After numerous modifications, of both conception and organization, an impressive exhibition site of 190 hectares had come into being, complete with squares, avenues and lakes. Seventeen kilometres of asphalted paths had been laid down, 1,600 sculptures installed, with frescoes and ceramics occupying a total area of 2,000 square metres. The site was populated by 237 pavilions, 150 kiosks, two cinemas, with seats for 400 and 900 viewers respectively, and an amphitheatre for 1,400 spectators, together with infrastructure – postal services, savings bank, telegraph and a polyclinic. Statues of Stalin and Lenin had been erected at the main entrance. In sum, an artificial landscape was created, with squares, avenues, fountains, ponds, pavilions, kiosks, greenhouses and dioramas. The aim was not just to provide a picture of the USSR in miniature, but above all to attract attention to the USSR. In the years to come the site of the agricultural exhibition was to become a popular setting for film comedies.32
When we look at photographs of the exhibition site of 1937, the predominance of the exhibition architecture of the generation of 1923 is very striking: simple but ingenious timber construction, straightforward timber pavilions, but also imposing timber domes and wonderfully light greenhouses with pergolas and kiosks that still flirt with Art Nouveau forms. At the same time, there are also expressionist and symbolic buildings, such as the pavilion entitled ‘Cold’ or the meat-processing pavilion. There are large-scale structures – the main pavilion for ‘Mechanization’ – and smaller forms such as the circus pavilion or the tea room. The ‘Far East’ pavilion sported borrowings from Art Nouveau and Art Deco, while the Bashkir, Uzbek and Armenian pavilions played with national motifs. The entire site is covered with lush fertility symbols – ears of corn, bulls, boars, rams – as well as symbols of the technical revolution in the countryside – power stations, bicycles, cars, and a pavilion of young scientists. The entire site is an assemblage of forms and styles which under normal conditions might have become an authentic laboratory for stylistic experiments.33
The creation of a new style during a state of emergency
The Party leadership – including Lazar' Kaganovich, who was the minister in charge of architects – had no precise ideas about ‘the style of the Stalin era’, or what ‘socialist realism’ in architecture might mean. Perhaps too it was something that could not be explained but only ‘felt’ when you stood in front of a façade, as a contributor to the debate expressed it.34 ‘What is socialist realism in architecture?’ asked Kaganovich.
The answer can only be this: it does not of course merely copy or photograph a [natural] form, but adheres to forms that exist in life. Technology has progressed far in our country and now gives architecture much larger capabilities in the use of larger arches, elevated spans, etc. On this question we must set out a number of propositions.
Kaganovich had only the vaguest of ideas about what these propositions might be. Furthermore, the application to architecture of Stalin’s formula ‘national in form and socialist in content’ did not offer much assistance.35The question of what architecture might be appropriate to the new era was the subject of much debate among architects, and the principal pressure to introduce discipline into the subject arose from among the architects themselves. Aleksandr Vesnin, one of the spokesmen of Soviet constructivism, had noted as early as 1934:
Figure 15.1 The metro station ‘Maiakovskaia’, completed in 1938 (architects A. Dushkin, Ia. Likhtenberg, Iu. Afanasiev), was built mainly with black granite and stainless steel. The cupolas contained mosaics by A. Deineka.
‘It was functional and beautiful, and its bright colours conveyed a feeling of well-being.’
At the present time, a degree of confusion is to be seen among many Soviet architects … An utterly absurd situation has arisen with regard to the appropriation of the architectural tradition. The majority of architects treat the heritage as if it were a dowry chest. They take from it whatever pleases them and just stick it into their design. Architects and critics alike fail to understand that the old architecture has to be adapted if it is to become integrated into the new architecture. The struggle against simplification frequently leads to a struggle against the serious, simple and elegant architecture of constructivism, which is understood as a type of architecture that has nothing in common with the genuine article, and the greatest masterpieces of Soviet architecture, such as the House of Light Industry on Myasnitskaya, a building designed by Le Corbusier, is equated with botched work by talentless architects in that both are called ‘constructivism’, complete with ‘boxes’ and ‘simplifications’. The idea of architectural richness is understood not as richness in terms of content, but as the senseless, incoherent piling up of details. The struggle to create buildings of quality all too often degenerates into a struggle to achieve a satisfactory level of technical execution for both the design and the construction, while neglecting the quality of the architectural solution. Symbolism is all too often substituted for architectural organization.36
Figure 15.2 ‘Kievskaia’ (architect: D. Chechulin), the metro station opened in March 1937, features pillars in the shape of ears of corn, but the materials it uses are light and dark marble, chrome and ceramic slabs.
As late as February 1936, Aleksandr Vesnin continued to defend constructivism, or at least ‘what was true and correct about it’.37
In his contribution on the history of Soviet architecture at the congress – from Art Nouveau via ‘romantic symbolism’ and constructivism to the present – Nikolai Kolli provided a very different interpretation. He criticized the architects of the 1920s for their indulgence in too many projects and their detachment from actual conditions and possibilities, with the consequence that a whole host of projects had failed to leave the drawing board: architecture on paper.
Ordinary house building was based exclusively on constructivism. But the legacy of this style of house building was the shocking scar of a box culture, deforming many of our towns. All these dwellings exhibit a kind of primitivism in their outward appearance, and they all have the same gloomy, grey look.
The fact that constructivism had a monopoly had had an impact on training, and its emphasis on certain materials – glass, reinforced concrete and steel – had swept actual conditions to one side. Formalism and constructivism had a lot in common, ‘in particular, a nihilistic attitude towards the architectural tradition, the absence of a genuine concern for human beings and a detachment from the real world.’ ‘Constructivism in general was a vulgarization and simplification of architecture’ – one might even call it ‘an obviously decadent phase in the culture of architecture and building, bordering on destruction’.38
At the congress Viktor Vesnin pointed out that all architects had quite literally been constructivists at one time, at least for a while, but he also conceded: ‘Now, when we look back on this past period, it is evident that constructivism has failed to do justice to the new tasks facing Soviet architecture. Constructivism is a phase that already lies behind us. It has taught us much, for we can learn from our mistakes as well as from the positive things we have discovered within constructivism.’39
The objections to constructivism were always the same: a nihilistic attitude towards the architectural heritage, the vulgarization and reduction of architecture to mere function, and the detachment of form from the concrete requirements of particular buildings. Alabian attempted in his opening address to explain the positive features of the appropriate style. He referred to the Metro as the most successful example of the new architecture. It was functional and beautiful, and its bright colours conveyed a feeling of well-being. ‘Concern for human beings’ was its fundamental idea. For Alabian, socialist realism was ‘the mastering of the classical heritage and the best that contemporary architecture had achieved’. ‘Ideological and emotional expressiveness’, the ‘mastery of all the richness of the artistic and technical possibilities contained in the classical architectural heritage and the heritage of the architecture of the people and the nation’ – is how he
described the Palace of the Soviets.40 In its final resolution the congress noted that ‘socialist realism is incompatible with formalist methods, the blind copying of the architecture of the past, or a scornful attitude to the architectural heritage.’41
But much points to the fact that the entire debate about formalism, nihilism and utilitarianism was no more than the rhetorical form for something else: the bringing to heel of everyone in architectural circles who had succeeded in preserving an independent mind. ‘Formalism’ was a catchword that facilitated the condemnation of entirely disparate artistic trends; it was a codename for the attack on creative independence. ‘Formalism’ amounted basically to a refusal to submit to self-criticism and the rejection of Party criticism. It was used to belittle and discipline both Vesnin and Ginzburg. The communist faction in the Architects’ Association, unable to make the official line prevail, frequently turned for assistance to higher authorities, since the objects of their attacks continued to resist and to exert influence.
The supporters of discipline and repression were the up-and-coming members from the ranks of the radical left All-Union Association of Proletarian Architects (VOPRA), almost all of whom had learned their trade in the ‘constructivist’ school, but who now turned against the older generation of architects who enjoyed international reputations. The onslaught of the former VOPRA members who had taken over the leadership of the Architects’ Association came ‘from below’, and was welcomed by the political leadership as a lever that could be used to control a sphere of activity where the position of the Communist Party was feeble in the extreme. The Party leaders exploited the divisions among the architects, reserving the ultimate decision-making power for themselves. Alabyan himself was useful in helping to smash the nucleus of the avant garde, but his own claims to authority were repudiated as soon as it became clear that the old masters – Shchusev in particular – were still needed. Conversely, Ginzburg, the Vesnins and Shchusev refrained from a frontal attack on Alabian but accepted the rules he had laid down, and thus found themselves at his mercy. Konstantin Mel'nikov was the only one not to take part in this power game. He withdrew entirely into private life – a minor miracle in itself – in his own house on Krivoarbatskii pereulok.
As was the case in literature, there was no precise, positive definition of the new architecture. It was supposed to be neither constructivist nor neoclassical; it was to continue the national heritage but not to persist at the level of folklore; it was not allowed to be purist, but nor could it be eclectic. But what then? For a brief moment – the late 1930s, the last years before war broke out – there was a transitional style between the established trends of the late 1920s and what would become fixed in the late 1940s.
For all their differences and individuality, there was also common ground between Alabian, the Vesnin brothers, Mordvinov, Shchusev and Rukhliadev, pointing to a kind of postmodernity.42 Clear lines and large spaces were everywhere visible, but now they were inflated to the point of monumentality, most obviously in the Frunze Military Academy, the Hotel Moskva and the Culture Palace of the Stalin automobile plant. Façades had ceased to consist merely of smooth surfaces and had made way for discontinuities and the restrained use of ornament. In most cases the functional imperative was still upheld – and it is no accident that the Moscow public is said to have burst into laughter at the sight of Alabian’s theatre. Ornamentation now started to play a part, as well as a new attention to detail and the harmonizing of interiors and furnishings. Sculptures, bas reliefs, frescoes, lighting design – all reveal a new love of exquisite materials. Materials and fabrics were sophisticated and even expensive. An intensive debate had been launched about craft skills, design, interiors and furnishings. Nothing new should be left to chance. There was a demand not only for professionally skilled designers and architects, but also for artists and high-quality decorators. They were to create comfortable rooms in which people could feel at home. There was increased demand for high-quality materials – new sorts of wood, marble with an endless variety of colours and patterns, metals (in particular, stainless steel and chrome). City lights and lighting design – both exterior and interior – were in demand. Interior designers were commissioned to produce designs for hotel lobbies, cafés, roof terraces, cinemas, department stores, aeroplanes and passenger ships. All of this was reminiscent of the ‘trend towards the total work of art’ characteristic of the fin de siècle, but it was qualitatively different. Now, instead of concealing industrial and technical progress, everything was supposed to reflect it. It was not by chance that the Radio City Music Hall of the Rockefeller Center in New York regularly became the point of reference for Moscow architects. Moscow had entered its own age of Art Deco, not admittedly in the conditions of the Roosevelt New Deal and the leadership of Robert Moses, but in those of the state of emergency of the Stalin years.
Closing speech: Frank Lloyd Wright
Shortly before the final ceremony ending the congress on 25 June 1937, the foreign visitors were given a chance to speak. The most famous of them was undoubtedly the American architect Frank Lloyd Wright, who had arrived in Moscow via the International Exhibition in Paris and via Berlin, where he had spent a few days. Why Wright had been invited and why he came is not quite clear. Was it his active interest and his curiosity about a ‘new architecture’ and the USSR? Was it ambition and the desire for even more fame? And why did the Soviet leadership invite this architect from the Midwestern prairies, a man known for his emphatic individualism and his almost Jeffersonian Americanism? Wright was not unknown in Russia. Moisei Ginzburg had studied his writings while studying in Milan before the First World War. Wright’s wife came from Russia, and she even had relatives who had remained there after the Revolution.43 Wright was probably unable to distinguish clearly between the different factions and schools of thought in the Soviet architectural scene, but he was well aware that vast, incomprehensible events were taking place there. The American ambassador had given him a detailed report of the execution of the generals shortly before the congress. Wright began his speech by referring to the successful flight over the North Pole, remarking that the USA and the USSR had become neighbours. He was happy to be there and to be able to study the new life in the USSR. He declared that, although the USA had a highly developed building technology, it had taken the wrong path as far as architecture was concerned. American architecture throve on imitation, on the cultural models of a culture doomed to decay and death. The high technical standards of building in America did not adequately compensate for this, and he spoke out against the enthusiasm for skyscrapers which he also found in the Soviet Union.
The rising steel framework of a skyscraper is generally hidden behind a thin facing of stone blocks imitating the masonry of feudal towers. Skyscrapers are stunning, but they are false and artificial, like the economic structure which gave rise to their emergence in dull congested urban areas.44
Here we hear the voice of the critic of industrialism, of the city and even of American capitalism. Wright expressed the hope that Soviet architecture would avoid the blind alley of the developments of architecture and the city in Europe and North America, that it would refuse to imitate old styles and would find the courage to discover a style appropriate to a new way of life. Freed from the constraints of private interests, Soviet architecture could plan on a grand scale. What Wright called ‘organic architecture’ was a genuine option in Russia. Starting from this position, he dispensed advice in two directions: on the one hand to the ‘left’ and on the other to the ‘restorers’.
The USSR must construct buildings on a scientific basis, guided by common sense and making the most efficient use of high-quality building materials. The left wing of the so-called ‘new’ architecture also advocated the principles of creating an organic architecture that, to all intents and purposes, did not proceed beyond plain wall panels, flat roofs and ornamental corner-windows; and the right wing of said ‘new’ architecture turned the buildings into ornament. Both tendenci
es are generated by decaying old cultures. The correct path to the creation of organic architecture consists of the scientific organization of building activity and animating it with a genuine spirit of humanity … Architects of the Soviet Union must now concentrate their efforts on good planning and sound construction, refrain from superficial decoration and from attempts to impart to them forced and farfetched shapes, until your young architects find new technical forms and the images expressive of the new ways of Soviet life, in the same manner as the architecture of the Kremlin similarly expressed old Russia. Under these conditions, the USSR will doubtlessly justify the hopes of the world, and create in it a new genuine architecture. I hope that some day the USA will learn this too.45
Wright, who objected both to the representatives of a pure classical modernism and to the flight into neoclassicism or eclecticism, called on young architects to learn their craft thoroughly and create architecture in harmony with the Soviet form of life. His warning against grandomania came too late. The building works for the Palace of the Soviets, the largest building in the world, were already under way within sight of the congress venue.
16
‘Brown Bodies, Gaily Coloured Shorts’: Sports Parade
On 12 July the annual parade of the fizkul'turniki, the sportsmen, was held on Red Square. It was a major event in the life of the capital. The processions of sporting youth, converging on Red Square, blocked the streets and transformed passers-by into spectators. Journalists and diplomats were well aware that the sportsmen’s parade was something special and that it should not be missed. Unlike 1 May or 7 November, where the emphasis was on military readiness, the day of the fizkul'turniki was all about youth, a celebration of physical perfection, beauty and health. Around 40,000 young people of both sexes paraded across the square.1
Moscow, 1937 Page 36