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| Gazing into the distance across the ages Jānis Borgs, Art Critic Impressions of an exhibition by classic Latvian photographer Egons Spuris | |
| Rightfully and objectively, he might be called de facto one of the most outstanding photographic artists of Soviet Latvia. But this is the label that has least been applied to photographer Egons Spuris. Despite the fact that the whole of his life in art photography passed by in this, and only this, period of Latvian history. Now the great master photographer has received the all the highest honours from his country, and a selection of his outstanding works has been canonised and incorporated into the golden collection of Latvian cultural heritage. You could say he has become a national treasure. This reminds us once again of the strange assumptions that have taken root and become stuck in the minds of many about how repressive and depressing the Red regime was, and what total cultural genocide there was. To think thus means not to appreciate, and to disparage the Latvian nation’s creative force and energy, which has really never developed under “greenhouse” conditions. Spuris, too, was one such great spiritual force. Looking over the master’s many hundreds of works on display – the whole essence of this monumental collection – we see nothing at all Soviet. It’s extraterrestrial. Seemingly devoid of any signs of the times. Nothing of that which we might regard as compulsory and unavoidable. Nothing of those stereotypical images, neither positive nor negative, that we might imagine as connected with something Soviet. A complete alienation from the optimism that was part of the official facade of that age. However, it is a testimony. And there is a kind of bristly optimism. Selected by his mind and eye, arranged so as to bring out aspects significant to him… In this sense, however, it would be very unjust to set Spuris apart from the general scene of Latvian photography. He is certainly not original in this regard, since among our other classic photographers it would be very hard to find anyone who could be seen as presenting a dutifully official approach. The main differences lie in the artistic language, the tonality of the images. | |
 Egons Spuris. Photography from the series In the 19th and Early 20th Century Proletarian Districts of Riga. 1970s Courtesy of the Latvian National Museum of Art | |
| For example, if we review the work presented on the 30th anniversary of the Riga Camera Club in the Soviet period, we will observe the dominance of an emphatically philosophical, romantic approach. These contemplations on beauty often betray a rather saccharine poetical tendency, which may suggest to some that the conditions in society at that time were somewhat favourable. This is a question that could still be extensively discussed. But here, it seems, we may find the root of Egons Spuris’ quiet “dissidentism”: the topicalities of the age seem to circumvent his reality, which was focussed in the reality of “harsh realism”. On the other hand, because of its philosophical approach, it did not coincide in any way with, for example, the documentary and socially critical photographic irony of the “angry young” photographers of the 1980s (Valts Kleins, Gvido Kajons and others). The “old guys” suffered a pained and allergic reaction to such a retreat from the lyricism of the Latvian photographic tradition. But Spuris is not engaged in criticism. He is as if host to nostalgia... Was Egons Spuris a gloomy individual weighed down by existence? Can his work testify to any kind of dissidentism? The answer, it seems, is rather dualistic, corresponding to the two planes of existence in society at that time, in two forms simultaneously. The character of the regime led to the emergence of two different models of behaviour of the “Soviet human”. One model was for the protocol-dominated public sphere, where, if you wanted to thrive, you had to present a more or less smiling official face (like the North Koreans with their mass crying at the funeral of the leader), and something entirely different in your private shell, where you could take an overtly critical stance towards the authorities and their activities, with “illicit’ anecdotes, and, often somewhat naive, dreams of a different, better life elsewhere. For the most part it was a kind of kitchen-sink opposition, where you hid your fist or a rude gesture in your pocket. This was particularly true among our intellectuals. But apart from that, it was like in the song: “all’s well, dear lady!”. Since he needed to actively position himself in the social milieu (as the head of the Ogre Camera Club, in the course of extensive collaboration in the photographic art scene in Latvia, extremely successful participation and achievements in the international photographic community etc.), some lip service was presumably required from Egons Spuris, too. In the unavoidable waltz with the regime, he at least had to avoid stepping on its toes. But, as was fairly often characteristic of a great many of our intellectuals, the red line of compromise bounded an autonomous terrain of creative activity. For Spuris, this was a strictly delimited dominion of his own creativity. The photographer particularly emphasised the principle that in his art he should avoid any considerations of conjuncture. Here, personal freedom prevailed. Here he was king. So, how did the master make use of his “power”? The art of Egons Spuris, an art of exquisite, nuanced moods, is generally very minor-key, occasionally Buddhist-like meditative. Even a sunny day seems overcast. When you enjoy the images created by this artist, at times they seem to fill your ears with the deep and pensive bass of the cello, at other times with the poignancy of Japanese gagaku, and even a country child’s whistle. It is a refined, intellectual approach to creating one’s own art. Based on associations, poetics and, especially, on aesthetics. A literary message that, because of the immediate depiction of reality, would seem to be organic in photographic art, in this case has been stifled to a minimum, even to the level of abstraction. At times the photographic imagery of Spuris echoes the elementary simplicity of the painted compositions by Mark Rothko. But in this case it is much harsher, much more acute. This is also a consequence of the black and white, emphatically graphic and contrasting mode of expression. | |
 Egons Spuris. Photography from the series In the 19th and Early 20th Century Proletarian Districts of Riga. 1970s Courtesy of the Latvian National Museum of Art | |
| Spuris is certainly subject to the influences of his day. His works clearly show the impact of the information field of the 1960s. The very relatively tolerant cultural policy of that time, the post-Khrushchev period (or lumbering incompetence, more like) permitted the indirect influx of Western photographic art, placing Soviet “innocence” under threat from various decadent experiments from “over there”. We must remember that these informational “Western agents” came mainly in the form of photographic magazines that one could get special subscriptions for, or purchase in the Soyuzpechaty kiosks from countries of the brotherly and united Socialist Camp: Poland, Czechoslovakia and East Germany. There, even though the Communist regimes and dogmas were quite orthodox, the stance on culture was in many respects incomparably more liberal than in the Soviet realm, which maintained supreme control over the whole camp. Art was not straitjacketed into Socialist Realism, and in a certain way the historical relationships and links with Western culture were observed. The latest information about developments in photography in the wider world thus percolated throughout the USSR, including Latvia. Additionally, the latest photographic literature did tend to flow in relatively larger quantities and more easily by the direct route from Western countries. And by these means Egons Spuris was certainly an excellently informed and competent specialist in the field. In the 1960s and 70s many of the formal approaches and treatments of the subject matter used by Spuris were already familiar from the pages of the above-described journals. For example, the heightened contrasts and graphically presented observations of reality, the seemingly marginal and insignificant “rubbish bin” subjects, as the ordinary viewer might say. Many of the works by Egons Spuris even display a stylish element of presentation that later disappeared, but was very vogue in the 60s, namely the round corners of the black frame of the image. That was an element used everywhere, by all the artistic designers: on wall newspapers, posters, in graphics for the press, on boxes of chocolates, etc. Spuris, being a man of his age, was adept at picking up such impressions (a good learner) and synthesising them into his photographic vision, raising them to the level of true art. He could create new values. Photographic art processes in Latvia were also aided by the altogether comical view that photography was not an art, but rather a mechanical reproduction of reality. A purely technical business. Say, like taking pictures for the family album or passport photos at a studio. Hence if it’s not art, then it has no strict connection with ideology. Photography was, however, regarded as a “zealous aide to the party for depicting reality as a reflection of socialist life”. This thesis applied mainly to professional activities, especially the press, where the photojournalist as documentary photographer had to carry out “ideological tasks laid down by the party”. Here, even though one may scoff at the grotesque role that was allocated to photography at the time, I would also like to offer some words in its defence. Even the most carefully filtered and polished, often even staged “truth” of life now turns out to be a rare and valuable document of the times, a testimony to a particular way of thinking. So let us be grateful to everyone who, for whatever reason, has ever pressed the camera button. But this kind of “professionalism” is not applicable to Egons Spuris. He was a citizen of the world of non-art. Formally, Spuris represented the Soviet amateur photography movement, officially viewed as a form of recreation, a hobby for the workers, a form of aesthetic training. It’s quite another matter that many of these working people, through their activities, developed into true artists. This evidently also happened to electrician Egons Spuris. In some limited way, it was a Gauguin syndrome that developed here: the path to world greatness was paved with the hard graft, ardent strivings and enthusiasm of the autodidact. This was typical for Latvia. These developments were in many ways made simpler by photography’s status as non-art, since this made access to the outside world much easier. You could simply put your works in a large envelope and send them to distant competitions or exhibitions across the globe. Of course, the censors at the post office would take a look to see whether they contained any anti-Soviet message, pornography, religious propaganda or military secret, such as two ends of bridges visible in a panorama of Riga… But there was no need for the hassle of obtaining special permits from the Ministry of Culture, or to seek the opinion of some institution of ideological supervision regarding the expediency of such an endeavour. And so, thanks to these bureaucratic concoctions, one route of communication with the outside world turned out to be much wider than others. You could almost say that this bureaucracy, regulated by the Communist Party, ended up contributing to the international triumphs of the Latvian school of photography. Regarded as Egons Spuris’ supreme and canonical achievement is his series of images depicting Riga’s former working-class districts, built at the turn of the 20th century, mainly as expressed in their architecture. Here, the andante expositions of artistic form alternate with sincere visual “recitals” of childhood memories. The fact that the gloomy bourgeois childhood memories came about during the apogee of the Soviet period might have alerted some “more vigilant” minds: look, nothing has changed since the years of “oppression”. Same old same old, just presented in Red... It’s doubtful, however, whether Egons Spuris intended it all as some kind of (anti)propaganda, because there’s too much poetry and art in his endless brick walls and urban courtyard labyrinths. It breaks out like a green blade of grass amid the shadows of the thick walls and the narrow shafts of sunlight. A testimony to life and its vital force. P. S. And yet, in one corner of the exhibition it was possible to find a reminder of this past age. It was a picture of the Soviet space rocket Vostok on its launch-pad. Egons Spuris was a master of contrasts. P.P.S. The exhibition of work by Egons Spuris in the Arsenāls exhibition hall is a worthy accomplishment in its own right. But this is not the only achievement. Here I must commend an outstanding volume by the publishers Neputns dedicated to this canonical Latvian master of photographic art. Logically, it is entitled ‘Egons Spuris’. This is a fundamental work, a selection of 174 photographic images compiled with great care and attention by Spuris’ contemporary Andrejs Grants, a photographic artist of similar calibre. The analytical and informative section of the book includes compelling texts by the art critic Professor Eduards Kļaviņš and his colleague from abroad, Pamela Brown. The publication is truly satisfying: a major work that is completely appropriate to such a major figure. /Translator into English: Valdis Bērziņš/ | |
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