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 Performance art in Eastern Europe Helēna Demakova, Art Historian | |
| Since the publication of Timothy Snyder’s internationally acclaimed book ‘The Bloodlands. Europe Between Hitler and Stalin’, the concept of Eastern Europe, it seems, no longer needs any special justification. Yet, tortured by complexes, the “young professionals” whose sole desire is to belong to the West, don’t read such books. They pretend not to see the razed, forever lost, shtetl culture of Eastern Europe’s Jews, and the irreversible ethnic and hence social changes which greet us at every turn: not only in Ķengarags and Purvciems, but also, more generally speaking, in the Estonia governed by Ansip and the Tallinn administered by Savisaar, each of which embodies different ideological vectors. The ideologies of Eastern Europe today compel one to treat the concepts of political correctness and multiculturalism differently than in the West. American art historian Amy Bryzgel’s new monograph Playing the East. Performance Art in Russia, Latvia and Poland since 1980 discusses three Eastern European countries: Latvia, Russia and Poland, with the focus on one narrow field of art. However, in order to underline the analysis of the specific historical context of Eastern Europe which forms the convincing spine of the contents of this monograph, I would like to and have already mentioned another Eastern European country – Estonia. This is a country which, on this side of the continent, is in some ways closest to the Western understanding of acceleration and success stories, but even there, nonetheless, it will not be possible to shake off the imprint of history for many decades to come. Estonia is an excellent example to show to those “ostriches” who are wilfully unseeing to what is going on around them, substituting it with artificial, pseudo-intellectual constructs in which historical memory and drab daily life are left outside the parentheses. In Estonia, this is not possible (also) due to visual art which leaves its marks in large, concentric circles rippling out not only to the depths of society, but also those of the artistic community. One can debate whether or not it constitutes visual art, but as late as the start of the 21st century an iconoclastic event occurred in Tallinn when, by order of Prime Minister Ansip, a statue popularly known as “Bronze Alyosha” was relocated, in the dead of night, from the centre of Tallinn. Here one could draw parallels with the Victory Monument in Rīga, which would be far more difficult to move, but both sculptural ensembles are dedications to the Soviet armed forces which “liberated” the Baltic States. There followed an attempt by Russia to launch a cyber war against Estonia, street disturbances and a long period of governance by Ansip, because Estonians felt that the relocation of the monument was a correct, even heroic, gesture. Almost simultaneously, the idea arose to create a monument to Freedom in the centre of Tallinn, and this was subsequently implemented a few years ago after a lengthy competition process. Estonian artists call it the worst monument in the world. It is a huge transparent greenish cross in the very heart of the city, next to the Tallinn Art Hall. In descriptive terms, this is not only referred to as reality, but also as the identity of place and society. It can be ignored by solely focusing on “creative neighbourhoods” or studying the world “on a table”, as was achieved to wonderful effect in the art of Latvian painter Bruno Vasiļevskis (1939–1990) who spiritually cut himself off from his Soviet surroundings, or now, in 2013, congenially by artist Krišs Salmanis in his moving image work 100 Still Lives exhibited at the Survival Kit art festival. But if something is ignored, it does not mean that this something disappears (if this were the case, there would be no need from time to time for “nationalists” to invoke railcars in which the descendants of the invaders should be transported to the East...) Amy Bryzgel’s book is about identity/identities. It studies artistic practices in three Eastern European countries, thoroughly analysing and tracing those facets of the creative output of Miervaldis Polis, Gints Gabrāns, Oleg Kulik, Sergei Bugaev (Afrika), Katarzyna Kozyra and Zbigniew Libera which relate to performance activity, in local and broader social contexts. Already in the introduction to the monograph, the author honestly states that “My method is socio-historical...”, in other words, she applies the socio-historical method. Even though there is an exhaustive chapter at the start of the book on performance art and Postmodernism (even including a fine excursion into the past as far as John Cage and the theoreticians of performance), her contextual descriptions contain no trace of Postmodern alienation, approximation or simulation. I’m now referring to the contexts of life itself, history and society, which are scrutinized with the integrity of an archivist and the “correct” contemporary view of history by Amy Bryzgel. Whether discussing the occupation of the Baltic States, the tragic divisions of Poland during the 18th century, the genocide of the Jewish minority during the Nazi era, the role of the Catholic Church in the spiritual struggle against Communism, as well as a particular form of “identity crisis” experienced by Russians after the collapse of the Soviet Union, all of the art historian’s accounts are clear, linear and acceptable to us (people trained in the contemporary interpretation of the official history of Latvia). Against this historical background functions art. Precisely so – it functions, because the monograph is about outstanding contemporary performance artists who, instead of moving Bronze Alyosha under cover of night, have moved about in daylight in the guise of Bronze Men or White Men (Miervaldis Polis), or have asked the “unknown star” Starix (Gints Gabrāns) to move on. The book consists of four large sections. The introduction is devoted to the theory of performance art of the past decade, as approbated both in the West and in Eastern Europe. This is followed by brief histories of the recent eras in the three countries, and a discussion of the performative activities of artists. It would be futile to seek an exposition of the contexts of local art here, because this was not the objective of the book. When the author writes about Oleg Kulik, there is no point in looking for a description of his 1998 performance in Riga which almost proved fatal for the artist. Neither is there any point in seeking a mention here of the thematically Latvian motifs in Miervaldis Polis’ painting (landscapes, the luminaries of Latvian culture, [the artist] Līga Purmale as a young woman in national dress, etc.), because the book has a strict scientific focus. When writing about Latvia, Miervaldis Polis’ Bronze Man is examined in the socio-political context of the late Soviet era up to the point when, together with artist Vilnis Zābers, they repainted the bronze figure white, alluding, in the author’s opinion, to a different social order. Gints Gabrāns’ Starix is comprehensively demonstrated to be a product of an environment saturated by the mass media – a work of art as critical commentary over time, about every person’s moment of fame which can last for more than 15 minutes. Kulik and Afrika seek their self in their art, juxtaposing themselves against the division of East-West and linguistic games, whereas the themes of the works by Polish artists are related to quests for native identity in a public space permeated by Catholicism. Amy Bryzgel’s book is a reminder of the tasks which we have not yet done – about the fact that it is up to us to record in writing that Miervaldis Polis did not master the Socialist Realism method at the Art Academy of Latvia, because at the time he was studying such nonsense was only discussed by art historians and perhaps the eminent Professor Kozins, the respected painter Korņeckis and a handful of other people from the art community. In the future, this book will be a magnificent aid for art educators and art historians in every continent of the world, because it is based on fact, well-considered and its generalizations are sufficiently substantiated. In a brief review it would not be fair to write about what the book does not contain. I could say that Sergei Bugaev once told me that he was nicknamed Afrika only because there was a map of his beloved Africa hanging on the wall of his studio. However, these are details which each researcher accommodates according to his or her experience. Amy Bryzgel’s experience in the three countries she describes is befitting of a serious historian and as such is reflected in what is, possibly, the first Western monograph partly dedicated also to Latvian art. The book contains a reasonable number of images, it has 302 pages, and can be comfortably read in bed. Translator into English: Jānis Frišvalds | |
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