PATTERNS
OF RUSSIA : HISTORY, CULTURE, SPACES
By Robin Milner-Gulland
Reaktion Books. 237 pages. £25. ISBN 978-1-78914-225-9
Reviewed by Jim Burns
What do we know about Russia? I don’t mean the Russia presented to
us by politicians and political commentators, with their emphasis on
its current difficulties and its supposed, and perhaps real, threat
to our lives and liberties. I’m thinking more in terms of Russian
history, its traditions, and the vastness of a country that
encompasses millions of people from a variety of backgrounds and
with a variety of beliefs and interests.
The complicated beginnings of what became known as Russia are
outlined by Robin Milner-Gulland in a brisk, informative manner.
There were shifts of power with leaders rising and falling and, at
one time or another, “the Russian metropolitan seat” was located in
Kiev, Vladimir, and then Moscow in 1321. St. Petersburg as a centre
of culture and political power came later. It’s worth noting this
because it indicates how, under Peter the Great’s direction,
influences from the West began to play a relevant part in shaping
Russia. But, as is made clear by Milner-Gulland, at the same time
“the Russian Church became all the more significant as an
all-Russian unifying force, enhanced by reinvigorated monasticism”.
Discussing “Art and Artists of Old Russia” he points out that
artists, as we think of them, “did not, strictly speaking, exist”.
There was plenty of art around, but it was primarily related to
religion. And it didn’t occur to people to think of it as art until
the seventeenth century. Before that, `art’ “as a generality meant
nothing and could not have done……An `artist’, too, could only have
been perceived as a craftsman in one or another trade who carried
out a specific task to the satisfaction of those by whom it was
required”. Icons were of key importance in this respect and
Milner-Gulland devotes a fair amount of space to discussing them and
what their uses were. We may now look at them as art, but in their
day they often had more practical applications: “Simple people might
treat them as if alive: blaming, even punishing them if the result
of prayers did not live up to expectations”.
What had become established in the West – portraiture and landscapes
– arrived in Russia relatively late, and Milner-Gulland states that:
“Post-Renaissance linear perspective did not affect Russian art
(even on a sophisticated, let alone folk level) until the
mid-seventeenth century, and even then only tentatively”. But
artists from outside began to work in Russia, and Peter the Great
encouraged young would-be artists to go to Italy, for example, to
study painting and sculpture: “It all worked well, with early
eighteenth-century Russian artists (for example, the Nikitin
brothers) speedy at adopting European techniques”. There is a
painting reproduced in the book – “In the Ploughing Field, Spring”
by Aleksey Venetsianov – which shows how, by the early
nineteenth-century, European influences had been absorbed, in more
ways than one. The tranquil and idealised scene of peasant life was
clearly designed to appeal to stratas of society that were
financially and socially comfortable and did not want to be reminded
of the true realities of agricultural labour.
When Milner-Gulland moves into the nineteenth-century, and what he
refers to as “art for galleries, and not living rooms,“
I was reminded of an
exhibition at the Russian Museum in Málaga some years ago.
If memory serves me right, it was called
The Four Seasons and
tracked them through mostly nineteenth-century paintings. Many of
them were large, and impressive in their realisation. Milner-Gulland
mentions Ivan Shishkin who was accorded the perhaps back-handed
compliment of being described as “the accountant of leaves” because
of the precision of his paintings. Another artist, Isaac Levitan, is
said to have produced canvases in which “nothing is fugitive”, with
his “poeticization of apparently unremarkable themes often compared
with the literary methods of his lifelong friend (if occasional
enemy) Anton Chekhov”. Levitan’s “The Vladimir Road” is reproduced
in Patterns of Russia”,
and shows “the first stage of convicts’ journeys to Siberian exile”.
I recall seeing this painting in an exhibition at the National
Gallery some years ago, and being struck by the way in which the
seemingly sparse landscape captures the endless and empty futures
awaiting the prisoners.
The reference to Levitan sent me hunting for a book,
The Itinerants, published
in Leningrad in 1974, which focused on the painters who came
together in the Association of Itinerant Artists and exhibited their
work in St. Petersburg, Moscow, and various provincial towns and
cities. Milner-Gulland describes them as a “motive force for the
so-called Socialist-Realist method of artistic production and
propagation from the Soviet 1930s onwards; incidentally it is
noteworthy to this day how many Russian provincial capitals have
remarkable art museums”.
It’s said, by
Milner-Gulland, that the tradition of “the Russian artists’ conquest
(or portrait) of land and landscape…..continued with a mild and
belated, if competent, version of Impressionism much appreciated in
the Soviet Union”. I wondered about the comment regarding
Impressionism being “much appreciated in the Soviet Union”, an idea
having been implanted In my mind somewhere along the way that it was
largely a decadent, bourgeois form which was frowned on by the
authorities. As a result, Impressionist art tended to be hidden in
the storage spaces of museums or was secretly in private hands. But
then I looked at the aforementioned book about the Itinerants
alongside the catalogue for the exhibition of Russian Impressionism
due to be held in Potsdam and Baden-Baden in 2020/2021. I’m not sure
if it was affected by the Covid crisis.
What is obvious is that some of the artists in
The Itinerants can also
be seen as Impressionists. From this point of view I’ve long had a
notion that “impressionism” is now something of a catch-all term
widely applied to many late-nineteenth century paintings. There were
a few original Impressionists, but lots of artists who looked at
Monet and others and took away some aspects of their work. So, there
can be a fairly clear relationship between the paintings by Isaac
Levitan, Ilya Repin, and Vasily Polenov, to name three,
that are featured in both
books. They had all spent time in Paris. And Valentine Serov’s “By
the Window”, in the Russian Impressionists catalogue, would not have
seemed out-of-place in the book about the Itinerants.
When Milner-Gulland turns his attention to St. Petersburg (also
called Petrograd and Leningrad, at various times), he provides an
account of the establishment of the city, and its place in Russian
history with regard to politics and culture. As a construct of the
eighteenth-century it wasn’t as established as Moscow, and there was
always a certain amount of tension between the two cities. And St.
Petersburg always had an eye on Europe. Milner-Gulland stresses the
cultural importance of the city, where Pushkin’s “The Bronze
Horseman” exerted its influence, Andrey Beliy’s vast novel,
Petersburg, was set, and
poets like Alexander Blok, Vladimir Mayakovsky, and Anna Akhmatova
performed at the Stray Dog Cabaret before the First World War.
Patterns of Russia
is a stimulating book with much to recommend it in terms of
information and ideas. I’m conscious of having only given a broad
indication of its values, and I admit to having indulged myself by
looking closer at Russian art than other aspects of the country’s
history, culture, and spaces. But Robin Milner-Gulland makes them
all worthy of attention.
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