The Birch, Fall 2005

Russia! At The Guggenheim!
Eight centuries of Russian history come to New York on canvas

Merrell Hambleton

As you walk into the center of the sky-lit rotunda of the Guggenheim, the word "Russia," painted in golden capital letters, is splayed against a bold, red background. It ends, not with a colon and further detail like most academic titles, but with an exclamation point. The message is at once dramatic, insistent and celebratory. The exhibition, which spirals away from the main floor in a taut coil, seems vaulted upward by the sheer energy of its name. And rightly so. "Russia!" encompasses all of the cultural and historical breadth that its title promises. This is not merely a collection of Russian art - it is an event, a cultural communiqué of great scope and unabashed ambition.

Of course, if "Russia!" has a message to convey, it is one written not in words but in images. Painting, which is the medium in emphasis, is at the heart of the exhibit. The curatorial team, a collaborative made up of Americans and Russians, went to great lengths to compile a body of work that examines, in varying degrees of detail, every significant moment in Russian Art history. Beginning with iconography of the thirteenth through the seventeenth century, the exhibit moves forward to the birth of secular art during the eighteenth century. This is followed by the thematically complex nineteenth century, which was characterized initially by Romantic portraits - widely represented in the show - and seascapes and later by more journalistic representations of the Russian countryside. The wellknown avant-garde period and a series of Russian Symbolist works precede a jarring transition into the socialist realism of the nineteen thirties and forties, and the show concludes chronologically with a diverse and poignant collection of work from the end of the Cold War to the present.

Approaching a show of this size - there are over 270 works on display - is daunting. While the ramp channels the art into a helpful chronology, it is also worth filtering the mass of paintings in order to get the most out of the sprawling exhibit. Many of the works function as parts of distinct bodies and can be understood best in context. This is true of the Russian icons, uniform in their blues, reds and shimmering golds. Though there is some variety of format - triptychs, wall hangings - and content - Madonna and Child, the Passion - the icons all express a similar aesthetic instinct and pursue the same didactic goal. Socialist Realism also falls into this category. The stylistic direction of the work from this period is in many ways more striking than the individual pieces. It is characterized by a conservative palette and an earnest tone, and is consistently representational and figurative. The most notable and characteristic pieces depict scenes from the life of the noble peasant going about his daily business against sunny, green landscapes. Letter from the Front and Harvest, both recipients of the Stalin Prize for art in the forties, epitomize the uninspired, conservative style. Other more blatantly political works like At the Coffin of the Leader are more interesting (though not more inspired) in terms of subject matter, but hover ambivalently in the painterly genre of bland realism. There is an obvious regression from the work that directly precedes Socialist Realism, as evidenced by precocious paintings from the turn of the century like Pyotr Miturich's Portrait of Arthur Lourie. The striking contrast that the exhibit sets up between what was happening in the larger art world, both before and during this period, and the work that the Socialist Realists were producing provides effective evidence of political infringement.

While "Russia!" makes a point of illustrating the ramifications of Stalinism, it places no distinct emphasis on political art. The inclusion of these works helps the viewer to understand a facet of the Russian experience in the same way that the various winter landscapes do. From a curatorial perspective, the political art has no agenda. Quite simply, says one American curator, "you can't rewrite history." The decision to have history drive the show rather than any particular movement or style means that the pieces one remembers most vividly assert themselves. While the importance of Iconography and Socialist Realism is clear, the most rewarding elements of the exhibit are a number of individual works that offer selfcontained insight into the Russian experience and, in some cases, works that escape their context all together. In the former group is Ilya Repin's Barge Haulers on the Volga, which depicts with startling honesty the plight of the Russian peasantry. Ten bedraggled men slouch into the foreground against the weight of a massive boat that follows in the distance. The near life-size work allows the full force of each man's expression to confront the viewer; individually, they suggest something particular about life in the Russian countryside and something universal about human suffering.

Kazimir Malevich's Morning in the Village after Snowstorm, moved out of the Guggenheim's permanent collection for the exhibit, looks at peasant life from a more modern but equally revelatory perspective . Manipulating geometric shapes and using a bizarre palette of royal blue, black, white and electric orange, Malevich manages to evoke with incredible force the depths of a Russian winter. His use of space and light is utterly modern but the painting transcends its aesthetic origins. It is no surprise that Malevich, one of the few Russian artists in the show whose reputation in the West most certainly precedes him, is behind some of the best works. A version of his infamous Black Square serves as the centerpiece for a series of striking pieces by late nineteenth and early twentieth century Russian artists. Natalia Goncharova's Girl on a Beast is almost eerily reminiscent of one of Picasso's demoiselles and her self-portrait is rendered in bold, Van Gogh-like strokes. Still Life: Fruit on a Dish, by Ilya Mashkov could be a Cezanne; Mikhail Larionov's primitive, rustic Winter, done in 1912, looks like a Basquiat canvas. A world away from Socialist Realism in their emphasis on individual expression and yet no less distinctly Russian, these works manage to hold their own against the best of their contemporaries in the West.

This very distinct Russianness is highlighted by the presence of some conspicuously non-Russian artists. Picasso, Matisse and Cezanne, most notably, all have pieces in the show. The works are taken from the collections of Peter the Great, Catherine the Great and Nicholas I, among others. At first, their inclusion seems oddly digressive. The chronological reach of the show is long enough, to stretch it geographically as well seems to risk blurring the focus of the show altogether, not to mention diluting the assertion of the title. And yet somehow, "Russia!" manages to coalesce. In fact, it is difficult to understand how one is meant to view and interpret the exhibit until this final broadening. The collection of Western paintings tells us less about Russian art and more about the interests of the individuals who owned them. It forces the focus away from the purely historical and onto the spirit of art in Russia. As you turn off the ramp to view the Western art in the annexes, you digress thematically from the rigid timeline of Russian history. The emphasis placed on the story and the people behind the art removes the burden of chronology. You are forced to stop looking for logical progression, cohesion of style and unity of message and instead start to read the exhibit like the complex narrative that it is. Our American exposure to Russian culture is founded in the literary traditions of Tolstoy and Dostoevksy, and "Russia!" allows us to use this tradition to inform our understanding of Russian art. The exhibit's varied movement - at once linear, regressive, exclusive, circular, and all-encompassing - makes instruction unrealistic. It fails didactically. The exhaustive variety of artistic motives makes it impossible to take away a concrete understanding of any one artist or movement. We must instead be content with something bigger and less defined. The exhibit, as Head of the Federal Agency for Culture and Cinematography Mikhail Shwydkoi declared at its opening, "discovers the spiritual life of Russia."

But perhaps to expect so much from an art exhibit is a mistake. At the Press Preview, the tone of expectancy and ambition weighed heavily. The atmosphere was more that of an international conference than an art opening. Members of both the American and Russian curatorial teams made speeches attesting to the political significance of "Russia!" Guggenheim Director Thomas Krens expressed a need to address the lack of understanding and appreciation of Russian culture in the United States. The Russian speakers were confident in the exhibits ability to remedy this. Shwydkoi stressed the importance of ties between Russia and the US and Senator Leonid Lebedev seemed confident in "Russia!'s" role in strengthening these ties. This event "can change history," Lebedev declared with exuberant optimism. To an extent the political agenda evident at the opening overshadowed the works themselves. Even the scheduling of the show smacked of a certain missionary deliberateness: "Russia!" opened in coincidence with the 60th anniversary of the United Nations General Assembly. President Vladimir Putin, who partially underwrote the exhibit, was in town for the event at the UN and managed to fit in a special preview at the Guggenheim. He seemed fully aware and in support of the exhibits potential to function as an ambassadorial tool. Before getting in his car to leave the museum, Putin turned to Krens and asked, "Can we take it to China?"

Since its opening in September, "Russia!" has attracted viewers in enthusiastic droves. Americans have showed an interest in the show that discredits Krens' fear of lacking appreciation. Russians, too, have attended in large numbers. Many come with family members and use the paintings to tell stories that bridge generations. In this respect, the show has succeeded in bringing Americans and Russians together. But is it realistic to hope that this miscegenation will be realized on the international scale? Can a mutual appreciation of culture be stretched to cooperation on political, economic, and ideological fronts? It is unlikely. "Russia!" is more than an art show, but it is also something less than a political solvent. Those behind the exhibit set it up to overreach itself in spite of the shows inarguable, self-contained success. The notion that art has the power to change and save is long enduring and should not be abandoned, but perhaps it is wise to devise a more humble mission for this event.

When asked about her hopes for the exhibition, American curator Valerie Hillings looked to her experience with learning the Russian Language as a guide. Fundamental to her command of the language was the mastery of Russian phonology, which differs greatly from English. Her ability to manipulate these pronunciations facilitated the rest of her studies. Hillings, a Russian Art specialist, seems more focused on the individual works in the show. She sees the body of work on display as analogous to the phonological building blocks she used when learning Russian. So her view of the exhibit’s mission? Simple. "I want the exhibit to provide people with a basic vocabulary for understanding Russian Art." It may not be the international embrace her colleagues envision, but it is the opening of a new communication channel -- and it is certainly a start.