Censoring Tradition: From The Modern To The Contemporary

Abstract

Folklore in its multifaceted manifestations is a significant part of traditional Russian culture, but how does it impact contemporary art practice and its socio-political climate? How does the history of Russia, modernism and the censorship of heritage impact visual art to the present day? This article engages with intersectionality and the theory of modernity in an attempt to unpack these questions through three contemporary case studies of works by artists who research cultural memory.

Censoring Tradition - from the Modern to the Contemporary

The continued impact of folklore on contemporary Russian art practice

Folklore in its multifaceted manifestations is a significant part of traditional Russian culture, but how does it impact contemporary art practice and its socio-political climate? The subject is ripe for exploration in light of yet again rising political tension within the country due to the restriction of speech and electoral rights as well as the governments’ current foreign policy. (Rain, 2018) The definitions of the term folklore vary in context of the analysing scholastic branch, however, for the purpose of this investigation, it will imply the syncretic and variative collective artistic communication embodying the essence of its people. (Anikin, 1996) (Ben-Amos, 1971) (Jacobson Bogatyrev, 1966) This conglomerate of characteristics of traditional lifestyle allows elements of Russian craft and oral storytelling to merge with principles and religious histories to indicate that folklore being a wide discipline broadly underpins culture. The focus on tradition has remained outside the definition due to it being a constructed concept and although rituals can be part of folklore, they are not essential to its existence. (Anikin, 1996) Additionally, the regional and national aspects of folk wisdom and consciousness are unmentioned in light of globalisation and the possible upholding of relevant lifestyle beyond geographical borders. (Ben-Amos, 1971) The array of definitions for the term is owed to its cultural implications from religion to varying custom as well as whether its verbal, physical or informational aspect is being explored, hence it often being identified as a knowledge and belief system, a group of traditions or a source of oral histories.

In writing as a Russian artist based in the UK, there is a personal longing for an expanded understanding of my roots due to a distancing from them. The inherent passion for traditional craft and folklore embedded within Russian education brought this exploration to be streamlined through its lens. (Anikin, 1996) (Aldoshina, 2001) Furthermore, this proves relevant with the current rise of interest in Russian art and its socio-political and historical context due to the recent 100^th anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution which sparked a period of artistic freedom followed by harsh censorship. (Royal Academy of Arts, 2017) This is evident through the Revolution: Russian Art 1917-1932 show at the Royal Academy, and in turn, an exhibition of Ilya and Emilia Kabakov’s work at the Tate Modern. (Tate, 2018) Both of these focus largely on communal spirit, which is an essential quality of folklore even if its performance is isolated, while criticising the Soviet regime under or based upon which the works were made. (Aldoshina, 2001) Moreover, under current circumstances, a focus on cultural heritage preservation seems apt as cancel culture inevitably criticises mention of anything Russian.

In particular, the exploration of this subject is fuelled by a conversation with Russian artist Svetlana K-lié in London about the growing disturbance within society and the division created by the political situation. I had questioned how family members and friends can turn against one another based on the climate, and she pointed out that “the most impactful arguments are always among family.”

In an effort to unpack these ideas, references to the psychoanalysis of Russian society are made specifically focusing on trauma, it’s repression and subsequent constant recall in the form of nostalgia. Moreover, questions of intersectionality are raised as they too play a significant role in how Russian folklore and contemporary art are interpreted and preserved. Lastly, I engage with the theory of modernity and how contemporary art discourse fits into the metamodern. The material for the investigation originates from the Russian Art Archive in Moscow and the British Library as well as varied digital databases.

The work of three contemporary artists, each from a different area of visual art, is analysed against the aforementioned definition of folklore as well as its recent iterations and the aspects of social trauma it reflects upon. Firstly, it is key to trace the evolution of artistic practice from communal village production to representational (read classical) art, the industrialisation and modernity. (Chistov, 1986) In turn, current approaches can be evaluated. Polina Osipova acts as a gateway to understanding the synthesis of the image of a traditional Russian woman and a present-day feminist art practitioner through politically elevating headdress. Then Daniel Bragin’s sculpture demonstrates the ongoing relevance of religion as part of the contemporary power structure. Finally, political work by Timofey Radya, rooted in the symbiosis of variative oral histories and post-modern installation, illustrates the fragility of constructed heritage.

I hypothesise that traditional focus in art is largely uprooted through the industrialisation, but is it more inherent and thus resilient to this kind of change, hence its current re-emergence as part of the metamodern. Vast research has been conducted into folklore, craft and modernity as well as the roots of Russian culture, however, the below is unlike most in its approach, focusing on the direct involvement of historically established elements of life in the modern day and the spaces for reflection they provide. In their disintegration may lay unease that triggers internal and external conflict which we are seeing today.

Folklore, Craft and History

Many artists have explored process as well as its meditative qualities. From communal making in pre 9^th century Slavic settlements to Orthodox collectives, Russian folklore is a deep-rooted part of the culture. (Encyclopedia Britannica, 2019) Encompassing various religious directions, it witnesses the pagan and thus polytheistic belief system as well as its subsequent transition to Christianity. (Kaminskaya, 2014) In monarchical Russia, peasants are enslaved and spoken for from family to religion, although in more rural areas and for independent craftsmen, a traditional contemplative lifestyle is more attainable. (Kurennoy, et al., 2017) Nonetheless, those working for wealthier families are still largely folklore focused, exchanging anecdotes in conversation and honing their craft whether in fashioning clothing or traditional cookery. (Chistov, 1986) With the introduction of Western ideas and processes by Peter the Great, and a stronger focus on labour force expansion, the pull towards larger cities not only begins shifting the ideas of choice and freedom for enslaved peasants, but also that for traditional creators as the city continuously accentuates the marketplace. (Anisimov, 2009) However, he also builds on the existing social hierarchy and thus creates visible separation, banning the higher classes from wearing traditional dress alike peasants. (Saksina, 2019) As part of the Russian education, this period brings a focus on economic growth allowing the country to flourish, however, Nikolai Karamzin and Petr Chaadaev, criticise Petrine reforms. Their prominent argument associates pre-Petrine Russia with authenticity “a great man wanted to civilise us (…), he threw us a cloak we took up the cloak but did not so much as touch civilisation” mentions Chaadaev. (Warren, 2009: 748) Karamzin also states that forcing a change in dress and custom through Europeanisation is not only a “violation of human rights”, but also the reason the “educated classes” are “stripped of any recognisable Russian identity”. (Warren, 2009: 747) This pinpoints one of the first forced cultural contradictions that fracture Russia across time.

“As the old feudal estates begin to disintegrate, the traditional estate-based crafts, such as lacemaking, embroidery, pottery, and woodworking, also lose their institutional base”. (Warren, 2009: 748) It’s important to remember the devaluation of craft is not linear. Post-Petrine leader Nikolai I attempts a reconciliation between tradition and monarchy as well as that of society and autocracy with the help of Fedor Solntsev. The latter is largely recognised for his catalogue of traditionally crafted items from the royal collection “creating an ideological un ion between pre and post-imperial Russia”, an evident attempt at politicising folklore yet a move toward its revival. (Warren, 2009: 743)

It is not until the 1860s that serfdom is discontinued, and autonomy is legally attainable allowing mass migration into the city for work and independence. (Borodkin, 2012) Around this time, “founders of the folk-art revival, such as Vladimir Stasov and Elena Polenova” warn of the potential for complete craft disintegration, which brings about “various private and state-run initiatives to prevent this predicted extermination of national spirit”. (Warren, 2009: 748) Some 20 years later mark the beginning of the Russian industrialisation, the delay of which by around 120 years from the start of that in Europe can be justified by the lack of urbanised centres due to serfdom. (Fedotov, 1992) Through this, a battle for cultural preservation, promotion and appreciation is evident in the “establishing of the Chief Administration of Agriculture and Land Tenure (GUZZ), a section of the Ministry of Agriculture dedicated to supporting peasant craft industries” promoting “skills necessary to make marketable crafts.” (Warren, 2009: 749)

The appreciation for creation rather than necessarily its result is perpetuated, coincidentally, during the same period craft and skill visibly see devaluation. (Roberts, 2007) As art practice moves away from the notion of the artisan, and towards the avant-garde and the modern beginning around 1850 and closely following the global start of the industrialisation, which only hits Russia near 1880, the value of the traditional begins to disintegrate. (Roberts, 2007) (Cottington, 2013) However, a new hunger for savouring process and the quality as well as the character of media becomes apparent even within the move towards mass production. (Sigler, 2017) Although contemporary art often strays from classical teachings in terms of colour and compositional balance, diversity of tools and a wider range of processes become available. (Roberts, 2007) Similarly, visual art becomes a meditation of sorts through its conceptual development and thus artists are able to create their own language.

Prior to contemporaneity, this is illustrated by the Russian avant-garde. (Gur`ianova, 2012) Amongst its participants, Wassily Kandinsky demonstrates the newfound instinctivity and willingness to experiment. In analysing artworks, he often employs musical terms drawing parallels between the two artforms. (Kandinsky, 2000) Music, as an inherently abstract and largely non-visual event, falls most in line with the innovative approaches. (Cottington, 2013) Kandinsky’s pieces arguably do not lack structural elements and cubist references however, those break away from the figurative in its traditional sense as well as occasionally being led by music in aid of the abstract mark making. They also accentuate the multimedia approach to creation stemming from folk processes alike breadmaking, crockery painting and traditional cross stitch where artists sing in an effort to imbue physical creations with positive energy.

The avant-garde’s relationship with folklore is also a double-edged sword, on one hand its focus on traditional destruction and defiance puts it at odds with history. (Groys, 2011) On the other, artists Natalia Goncharova and her partner Mikhail Larionov employ “authentic national expression as an instrument of political opposition” in exhibiting their work in conjunction with Larionov’s personal collection of icons and other authentic craft objects, unifying the two. (Warren, 2009: 746)

Although this experimentation leads to increased visual and conceptual inaccessibility for wider audiences, it allows artists the kind of freedom that is somewhat unavailable in ‘classical’ making and is a means for immediate expression. But has the devaluation of skill hollowed the artisanal craftsmanship of art? Or has the contemporary movement encouraged an evolution of the term? If it lay in the making of pigment or tool, one can argue this indeed only widens such production and the associated skillset. And in light of post-modern approaches, a synthesis of tradition and modernity is encouraged. (Cottington, 2013) However, if it is in the accurate representation of the subject matter, the loss of figurative prevision can be argued. The debate is endless as traditional artists largely allude to the skill required for exact rendering of the object at hand and although their style is recognisable and depiction accessible, it can be argued that emotive responses do not always derive from such accuracy. (Zhang, et al., 2011) Often, a single mark made as an instinctive retort evokes a visceral reaction unlike any other upon viewing as evident in Kandinsky’s work and that of other avant-garde creators. (RARP, 2016) On the other hand, striving for precision preserves a folk-like communality through ambiguous identification and allows the work to remain accessible.

Could the devaluation of traditional folklore be owed to the urbanisation? Studies note that a vast majority of Russian territory is uninhabited, and over 50% reside in the city. (Kurennoy, et al., 2017) Some having moved to escape the feeling of a clan or a village, which paradoxically cultivated both collective craft and solo meditation through making. (Kurennoy, et al., 2017) The cliché of the ‘concrete jungle’ technically allows one to be truly alone for the first time in history, and public spaces often make that possible even in a crowd of people due to a lack of personal connection and the shifting community. Others come to the city in search for work and increased pay but are often hit with increased costs of living which can eliminate the actual profit on earnings comparable to their hometown. This also comes at the cost of time and focus dedicated to self-reflection or ideological development as well as eliminating artisanal practices in favour of mass production and consumption. Where folklore and relevant craft, storytelling and many of its other artistic iterations promote a sense of community and inheritance, the city and its emphasis on the new and industrial has built a ‘buying cult’. Ironically, largescale production being a tool to satisfy many, is in some areas creating isolation and dissatisfaction in the culture of owning and acquiring due to an overabundance, as well as in the workplace, which more often than not sacrifices ethical conditions to cater for higher yield.

This mass migration cultivated by the industrialisation and an increased concentration of work in central locations thus brings not only the devaluation and redefinition of craft, tradition, folklore and ritual, but also a newfound loneliness without coping mechanisms to match. (Kurennoy, et al., 2017)

On the other hand, those who escape the ‘village mentality’ to find solace in solitude are often hit with growing office hours and socialisation this time not with their respective ‘clan’ but others from various walks of life. This can have a positive impact on both traditional and contemporary folklore through networking and thus national and regional unification. Being vast, Russia cultivates local tradition, which is identified as part of its cultural education. (Aldoshina, 2001) Specific focus falls on crockery painting from two regions that varies greatly in colour, pattern and medium: Gzhel ceramics with a blue and white scheme due to the abundance of clay, and Kokhloma, a style that combines wood carving with red, yellow, gold, and black flushes of colour. (Ministry of Education, 2014) These demonstrate contrasting practices while accentuating focal similarity in natural representation.

This newfound city dissonance creates further inner turmoil with little time to resolve. (Kurennoy, et al., 2017) In-between home and work, the time for craft and artistic expression is drawn to a minimum. And here, external turmoil originates in equal proportion. (Kurennoy, et al., 2017) The quest for solitude or financial independence results in less than ideal scenarios bringing individuals into unfamiliar environments where cooperation and communication on a basic level become unavoidable and equally disorganised in the modern rush. These issues can only be made more prominent through shifting governmental priorities – from ignoring folklore in favour of religion, to reframing both as being inseparable, to forcibly abandoning them under Soviet rule and even considering traditional practices to be anti-patriotic.

Young people at present notice similar trends and often yearn for a meditative lifestyle early on, following dreamy country living. (Kurennoy, et al., 2017) More are willing to sacrifice stable predictable income for a balanced and emotionally gratified lifestyle. (Kurennoy, et al., 2017) Is this to do with anxiety that came to a boiling point under the Soviet Regime, its persistence to modern day and an urge to get away from it? It’s personally traceable in my family history as my great-great grandfather was sent to a concentration camp never to be seen again, and his wife killed in front of her children, my great grandmother being one of them. (Kazintseva, 2018) Her husband’s father, Aleksey Kapler, an established filmmaker in the USSR was forbidden from marrying Svetlana Stalina with whom he was romantically involved and was subsequently imprisoned. (Alliluyeva, 2016) But it’s also visible through other creatives’ lives at the time in their oppression and migration. Joseph Brodsky and aforementioned Ilya Kabakov being among the most well-known, who emigrated to America with no perspective of return. Towards the end of his life, Brodsky avoids speaking of Russia, although some of his most acclaimed work surrounds the nostalgia for it as mentioned by Mikhail Kozyr’ remembering their meeting in an interview with Russian journalist Nikolay Solodnikov. (Solodnikov, 2019) Kabakov however, whether to remain marketable or in an undying storm of emotion, continues creating around it with his wife Emilia. Can USSR-reminiscent restriction be traced to modern-day or is inherited trauma ensuring self-censorship in fear? Or has it now turned into an inspirational nostalgia to some effect?

Under the Soviet Regime, consequences for oppositionary or liberal artists range from publishing restrictions and imprisonment to exile and death. Modern-day conflict between creatives and the government results in similar, yet arguably more implicit punishment. Petr Pavlensky, a controversial performance artist, left Russia for France after allegations of sexual assault, which he and his wife deny. (Agence France-Presse, 2017) He speculates that this is an authorised attempt to remove him from the political art circle in Russia due to the disturbance he causes from sewing his mouth shut, nailing his scrotum to the Red Square to laying naked in barbed wire and setting a state building on fire. (Agence France-Presse, 2017) However, his ideas of morality have been questioned after he committed arson in France, a country that granted him political asylum. (BBC, 2017)

Similar situations are faced by members of Pussy Riot, a protest band and contemporary art group. Several have seen repeated arrests and jail time after rock riots with anti-government poetry in the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, as well as at the World Cup under allegations of refusing a terror search, which they deny. (Beaumont-Thomas, 2018) Nonetheless, their ethical beliefs have been questioned around disrespecting sacred environments as well as defying travel bans to partake in political activity abroad. (Roberts, 2012)

Other industries see forced censorship as well, the most prominent cases over the last decade include the murder of oppositionary political leader Boris Nemtsov and the jailing and torture of “investigative journalist” Ivan Golunov under assumed drug possession charges. (Yaffa, 2016) (Colombo, 2019) However, artists mentioned below are able to create without consequence, allowing an argument of possible self-censorship and a residual culture of fear. Are there lines an artist as well as the general public should not cross? Are actions like disturbing a church service and setting government property on fire excusable under the banner of contemporary art? And is this ongoing presence of avant-gardist approaches, which aim to destroy tradition, a way forward or a continued disturbance?

Contemporarily Traditional

What’s especially interesting is how modern-day tradition-inspired craftspeople reflect on the current socio-political scenarios in light of their occupation as well as its evolution. Polina Osipova being one such creator, focuses on female headdress and its contemporary implications. She modifies patterns to accommodate new elements that critique dysfunctional aspects of daily life. The category of headwear is called Kokoshnik and is “a symbol of Russian national dress in the shape of a comb. (Saksina, 2019: 8) The word originates from “kokosh – a chicken, hen”. (Saksina, 2019: 8) Its shape varies depending on the region, and typically features extensive beading, pearl and golden thread, as well as occasional forehead and temple jewellery. The piece is normally worn by girls of bridal age and married women, the former of which add it to their one braid hairstyle with ribbon, and the latter use it with head scarves to cover the hair (uncovered hair on married women is fabled to bring sorrow to all). (Saksina, 2019) The kokoshnik indicates the social status of the woman and her family based on the materials and patters used, and due to its cost, is often passed down through generations and treasured. (Belovinsky, 1997) It is both a festive element and a daily necessity in traditional female wear. It’s interesting that the artist chooses a piece meant to be preserved for exploration in the modern day mass-production focused society this is likely to do with her birth in 1998 and an experience of multiple financial crises in Russia through which many made their own clothing due to general scarcity and durability concerns. (Feridun, 2004)

Polina Osipova’s piece Vasilisa the Wisest and All-seeing (Figure 1) is inspired by a Russian fairy-tale about a wise princess. The headpiece resembles an orthodox church dome, curving in a crest shape around the top of the artist’s head and featuring a peak in the top centre. It is covered in delicate ivory beading all around with a larger white jewel just below the point. Six wires face in various directions up and away from the head and shape into surveillance cameras covered in pearls. The piece also includes forehead jewellery made with adjoined threads of pearl that connect into rhombuses and are finished with teardrop shaped larger white jewels. The piece is displayed on the artist herself in a darkened space, where she wears several layered pearl necklaces to match that resemble a collar, and a grey sweatshirt with cameras, purple grapes and their emerald green vines. Her chin is lifted, and her hand is just underneath it. She is wearing bright red nail polish, which stands out as part of the relatively neutral image.

The qualities and methods of making a kokoshnik remain archaic, however, it is a variative craft with “layers of time” involved in it. (Saksina, 2019: 11) The making of this piece is not only part of folk craft but also that of stories retold through generations. Thus, with it comes an immersive experience of nostalgic recall and a participatory aspect in wearing and making it in accordance with tradition. Specifically, for Osipova as she mentions her childhood focus being vintage fabrics and traditional cross stitch from her grandmother’s trunk. (Osipova, 2019) The contemporary take on it with a critique on surveillance is especially interesting as it is not only another layer, but a self-contradiction. On one hand, the cameras are worn and controlled by one person – alike Big Brother from George Orwell’s 1984, and much like the controlling hands of the Soviet party which some argue are still traceable in the power structure at present. Furthermore, they are all facing away from the ‘puppeteer’, indicating she is unwatched, resembling the lack of accountability for higher ranking politicians. However, the image is distributed via Instagram, which being a social media platform, implies global outreach and somebody always paying attention to the artist as a public persona. This creates an interplay between who is really watching and being watched. On the other hand, the title points towards the cameras being a quality of the character, namely Vasilisa, making her “all-seeing” as well as already being the wisest. (Osipova, 2019) This viewed with the artist’s posture can be interpreted as a nod to female empowerment, viewing the woman as a source of knowledge, which is accentuated by the craftsmanship within the kokoshnik representative of traditional awareness. However, the headpiece’s name coming from a hen being almost degrading, and having been used to indicate a woman’s status, is a problematic item in itself indicating the woman being possessed by a man. There is also another layer to Polina’s identity as she has Chuvash heritage, and the headwear in the region varies from that in central Russia. But also, people from the region are often discriminated against due to their ethnicity, raising questions of what Russianness is and which parts of heritage have been historically preserved or censored to fit the white-centric narrative.

The headpiece historically is self-questioning because the “Russian costume makes the female figure stately, massive” and it only contributes to that being wider and taller than the woman’s head, implying power and strength. (Saksina, 2019: 12) However, it is only worn by women of bridal age to indicate their status and draw attention to themselves before they are “no longer their own”. (Belovinsky, 1997: 12) This is further highlighted by the grapes on the artist’s sweatshirt, which are one of the traditional signs of matrimony that is established in 18th century city fashion. (Saksina, 2019) Marriage is traditionally believed to transfer ownership and belonging of the woman from the home to her husband, which is mentioned in preparatory marital ritual songs. (Saksina, 2019) However, her belonging to God under Orthodox understanding is unchanging, and wearing this beautiful upward pointing head dress thereafter only accentuates that. (Bogdanov, 2014) Historically, women make these with only a splinter for light, so the work also highlights hers and her family’s craftsmanship and alludes to a mystery of its creation. (Shangina Sosnina, 2006)

Osipova’s mouth is part open, as if about to speak, and in light of her wearing headdress that accentuates sight, it can be seen as a restriction of female speech, but one that cannot limit her awareness. The motion can also indicate a shift toward an acceptance of the female as her own and freedom to have a voice. As a Russian woman living and working in St Petersburg but originating from Chuvashia, an eastern Russian republic with conservative views on female rights, this is likely to be a prominent concern. In addition, the cameras refer to a non-male Gaze, placing the woman in a position of control rather than her being led by a plotline for the man. (D`Alleva, 2005) The red nail polish, which is atypical and largely unattainable in a traditional setting, is not only a sign of contemporaneity, but a certain rebellion against the neutrality and innocence that is expected and represented by the white and ivory elements of the kokoshnik. Bringing further attention to the shape of it, it notably resembles the dome of an orthodox church, and the peak points upward, thus symbolising a reach to higher power, making the woman central to this connection. This can highlight the female’s sacred mission, but also a spirituality beyond religion, the woman’s ability to connect with the self and nature conveying the balance and meditativity promoted in folklore. Osipova accentuates female empowerment in her work in light of her mother’s tuberculosis history and operation to remove a part of her lung the support necessary for her recovery put women’s strength and perseverance at the forefront of the artist’s life. (Osipova, 2019) The kokoshnik and what it stands for can be an object of empowerment, but also one of elaborate control through folklore, religious organisation and its lingual roots associated with chickens and hence, lower intellectual involvement. However, arguably, this has more to do with their comb and its similarity to the head dress.

Gloriously Useless

The orthodox religion underpins Russian culture even among atheist circles, seeping into celebratory rituals, children’s folklore and teachings of cultural wisdom, coincidentally alongside those rooted in paganism. This shaping of lifestyle contributes to it playing a significant part in the power structure. Regardless of whether the regime is monarchical or democratic, its dissonance with the church proves detrimental, hence the recent alignment of Russian politicians with it. Does social trauma resurface due to the repeated separation of the party and religion, which creates an internal alignment conflict for citizens and confusion within their identity? And has this always been the case since even among church-appointed leaders, sins were committed, justified and unrepented for? These questions alongside elaborate metaphors are contemplated by Daniel Bragin in his sculptural responses to contemporary Russia. In particular, his work Proposal for Russian Olympic Cycling Team 1992 (Figure 2) is born from a conglomerate of the above. (Bragin, 2012) Upon first glance, the sculpture is a black bicycle with circular orthodox icons encased in thin tyres instead of wheels. The back portrays Mary and baby Jesus, and the front, him as a man. This is not however, an extensive view of the piece. The headtube features the double headed eagle crest of the Russian Federation, in gold. The seat tube and the down tube are printed with “Gott mit uns” - “God with us” in translation from German, a phrase used often in war and throughout the Third Reich as well as in Western Germany subsequently. (Herzfelde Doherty, 2003: 95) The work as a whole is presented on two small transparent fixings on the wheels, likely glass or plastic, and placed in an ambiguous grey space.

The piece is multifaceted, but highly politicised to such an extent, that its true critique is obscured (which is rather convenient for a Russian artist creating in precarious conditions). On one hand, the bicycle is wholesome and thus could be an operative machine. It is also beautiful, the combination of black and gold is sleek and reminiscent of the orthodox colour scheme and the coordination with the icons ensures the composition is coherent. So, a seeming functionality and visual appeal are implied. In contrast however, a golden bicycle would be too heavy to move, a plated one would hint at pretence and potential aesthetic wear and tear flaws, and the icons traditionally being wooden are unlikely to handle its weight alongside a rider. Additionally, the wheels are fixed down, meaning it cannot move whether due to its mass or physical obstruction. Moreover, there is no rider present, thus the object is not being steered or controlled. This is equally accentuated by almost a suspension in the nondescri pt space, meaning no external force interacts with the sculpture. Furthermore, the involvement of the two headed eagle crest signifies the Russian Federation and is hence commonly associated with the government.

The piece was created in 2012, when president Dmitry Medvedev, Putin’s successor, yielded power back to him. (Britannica, 2019) The title mentions 1992, thus assimilating this political stunt with that of Yeltsin, when he acted as his own prime minister and thus stripped the Congress of power. (Bogdanov, 2014) Each of these signs allude to an item that is meant to move but stands still being indexical of the power set up in the country. In Bragin’s view it rides on religious context and tradition, but at the forefront of it is the party while its framework may resemble other draconian regimes implied and are shaped by the involvement with Germany throughout the World Wars. (Etkind, 2009) This can point towards a dependence on authenticity, nationalism and folklore, but also on its antiquated nature that causes stagnation and a need for history to stop dictating the future. The approaches to the work are non-traditional and referencing the contemporary which can highlight its contextual independence.

However, the involvement of cultural signifiers and the implication of iconographic craft can mean the opposite. Thus, there is an internal conflict within it, between the values of spirituality and government secrecy, as well as in its making. And this combination of contradictions is uncontrollable, unmovable and unimpacted externally due to the extensive historical layering involved, much like folklore – intrinsic to the culture. It is alike a time capsule suspended in space, like Russia itself imagined by the artist, with a large and highly diverse set of communities whose cultures are conflicted internally and between one another, yet highly nostalgic and recalling the same regional trauma of the World Wars and the Soviet regime, attempting to return to a time that caused it in the first place, resembling of Freudian repression theory and its consequences. (D`Alleva, 2005) Bragin is a witness to this through the fall of the Soviet un ion in 1991, at the age of 10 and into the present. (Bogdanov, 2014) Lacan’s theory of identity formation also becomes significant as in effect, the Russian people are told to identify with the traditional, and yet at the core of the regime is an opposing ideology. (D`Alleva, 2005) Alas, this multifaceted work can also be an accentuation of Russian independence and an ability to combine some seemingly unmatching things within itself and its culture, remain and become stronger. Its nationalistic elements and possible interpretations allow its existence thus making it all the more representative of modern-day Russia. However arguably, Bragin faces no potential repercussions due to him residing between Amsterdam and London, and thus also recreates an outsider’s view on the country, or that of a childhood memory, which may no longer carry accuracy.

Tall and Fragile

Such ambiguity is not however a necessity even in Russia it seems, contemporary artists like Timofey Radya have been able to continuously create politically charged work criticising the regime and other social issues. He implements elements of visual folklore as well as accessible metaphorical references to get his point across through installation. In particular, Figure 3 is not only poignant but also highly relevant. Figure 1. Stability features a house-of-cards-like five-row structure made out of grey-blue police shields topped with a cardboard brown ochre chair that strongly resembles a throne. In front of it is a long brown and red carpet reminiscent of those made around Russia alongside cross-stitched fabrics and highly popular as a sign of financial well-being in the USSR. In the centre of it and bowing his head slightly towards the ‘tower’ is a male in grey camouflage winter clothing with a yellow ‘police’ patch. The work is set in a forest clearing seemingly amidst winter in light of the heavy snow.

The evident message is someone bowing down in front of a power structure – something that is taller and grander. However, empty in this case as it is made of shells, protective armour that serves no one without people to use it. It is also seemingly as fragile as a house of cards –Radya’s website features a video of its destruction by a seemingly invisible force from the bottom up. It also upholds a cardboard chair that from afar resembles a throne implying a lack of transparency through pretence on behalf of the figures in power. But also, an illusion of authority and the upholding or protection of mass production, through the brown material’s likeness to wood, and, again, its fragility. It is likely unable to hold one person, let alone its ability to symbolically support the whole country. This is particularly notable in light of the date of install, as the aforementioned power transfer in 2012 caused a public uproar. (Krasheninnikov, 2019) The title plays into this as well, contemplating what ‘stability’ looks like for the country as that term is often used to argue in favour of Putin’s by many considered controversial return to power. However, it’s also ironic as the country seems far from stable from then to present day in the eyes of Radya.

The carpet is typically an item crafted by hand, however, since the decrease in demand for this kind of labour and a move towards mass production, its perceived value has dropped. This kind was commodified through extensive use in middle class homes and government buildings during the USSR. It creates an antiquated and overused route to power which simultaneously leads into nothingness, and hence highlights the inevitability of the cyclical Russian political reality. The policeman standing in front of the structure can mean serving in government forces being the only way to maintain any control, or in light of the police shields being uselessly stacked, an inability to overcome the system to enforce the law. The pseudo-throne supports this in topping and metaphorically controlling the shields underneath. It however is the most fragile part of the structure, easily blown away by wind, yet what’s underneath would not topple hinting that the current system needs an uprooting from the bottom up in order to change, regardless of the leading figure.

The police shields with the monarchical placement and visual aspect of the chair resemble military power and its contemporary alternative which is the police to continue the illusion of democracy. With that, the carpet also brings up a transference of meaning, besides being an item of décor, it is part of a phrase “being called to the carpet” which in Russian means the higher ups request to see someone and in the USSR was often associated with danger and feared. (Bogdanov, 2014: 342) Thus, accentuating the ongoing culture of terror within and beyond government organisations.

However, there is a child-like playful and folkloristic element to the piece. The pseudo-throne resembles in shape those seen in fairy-tale books, some of which are of course part historical. Their variativity and evolution through time as well and modern-day analysis as pillars for moral education and behaviour brings new flavour into the work. (Panyushkin, 2009) The house of cards below it, to many is a cross cultural reference to Alice in Wonderland. The ‘magic carpet’ in front of them, again an introduction of Middle Eastern mysticism. All these refer to a multicultural community, but yet again looking at their relationship, they are an implementation of the verbal and imagined into a temporary physicality – a fantasy that topples, rolls and blows away under the forces of nature. Whether that points towards a Marxist dream that does not result in realistic execution, or the current party’s fragility and relative temporaneity in the long run is arguable, however both ideas move in the same direction. Radya has a degree in philosophy which involved sociology and psychoanalytical study and therefore his work aims to be accessible but thought provoking.

Radya’s practice brings the avant-garde under the Soviet regime to mind. Power struggles between Russian artist movements and the administration are not unheard of. However, the latest in mind perishes due to its gradual lack of support: the avant-garde’s aim to use the Bolsheviks to take down the royal power structure brings bitter-sweet results. (Groys, 2011) The monarchy’s replacement with a communist party is successful, but support gathers, and it seems even remains till modern day, surpassing that of the avant-garde through its targeted delivery, or pretence, of the Marxist dream. (Groys, 2011) Boris Groys argues that the only entity that “can implement” an artistic trajectory is that which is “in power”. (Groys, 2011: 23) Aforementioned Bragin is an example of such conformity, although controversial, his work can fit into the predominant political narrative thus meaning even oppositionary creation is dictated in some form by the government, and maybe in that way is far from traditional or unified with its roots. Radya is on the other hand, the opposite, and due to the varied nature and message of his pieces, he continues producing loudly liberal work. Whether the trajectories of art are parting ways with that of a authoritarianism (read modern Russian democracy), only time can tell, but the current uproar has been snowballing visibly since 2012.

Traumatically Nostalgic

In essence, the Russian society and power structures retraumatise themselves through relentlessly craving and partially implementing a return to the past, retracing some of its elements. But what is there to go back to? A time when craftsmanship and folklore were at the forefront of national identity may feel stable and familiar in retrospect, but the monarchical structure and its methods of social regulation are often far from ethical and thus equally removed from the representation of the fabled traditional Russian person. (Anisimov, 2009) Soviet films romanticise and idealise the role of the woman as the family backbone and the man as a protector, and yet open communication and ethical understanding remain askew in a desensitised post-war and some argue neo-Stalinist regime with a taboo culture thus deviating from the self-aware meditative state folklore promotes.

These aspects of contemporary Russia and the continued impact folklore, history and their variative relationship have on regional and social development are the core of modern-day practitioners’ metamodern work. Antiquated and violent political systems, conservative views on women’s rights as well as inherent cultural conflictedness reflect in ever-heating protest and underground culture alongside daily conversation. The persistent and growing relevance of pieces created years ago around issues now coming to a boiling point further accentuates the need for change. And yet at the core of these contemplations are social histories, reiterating the need for traditional preservation away from conflicted leadership. Artists as well as Russian society gravitate towards a new identity derived from the old with an appreciation for nature and meditativity, craftsmanship and spirituality, and yet a respect for non-conservative belief systems and an ability to be free which can at present only be acquired through artistic self-expression in light of restrictive political tactics. The inherent clashes of changing regimes with the essential qualities of the traditional Russian person reiterate the spiral of trauma, where artists aim to point toward a resolution through social empowerment, which is of even greater relevance in light of today’s events.

However, in analysing folklore, its possible contemporary uselessness and even contribution towards trauma is argued as well. From its fracture in Petrine Russia to a consistent lack of morality in modern-day fairy tales and their roots, Valery Panyushkin argues for a Russian essence that differs from the idealised. (Panyushkin, 2009) This renders tradition as a negative and stagnation imposing force on national and regional growth away from antiquated power structures and customs. It also discloses an innovative view on folklore emptying its meditativity, meaning the aforementioned qualities I believe it contributes to contemporary practice are illusory, but also recognising more expansive concerns of fractured cultural identity. The consistent recall of scarring experiences alike the separation of craft from dominant production or the rejection of religion in the USSR can continue their legacy beyond the generations they touch deepening disturbance and ingraining it into artistic practice and culture as a whole, thus stunting creative as well as social progress. The definition of folklore on the other hand sees constant evolution, from song and collective craftsmanship to satirical anecdote and political incline under the layers of time, it almost loses its traditional implications. Contemporary Russian authenticity often refers to Soviet custom over rural making, while only preserving some aspects of collectivity through storytelling.

Contemporary Russian art practice involves a conglomerate of ideas from varied cultures inhabiting a vast region, and hence, a combination of their traditions, folklore and labour practices. And through this symbiosis, new essences are established. An evolution in the variative arts calls for a similar political progression, and this pull on timelessness in a longing for change reiterates the significance of folklore in contemporary artistic practice and society at large regardless of the polemics of its definition in the metamodern.

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