Leningrad in London: 'Revolution' at the Royal Academy

LENINGRAD IN LONDON:

'Revoltuion: Russian Art 1917-1932' at the Royal Academy

Sunday, 26 March 2017

Installation view including Malevich's Black Square, 1915.

Whenever I find myself back in London with a little bit of time to spare, I end up scribbling a list of all the exhibitions I’m simply can’t miss, things I can’t head back to Oxfordshire without seeing. It is usually comically ambitious, containing enough art to fill several weeks instead of just a few hours. This past weekend was no different. Some of the things I was desperate to see, in no particular order: Wolfgang Tillman’s at the Tate Modern, Josiah McElheny at White Cube, ‘Deutsche Börse Photography Foundation Prize 2017’ at the Photographer’s Gallery, Hockney at the Tate Britain, ‘Terrains of the Body’ at the Whitechapel. 

‘Revolution: Russian Art 1917-1932,’ however, rose to the top of the list. This is partially because my darling fiancè, as a history enthusiast, was actually interested in it too, but it’s mostly because I’ve never forgiven myself for missing the Malevich exhibition at the Tate Modern a few years back. I’ve loved his art since I studied him during my undergrad, and I simply couldn’t miss my chance again. Add in some Kandisnky, El Lissitzky, Tatlin and Rodchenko, and I simply can’t resist. Even if it meant braving the RA hoards of ill behaved tourists. 

Here, then is perhaps the time to get away my one gripe. The galleries were exceptionally crowded. This is always the case at the RA, but the design of this exhibition exaggerated the problem. With large walls dividing most the rooms in two, the space became almost unbearably constricted even beyond the first room. True, I did make the mistake of going on a Sunday, but I can imagine that the narrowed paths were bound to be a problem no matter the time of day. 

With my one complaint taken care of, we can now move on to all the many positives. There was more to this exhibition than I could’ve anticipated, however, and it was anything but simple. It covered everything from propaganda posters to building plans, tea cups to food coupons. It addition to the brilliant paintings, it had short films, photography, constructions, sculpture. In one room, there was even a delightful recreation of ElLissitzky’s design for an apartment building. It was far reaching and wide ranging, going well beyond the well defined art historical story of the time. The actual meaning behind the diverse content was broad as well. There were no easy answers to be found here, no clear story of good and evil. Revolution, as depicted by the artists displayed, is messy. There is hope, high ideals, progress just as there is conflict, subjection, poverty, totalitarianism. With the new coming of modernity, there is the loss of the old world. 

Wassily Kandinsky,Blue Crest (detail), 1917.

Alexander Rodchenko, Pioneer with Trumpet, 1930.

There were so many stand out pieces. The photography for me was a highlight throughout. From the Man and Machine section, where we see Rodchenko and Ignatorvich images of workers, steel, and machinery to the photography of new building projects by Persusov. I was delighted to see a small sculpture by Anna Golubkina, Birch Tree, as well. She’s an artist I worked on during an undergrad seminar on Russian Art, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her work in person before. The films were captivating as well. Here, in particular, it’s evident that the curators have dug deep. 

As I hinted, though, Malevich was the star of the show for me. Mid-way through the galleries, Malevich gets a room to himself where the curators have re-created a hang from the exhibition ‘Fifteen Years of Artists of the Russian Soviet Republic’ (1932). It’s a brilliant mix of his work— the black and red squares, some of his suprematist abstractions, some figurative paintings. It’s an example of all the ways Malevich sought to depict his ideals for society in painting. He, like others in the exhibition had questions to ask. In this new world, this shifting modern reality, what does life look like? What does art? What does our identity become? What is lost for what gains?

One answer is Tatlin’s constructivist glider, displayed in the rotunda. Made of ash and fabric, it was designed to be a flying bicycle for workers. He never managed to get it to fly, but it hangs in the RA nevertheless, slowly revolving. The sense of dashed hope, the sense of striving, was palpable.