IN 2005, THE RUSSIAN ART
SCENE was marked by encounters with official politics, money, and the media,
which taken together constituted a confrontation primarily with power. The year began with the first
Moscow Biennale and ended with “Russia!” at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum in
New York. The Putin regime, with its mania for absolute control, finally
accepted art as an essential element In its cultural
and ideological program. This year capital, too, collided with art’s commercial
spaces: In the fall, the galleries that were created at the dawn of the
economic reforms and survived the difficult ‘90s began their second season in
league with new and ambitious venues, including Stella Art, Ru
Art, and Gary Tatintsian, among others. In addition, a group of galleries, taking the name of Art Strelka
(or “art point”), set up shop in a former factory on the Moscow River by the
wails of the Kremlin. Suddenly art, which post-Soviet society has looked
on with some suspicion and even disgust, became fashionable, setting the stage for
its encounter with the mass media. Stability emerged after an unfortunate
transition period, and the depression of those on the margins turned to
euphoria.
However, the Russian state
has its own traditions, and, having arrived at the shores of art, it Immediately provoked a battle for control. Reviving
practices from the Stalinist era, curators and artists ran to the Ministry of
Culture with information on each other, allowing state bureaucrats to operate
in the art world through chicanery and manipulation, methods that have served
them well in their dealings with businessmen. This had the noticeable effect of
diminishing the art world’s new-found optimism, a situation compounded by the
fact that state Initiatives in the artistic sphere (as in others) were far from
ideal. Setting aside the example of the Moscow Biennale, which aroused such
disappointment that It seemed almost as if the collective depression from the
past had returned (my personal involvement in the event’s early stages prevents
me from elaborating further), artists representing
Russia at the Venice Biennale came to publicly lament the failure of their
project, regretting that they had heeded the curator-bureaucrats’ demands for
empty spectacle. And finally, after the Guggenheim show was labeled by experts
as pure propaganda, It became apparent that “Russia!”
would more appropriately be followed by a question mark.
In the midst of all this,
Alexander Sokolov, the new minister of culture and mass communications,
publicly accused his subordinates of financial abuses, a trend that recent
sociological findings would appear to confirm—in two years Russia witnessed a
tenfold increase in corruption. This really wasn’t news to anyone in the art
world: The ministerial budget for the Moscow Biennale was announced at the
press conference as $2 million, but It was hard to
imagine the event costing more than $300,000 to $400,000. And so, the chief
reference point of the state was affirmed to be not ideology, as in Soviet
times, but cash—not only that which the state dispenses, but that which it
withholds and seizes. Accordingly, state museums, even the most respectable
like the State Tretyakov Gallery, established the practice of selling artists
(or their dealers) the rights to mount their own personal exhibitions.
Alongside money, the mass
media exists as the fundamental tool for bureaucrats. Taking control of
culture, they behave as pure managers or sponsors who are interested not in the
content or illuminating ideas of cultural initiatives, but in their ability to
function as conducts of information. According to this logic, they direct their
attention only toward ephemeral actions that allow for the manipulation of large
flows of capital and that generate plump press dossiers. Thus, the Russian
authorities stave to make the world of art a fact of state poetics, contrary to
the traditions of Anglo-Saxon countries and divergent from the European
practice of leaving art to its own experts and autonomous Initiatives. The
authorities are suspicious of the latter situation, regarding it as a breeding
ground for independent and critical thinking.
But, truth be told, all
this does not seem to be jarring to a certain moral majority. To this day,
Russian viewers are bewitched by the culture of the spectacle, and they
interpret any alternative phenomenon as a recurrence of the moralism of Soviet
times. After the economic nightmare of the ‘90s, the relative stabilization
(fed by petro-dollars, not by a natural rise in the
economy) has induced a feckless desire for “entertainment.” Moreover, for all
the liberal reforms, a rather unsubtle ideology has been Imposed
by the authorities: the market. The only alternative to barracklike socialism,
it is part and parcel with democracy, and, therefore, engaged in commerce is seen
as a moral stance for the progressive artist and intellectual. Leading up to
2005, the first appearance of an art market was accompanied by the emergence of
a commercial mainstream directed at a new connoisseur (and buyer), whose
artistic temperament was molded by the Soviet era’s canonical socialist realism
and by commercial advertising, which has become commonplace in recent years.
This type of artistic language, premised entirely on pure spectacle to the
exclusion of analytical or critical intentions, does away with inner complexity
and antagonism and makes a hard sell for what could be called “imitation” contemporary
art. It would thus seem perfectly fitting for a culture in which authentic
political debate and criticism are overlooked, a culture that the Russian
political scientist Dimitry Furman calls an “imitation
democracy.”
Nevertheless, some
antagonisms are beginning to take shape, and it is growing more and more
difficult to cover them up. Players in the art market are beginning to
understand the importance of doing away with the ubiquitous conflicts of
interest and Interested parties. And It is not simply that they no longer want to pay bureaucrats
for the right to organize noncommercial exhibitions, a practice which
obliterates any hope for vital critical commentary. They are also beginning to
realize that the everyday mass media is somewhat fickle and that there can
never be blind trust in ephemeral artistic events and spectacular exhibitions,
since only fixed and uncorrupt institutions are capable of establishing stable
reputations. Therefore, despite the current market euphoria, the enduring
cachet of local star artists does not appear to be on the use.
Appropriately enough,
throughout the course of 2005, the problems of resistance (to the authorities,
money, and the media) came to the fore in discussions in the art world. If in
the ‘90s (when art and politics were tangled in the general chaos) a critical
position was treated as an affected posture, then today it has true meaning. At
the risk of oversimplification, this developing discourse was defined by the
collision of two main positions. The first was put forth by proponents of
direct political activism, such as the artists and Intellectuals of the group Chto delat’? (or
“What is to be done?’’), who have propagandized the Ideas of the Western Left
in the pages of their eponymous publication. The second was put forth by
proponents of the autonomy of art, in particular the artists Anatoly Osmolovsky
and Dmitry Gutov, who pay attention to the fact that a critical stance In art
risks making a mockery of Itself (fit is deprived of complexity and inner
antagonism. As was the case years ago, kitsch and mass-media propaganda are
once again provoking a poetical reaction in artists and find them withdrawing
toward the purity of formalism. In fact, In the 2005 Issue of Moscow Art
Magazine Clement Greenberg’s 1939 essay “Avant-Garde
and Kitsch’’ will be published in Russian for the first time, along with
commentary from advocates from the two opposing camps. This legendary text was
written r the experience of Soviet cultural poetics particularly in mind.
Today, however, it is beginning to be used in Russia as a critique of
post-Soviet cultural politics.
Viktor Misiano is a
Moscow-based critic and curator. He is founder and editor in chief of Moscow Art Magazine and an editor of Manifesta Journal
(See Contributors.)