vladimir Mayakovskyand the critic Osip Brik. LEF was publishedfrom 1923 to 1925 and published as NovyiLEF (New LEF) in 1927 and 1928. Tretiakovtook over the position of editor-in-chief ofNovyi LEF from Mayakovsky for the last fivenumbers issued in 1928.

Tretiakov's most important works includeListen, Moscow!, an agit-play produced in1923 by the cinematographer Sergei Eisen­stein; Roar, China, a propagandistic play of1926; andChina Testament: The Autobiogra­phy ofTan Sbib-bua of1934. Also, in 1929 hecontributed seven essays to theLiterature ofFact, edited by Vladimir Chuzhak, which hailedthe death of fiction and advocated literaturethatwould express Marxist-Leninist theories asthecornerstone ofthenew (Soviet) society.

Tretiakov was purged and apparently exe­cuted during the late 1930s. His works were"rehabilitated" in theSoviet Union in 1956.

Tbe b«"ground of tbe poem: WhereastheearlierLEF was more insistently devoted toagitational propaganda ("agit-prop")-includ­ing optimistic manifestoes and excited rallyingcries ("For Innovation!")-the later Novyi lEFplaced greater emphasis on straightforwardfactography and advocated a platform ofutili­tarian arts. Tretiakov's unpublished text forAutoanima!s dates from 1926, ayear inwhichtheLEF presses lay dormant. This poem seemsto represent for theauthor a breathing periodbetween the stringent ideological demands ofLEF and Novyi LEP. Perhaps Tretiakov wasindulging some personal whim, seeking creativeexpression in a work not necessarily motivatedbyexternal sociopolitical conditions.

Unlike much Soviet children's literature ofthis period, Autoanimals isnotpropagandistic.It retains thewhimsy ofOld Russian fairy talesandsome ofthefantasy ofNikolai Leskov's 1873novel Tbe Bncbanted Wanderer. The poem isunusual in Tretiakov's oeuvre, which is moregenerally ofa documentary nature, but it stands-along with Alexander Rodchenko's photo­illustrations-as a splendid example ofSovietchildren's literature. (The works of SamuelMarshak arealso called tomind inthis regard.)

Tbe poem: Autoanima/s describes eight ani­mals-elephant, tortoise, ostrich, seal, giraffe,cuttlefish, kangaroo, horse-anthropomorph­ized to a high degree. Tretiakov attributeshuman emotional and social values to these

creatures. Forexample, thetortoise is a goodhumored animal ("never bears a scowl")and the elephant has been brought up well(vcoached/Nct like people-but almost").Each stanza is divided into two parts: thefirstis devoted to the animal itself andthe secondto a child'sportrayal ofthat animal.

Susan Coo"Summer andGall Harrison Roman

Cinematic Whimsy:Rotkhenllo's Pboto­IllustrationsforAutoanimals

In 1926, Sergei Mikhailovich Tretiakov (1892­1939) commissioned theartist Alexander Mik­hailovich Rodchenko (1891-1956) to designillustrations for a projected (but unrealized)bookofhispoem Autoanima/s (Samozveri). I

In 1921, Rodchenko had turned from easelpainting andsculpture toutilitarian, "produc­tivist" art:domestic design (furniture, clothing);typography (posters, publications); and pho­tography (photomontage, film titles). Through­outthe 1920s, Rodchenko increasingly devotedhisefforts to books, journals, posters, photog­raphy, and film titles. Above all, his bookdesigns- represent thedynamism andoptimisminspired by the social, political, and culturalhopes oftheyoung Soviet Union. Experimentalbookdesign- in Russia dates from as early as1910, but post-Revolutionary activity in thearts especially encouraged innovation andproduction.

Rodchenko's book designs areboth politicaland artistic. As chief designer for the avant­garde journals LEF andNovyi lEF, heproducedcovers, title pages, illustrations, and layouts,aU ofwhich show hisenthusiasm forvanguardart forms as a manifestation of thenew socialand artistic organization ofSoviet life. 4

From hisearliest association with LEF, Rod­chenko hadexperimented extensively with pho­tography. S He introduced photomontage to theSoviet Union, and created film titles for thecinematographer Dziga Vertov (1896-1954).Tretiakov-himself a photographer-appre­ciated Rodchenko's photographic talents andchose him as theillustrator ofAutoanimals.

For his projected illustrations, Rodchenko-along with his wife Varvara Stepanova­photographed cardboard cut-out figures thathe had constructed in theform oftheanimalsand children mentioned in the text (Figs.1-6). Itseems highly possible thatRodchenkointended such pop-up figures to be the finalillustrations forAutoanima/s but that hewas

forced byeconomic stringencies tousephoto­graphic illustrations instead. Such actual, three­dimensional designs would have accomplishedRodchenko's artistic goals of presenting themultiple viewpoints and heightened realismthat are best achieved in cinematic art. Thephotographic medium provided him with anexcellent alternative forachieving these goals.

The reason for employing cut-out modelsinstead of creating two-dimensional designswas to exploit thestarktonal effects resultingfrom the shadow reflections of the figuresphotographed in bright light. The sculptural,angular forms ofthe characters boldly challengethe two-dimensional quality of the book. Theplay of theshadows energizes thebackgroundand extends the book-page into a stage-likespace. Furthermore, these works suggest cine­matic motion and dynamism as actual andsilhouetted forms are relieved through tonalanddimensional contrasts with the backgroundspace. It was undoubtedly hisexperience withfilm design (titles, posters, books) that inspiredRodchenko to create such highly animatedfigures. The shadows ofthe animals andchildrenecho their actual forms, thus suggesting theirextension, or "movement," from the two-dimen­sional page to a potential three-dimensionalportrayal.

The elimination of unnecessary details andthe use of silhouetted forms emphasize theelegant, simple geometry of the animals andchildren astheirshadows form patterns onthebackground of thepages. Perhaps theexcitedanimation described in thetext motivated Rod­chenko to create these mechanically whimsicalfigures. Unlike Tretiakov, forwhom Autoani­mats seems to represent a psychological andartistic respite from straightforward documen­tary works, Rodchenko employs for this projectthesame artistic devices that can beobserved inhis more agitational, productivist work inbothtypography and photography; he even adaptedcertain stylistic tendencies ofhis pre-utilitarianpaintings andsculpture inthese designs.

The bold planar juxtapositions of the geo­metric forms--circles, cylinders, rectangles;curvilinear and straight-edged shapes-aredrawn from the geometric abstraction thatcharacterized Rodchenko's art during thepre-LEF years. The dynamic rhythm of hisCompass-and-Ruler works andhisexperimen­tal sculpture- reappear in the illustrations to"Autoanimals." The marvelous combinationof geometric precision in the cut-out formsandthefantasy-shapes ofthefigures representthe whimsical abstraction developed by Rod­chenko earlier in the 1920s in film titles,advertising posters, and commercial logos."For example, inthelogo for "News" reproducedhere (Fig. 7), theprecise, colored geometricshapes are relieved from their backgroundsurface by hard-edged contour and comple­mentary relationships (red-green). The geo­metric precision is repeated in the cut-outforms ofthe"Autoanimals," andthe chromatic

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Fig. 8 Alexander Rodchenko, Diving, photograph, 1936 Private Collection.

effects are analogous to thetonal contrasts-­drawn also from black-and-white film5--{)fAutoanimals. We wait anxiously for thesecharming figures to move as ifthey were madeof sheet metal andhinged at theedges ofeachgeometric section. Although itisonlyourmindthat casts them into "animated narration," thecinematic effect is achieved. Finally, thevariedplanar perspectives, unusual viewpoints anddramatic chiaroscuro heighten our apprecia­tionofthe forms themselves aswell asoftheirnarrative function. These effects also appear inRodchenko's photographs" (Figs. 8 and 9) ,and they represent inlarge measure theartist'sattempts to re-form the spectator's visual ex­perience. In 1927 hewrote:

. . . one circles an object, a building, oraperson and thinks: "How should I takethis-this way, or that way or this way?"It's alloutmoded. We have been educated,raised for thousands ofyears ona variety

Fig. 7Alexander Rodcbenko. titleJar Newslogo. 1924-

of paintings, to see everything accordingto the compositional rules ofourgrand­mothers. But we must revolutionize peopleby making them see from all vantagepoints andinall lights.9

The photo-pictures designed by Rodchenkofor Autoanimals both highlight and comple­ment Tretiakov's text. Rodchenko's "cameraeye"animates thecharacters both emotionallyand dynamically. These ingenious figures en­hance thewhimsical nature andtheentertain­ment value of the poem. The organic linkbetween content andform inillustrated litera­ture dates back to Symbolism in Russia, aselsewhere. Rodchenko felt a special affinity forthe works of Aubrey Beardsley (1872-1898)and Mikhail Vrubel (1856-1911) , and thetransformational effects ofimages andshadowsin Autoanimals may well remind us of theworks of these two Symbolist artists. Ultimately,Rodchenko's extension ofthe traditional bound­aries of art into a synthetic representation oftwo-dimensional photo-illustrations andthree­dimensional cinematic effects has transformeden page the characters of Autoanima/s intovisionary emotive shapes that represent, amongother things: the purposeful stride of the ele­phant, thegraceful silliness of thegiraffe, andthegleeful imitations by thechildren.

NotesI AGerman translation has recently been pub­

lished as Selbst Gemachte Tiere, ed. WernerFiitterer and Hubertus Gassner, Cologne, 1980.I am not in complete agreement with theformat orthe commentary ofthis edition.

2On Rodchenko's book designs, see my essay"Graphic Commitment," Rodchenko, ed. DavidElliott, Oxford, Museum ofModem Art, 1979;L. Volkov-Lannit,AlexLlnder Rodchenko:Risuet,Fotograjiruet, Spoti! (Draughtsman, Photog­rapher. Sportsman) , Moscow, 1968.

3 On Russian experimental book design, see:Szymon Bojko, New Graphic Design in Revo­lutionary Russia. New York, 1972; Arthur A.Cohen, "Futurismand Constructivism: Russianand Other," PrintCollectors ' Neusleuer, VII,

no. I, 1976, 2-4; Susan Compton, The WorldBackwards: Russian Futurist Books, 1912­1916, London, 1978;Vladimir Markov, RussianFuturism:AHistory. London, 1969; Gail Har-

rison Roman, "The Ins and Outs of RussianAvant-Garde Books: AHistory, 1910 - 1932."The Auant-Garde in Russia. 1910-1932:Neu:Perspectives, Los Angeles County MuseumofArt, 1980.

4 On LEF, see: Robert Sherwood, "Introductionto LEF," Form, x, October, 1969, 29ff; TheTradition ojConsJrucJivism, ed. Stephen Bann,New York, 1974, 79ff; Russian Art oj theAoant-Garde: Theory and Criticism, 1902­1934, ed. John E. Bowlt, New York, 1977,199ff. Rodchenko's cover designs for LEF andNouyi LEF are illustrated in Elliott, ed., Rod­cbenko, 20 - 23.

5 Rodchenko was accused, apparently unjustly,by some critics of plagiarizing the works offoreign photographers, most notably Moholoy­Nagy. This controversy can be followed inpartin the polemical essays and letters by Rod­chenko himself andthe critic Boris Kushner inthepages ofNovyi LEF.

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Fig. 9 Alexander Rodchenko, Young Woman in"Speckled Light," photograph, 1934. Private CollecJion.

6These works are illustrated in Elliott, ed.,Rodchenko, 29- 53-

7A limited amount of private enterprise wasallowed to function , under the supervision oftheCommunist party, inorder to stimulate theSoviet economy. This program, which includedadvertising, was known as NEP for "New Eco­nomic Policy," and it lasted from 1921 to1928.

8 On Rodchenko's photography, see: Ronny H.Cohen, "Alexander Rodchenko," Print Col­leaors' Newsletter, \111 , no. 3, 1977,68 - 70.On Russian photography of the period, see:Susan Compton, "Art and Photography," PrintCollectors'Newsletter, \11, no. I, 1976, 12 -14.

9Alexander Rodchenko, "Zapisnaya Kniga 'LEFa',['LEF' Notebook], Novy; LEF, 6, 1927,3-4 .

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