Building the Revolution: Soviet Art and Architecture 1915-1935

Using a single platform to analyse a number of media can be a tricky thing and traditionally art historians have stuck to studying one dimension or another. Not so in Building the Revolution: Soviet Art and Architecture 1915-1935, an exhibition which showcases examples of Constructivist art and images of Russian avant-garde architecture in a very manageable, almost cosy space in the third floor galleries of the Royal Academy. Despite the proximity of display one doesn’t come away with an impression of overlap, direction of influence, let alone of dynamic reciprocity between the two art forms. This was not my only contention. The relationship between the two is not clearly explained and the idea of dialogue between the two not convincingly forged but, perhaps more importantly, the aesthetic of neither is given centre stage. It is the photographs of extant Soviet structures by the English photographer Richard Pare, taken in the 1990s and early noughties, which steal the show. Fine. But in that case name the exhibition better.  

Although Pare’s photographs are often sublime, I liked them a lot, I wasn’t persuaded that their presence on nearly every wall of the exhibition was useful in arguing for the strength of the Soviet art forms themselves. And that was the original premise for the exhibition (In her lecture, now available on the RA website, curator MaryAnne Stevens made the disclaimer that this exhibition is not a laudation of the new ideals of the Soviet Socialist state but was intented as an appreciative look at the dynamic art emerging at a specific period in history). Yes, of course seeing many of these structures through Pare’s lens accents their best features and encourages a new way of looking at them. We are familiar with Pare's kind of aesthetic, characteristically light and open, so it is easy to converse with and their significant size commands our attention. But they do not, I felt, leave ample room for the original Soviet aesthetic to speak for itself. It is also a shame that more is not made of the archive cards onto which photographs contemporary to the actual period are stuck. Their display can completely elude you if you forget to look down your nose.

Yet it was definitely an interesting exhibition– but perhaps this was only because it was a foray into unknown territory, my only way in was scant knowledge of related Italian futurist art – and much of the material on display is here in Britain for the first time so we must make the most of it. 

Gerard Richter. Panorama.

I had an inkling as to the assortment of Richter’s ‘looks’ but a stroll through the overridingly chronological path of the rooms of the Tate Modern’s exhibition Gerard Richter. Panorama revealed just how various an artist he is. One can be forgiven for falling short of reading up on the media, themes, theories and history explored and expounded by the 80-something year old German. It is, after all, quite something: stainless steel and annotated photographs through to oil on canvas; figural and abstract works; nods, deferent and not so deferent, to the art and theory of old and modern Masters; familial, experiential and world wide history. Quite a list. Richter’s intellectual investment is clear and whether you fancy yourself as an art critic, art historian or, perhaps preferably, neither, there is a wealth of material to get excited about.

It is surprising then that one does not feel completely saturated, nor indeed confused, as you wind up the ‘Cage’ rooms. Perhaps this is because an incredible display of technical virtuosity lends coherency to Richter’s oeuvre; it abounds and captivates right through to the end. Added to this is the fact that, just when you start to think you have seen too many photo – realist paintings or abstract works, the curators make timely breaks from the homogeneity of these beautifully measured paintings and present you with a stack of mirrors, or another of Richter's 'sculptural' pieces.

The plentiful abstract paintings are symptomatic of Richter’s signature use of the squeegee and his erasure technique but – and quite possibly I missed a trick here - I came away feeling that the exhibition script flaunts these specialised, individual terms without explanation. Another puzzling thing was how Richter painted his mesmerising ‘Seascape’ and his eminently effective birds-eye cityscapes, but perhaps that is not one which can be answered. I decided he must have to run forwards and backwards rather a lot but that sounds a bit Charles Cecil-esque. So, lots of reading up after....It’s only on until Sunday 8^th Jan (there are late night openings on Friday and Saturday) but see it if you can, ‘tis a GREAT show.