Dizaina Studija. Telpa Forma Laiks

The photographs published in Soviet era magazines and newspapers eloquently describe for the next generation the grain and sugar-beet harvests in collective farms; the increase in production in significant manufacturing facilities; the huge volume of milk gained from cows and the accomplishment of the five-year plan over a period of three or four years in factories; the triumph of the will of the people over the elements of nature and the continually increasing prosperity of the proletariat. Examining the visual material in chronological order, a gradual change in emphasis, both in the choice of scene and in the formal structures of photographs can be discerned – from the depiction of growth, which was ideologised and idealised in the Stalin era, to the final tiredness of the period of stagnation (which is illustrated by the inexpressive portraits of members of the politbureau and other officials frequently publicised in the press) and the unrest of perestroika.

A “golden age” existed between both of these extremes – in the 1970s, when a certain level of well-being was attained.  When examining these one is struck by the temptation to look for similarities (and differences) with Latvia’s current version of capitalism. Back then, all of the products of “Radiotehnika” and VEF that were in demand were manufactured in the Latvian SSR, as were “Straume” coffee grinders, “Sarkanā zvaigzne” mopeds, “Dzintars” perfumes etc; “Rīgas Modeļu nams”, “Rīgas audums” and “Rīgas apģērbs” determined the direction of fashion, alongside stylish fashion photographs from the magazine “Rīgas Modes” by the photographers Jānis Kreicbergs and Ilga Sūna. Many who experienced this time have forgotten that the scarce coffee grinders and other goods once held the same difficult-to-obtain and status symbol-related charm that is currently held by all of those Italian and Danish knick knacks, the “originality” and “quality” of which we enthusiastically discuss today. The type of offering, design, fashion and general ideological context has changed, but what has remained unchanged is the need of the consumer (whether this was the Soviet-era proletariat and collective farm worker or a contemporary capitalist employee) to translate their own prosperity and social status into the language of objects, the nuances of which (dialects/dialectics) are influenced in turn by the ruling ideology of the relevant era. This essay gives a brief insight into how Soviet brands were represented in the photographs of the 1970s, or from our contemporary view, what this language of things was, and how various goods addressed the Soviet consumer.

Photographs for the education of the workers
Bertolt Brecht, a Marxist, asserted that “photography in the hands of the bourgeoise has become a terrible weapon which is aimed at the truth”(1), but history indicates that this assertion would be just as true if the word “bourgeoise” was replaced by the words “communism”, “facsism” or “capitalism” etc. Any ideology uses a high level of credibility to achieve its aims, which is still possessed by the photograph after suppression of the ideology itself. It is accepted practice to regard photographs as authentic “evidence of the times”, which they are, only we often tend to misunderstand authenticity – taking that which is portrayed in the photograph to be that which truly happened, not that which was desired. All of the totalitarian regimes of the 20th century used this phenomenon of perception to further their aims (parallel to another equally impressive tool – cinema) and are continuing to use it successfully to influence the holders of wealth. A radical example from the Soviet Union is the brutal use of photography during the Stalin era, whereby photographs were dramatically retouched and assembled, to literally rub out undesirable people, or to add the necessary slogans on posters held by people participating in protests, etc.(2) This type of manipulation of photographic materials corresponds with a general move towards transforming the world and improving it by any means. In the second half of the century the popularisation of Soviet ideology and its strengthening was a justification for the publication of any photograph – in 1984 a wide-ranging theoretical article was published in the Soviet photography magazine “Sovetskoje foto”, which asserted amongst many other things: “Hopes for the triumph of civilization, for a new and truly humane life style are only associated with the avante garde of the most progressive – international communist – movement... The most useful tool in relation to this remains the positive hero, in whose image everything valuable is concentrated, everything which has been overcome and achieved on the hard road to the new world and the creation of the new person.  Thanks to its particular characteristics, it is possible that photography is the most functional art form.”(3) Taking into account that the “political ambitions of the Soviet state encroached into absolutely all spheres”(4), the same Socialist Realist guidelines that defined creative activity in literature, fine art and other fields were applied to photography; in short: “Socialist Realism provides for a truthful and historically concrete depiction of reality in accordance with the ideological task of the education of the workers in the spirit of socialism”(5).

The photographs that I examine in this essay are in a way able to be viewed as a part of this task of educating the workers – the LATINFORM photo chronicle “The Republic in Photographs” was prepared centrally by the TASS/Latvian SSR Council of Ministers Information agency LATINFORM and was sent out to newspaper editorial boards. Each dated “publication” of photo chronicles (thematic collections of photographs) was accompanied by a small introductory text and captions.
Individual photographers were not mentioned, instead the author of the images was listed as the TASS/Latvian SSR Council of Ministers Information agency LATINFORM. (Some of these photographs are now held by the Image Publications Reading Room of the Latvian National Library.) Similarly to other achievements of the national economy, this new photographic chronicle reflected new goods, residential suburbs with facilities and sample interiors of apartments – just like in our newspapers today.

The value of things in capitalism and communism  
On one hand, these photographs do not differ from advertising images created under a contemporary capitalist ideology in terms of content – the main role is played by interiors of private homes and objects with which to fill these homes. On the other hand, the ideological context differs, and the photographs taken during the Soviet era also display formal differences from the contemporary advertising aesthetic. The tentative version of capitalism in today’s Latvia aggressively appeals to the most basic human drives, offering an egocentric world view and continually inviting one to transgress the tenth commandment (“Thou shalt not covet”) in the name of personal well-being and happiness. Home interiors, cars and brand names are portrayed by commercial photography as being the shortest and only road to happiness or at least to comfort. The items which are advertised are self-sufficient values: their acquisition and use both confirms the status and good taste of a particular individual in the circle of those in-the-know, and indubitably also makes them happy. Nothing else must be done or known – one must be able to choose the correct suite of items and be able to pay for it. The concept of purchasing happiness or the ideology of individualism and egoism have been inspired by the market economy – businesses and industries have to be profitable, consumption must increase, and what better to motivate the consumer with than their own personal happiness.

The outline of the Soviet planned economy was different from its very inception – it did not need marketing. New products did not have to attract the attention of the consumer at any cost, and win a place in their consciousness, because the very existence of the product was enough to make people queue up for it. The main motivation for the acquisition of things was not to demonstrate proper, tasteful choices and purchasing capacity, but rather the most important was the opportunity to access the particular item (sociologists identify informal elements of communication such as blats (the gaining of something by way of influence) and “under the counter” trading, etc, to be characteristic of Soviet citizens). People today are used to experiencing holy terror (feelings that the anthropologist Michael Taussig 6 compares to the feeling of physical insecurity when hanging off a cliff or above a long drop, called “cliff-hanging insecurity”) having to make a choice when confronted by display cases in shopping centres which offer thousands of shoe designs or hundreds of food processors and stereosystems. Possibly one of the criteria of choice is the brand with the “best looking advertisement”, which was seen in a glossy magazine or news portal.

In Soviet photography the new goods were represented as another achievement on the road to the triumph of communism, their existence was redolent of pride and pathos. How this was expressed in the design of the photographs themselves can be seen in the accompanying examples: unlike capitalistic commercial photography, in which it is necessary to conduct various complicated manipulations with the item being sold in order to get the attention of the target audience, which had been established through costly research (for example, the object has to be placed in an aesthetic or exotic environment, and one has to invent an original – dramatic or entertaining or otherwise emotional – scene with the participation of models or animals; the appropriate accessories must be found; the image must be post-produced; and the guidelines of the colour choices for the corporate id must be maintained), Soviet photographs of goods portray the objects the way they are. For reasons of aesthetics the composition usually also includes a smiling woman who demonstrates the goods. Furthermore, to the delight of feminist theoreticians, she is not an anonymous model who has been chosen from a catalogue, as is the case in contemporary advertisements, but is some worker of merit instead – a highly qualified professional, a specialist in her field, who has devoted herself to the invention or production of a particular item, and her name is sure to be mentioned in the caption of the photograph. The education of the workers is taking place here – only an exemplary worker can get this kind of “positive publicity”, as it is called these days.

I was a farmer, I will be a farmer
Turning to photographic representations of private interiors, family homes and apartment blocks, it should be noted that artificial scenes of a “happy life” from the 1970s do not differ much from today – the photographs provide an example to strive for. There are differences in terms of content – currently most advertising photographs in architecture, design, interior and lifestyle magazines promote the sin of pride, inviting one to choose “quality”, “style”, an “individual style”, and advertise the use of the branded product as the easiest road to paradise. In real estate catalogues, widely promoted computer aided drawings promise to create interiors according to the wishes of the client or the directions of an interior designer. By contrast, the new buildings documented in Soviet era photographs represent the building of communism itself; the result of collective efforts which result in mass-produced, prefabricated manufacturing and promote the advantages of standardisation (designs for the so-called Līvāni houses and prefabricated apartment blocks and sample interiors which are dominated by heavy, modular side-boards, etc). Bourgeois formalism has no place in proletarian homes – they must be filled with modular items. Although when examining one or two images (for example, the newly-constructed collective farming village with a well-equipped environment and a new two-storey house and its owners with their new Žiguļi) and comparing these theoretically with those seen in the contemporary press, it seems that political ideology is not all-pervasive: the set of symbols which signifies the prosperity of a respected citizen (the aforementioned “positive hero”) has not changed, whether this is a collective farm director under Soviet conditions or a mid-level manager in a contemporary democracy.  

“The ideological task of educating the workers in the spirit of socialism” was achieved through the use of photographs which documented the opportunities for cultural recreation and conveniences for the working class – that which they could expect in their free time: well-facilitated parks, camping grounds for collective, well-organised recreation, aesthetically designed public catering venues and large shopping centres – the same things that are found in the currently popularised consumerist lifestyle. Only the message today is different – in the Soviet press a new supermarket or cafe was interpreted as another form of demonstrating the triumph of communism, while today they are seen as new opportunities to “find” or “improve” oneself and to gain various other esoteric qualities which are usually promised in the slogans of shopping centres and advertisements for the recreation industry.

A similar depiction of prosperity with differing ideological subtext in soviet and contemporary visual culture expressively reminds one of the fact that it is not the inscription, “Ligne Roset” or “Sarkanais kvadrāts” , and not the presence of flower beds by a house that signify a clear conscience and a happy life. Commenting on the unrest and agitation which have been instilled in today’s consumers by the constant necessity to make a choice, and the chronic insecurity about the ramifications of their choices in the future, the philosopher and sociologist Renata Salecl emphasises that “capitalism has transformed the proletariat–slave into a free consumer”(7), demonstrating the illusory nature of the “freedom” of the consumer. We can conclude that individual episodes in history have the tendency to repeat cyclically.(8) For example, the elements of civic wealth mentioned in this essay are equally pertinent in both communist and capitalist societies, only the nuances of interpretation have changed: the possession of a private house (back then a “Līvāni” house in a collective farm village, today – a townhouse in a gated community), a private car (back then a Žiguļi, now – any compact car), a garden or summer cottage ( back then a dacha, now – a holiday house). Under capitalism this set has also been joined by something that was unimaginable in the Soviet era – the ability to travel around world, using cheap airline tickets which have been purchased six months beforehand. But this is just an illusory freedom described by Renata Salecl – an instantaneous appeasement for existential stress, because the “free” consumer of today does not really differ in many aspects from the 19th century peasant – a serf – in the same way as the relative value of things does not change. For example, the appeal of so-called studio apartments: gaining one room with a sink and a stovetop in the corner for approximately 100 000 lats typically means a bank loan for a term of 40 years, and the conditions of this contract paradoxically seem practically the same as the conditions by which my great-great-great-grandfather could buy his house and land from the local country nobleman in the mid-19th century, for this purpose borrowing a fantastical sum of money from the same nobleman  for a period of 61 years (around 4000 roubles: the wage for a day’s work at the manor was 25 kopeks)(9). By putting aside Soviet newspapers and noblemen’s contracts, it gets easier to handle, however: although history repeats itself, a certain progress can also be observed, because currently our conditions are better than ever before.

 

(1) Sentence from Bertolt Brecht’s introductory article, which was published in 1931 in the Communist Party Newspaper Communist Arbeiter Illustrierte Zeitung. Quotation from: S. Korner. Brecht’s War Primer. 21stcenturysocialism.com.
(2) In-depth descriptions of incidents of falsifying history can be read in: King, D. The Commissar Vanishes: The Falsification of Photographs and Art in Stalin's Russia. New York: Metropolitan Books, 1997; Dickerman, L. Camera Obscura: Socialist Realism in the Shadow of Photography. October, Vol. 93 (Summer 2000), pp. 138–153.
(3) Владимиров, Н. Воспитательный потенциал снимка. Советское фото, 1984, No. 3.
(4) Ansone, E. Padomjzemes mitoloģija. Rīga: Neputns, 2008, 11. lpp.
(5) Руднев, В. Словарь культуры ХХ в.  Москва, 1999.
(6) Michael Taussig (b. 1940), Professor in Anthropology at Columbia University, criticizes colonialism, capitalist consumer culture and the „fetishism of household objects” in his works.
(7) See: Salecl, R. On Anxiety. Routledge, 2004; also in periodicals and catalogues, for example: Salecl, R. Success in Failure: or How Hypercapitalism Relies on People's Feeling of Inadequacy. Parallax 9, 2003, No. 27, pp. 96–108; Salecl, R. Inner Limits in Times of the Tyranny of Choice. In: Manifesta 7 Companion. Milano: Silvana Editoriale, 2008.
(8) Social cycle theory in sociology denies or inhibits the factor of progress in human history.
(9) Švābe, A. Latvijas vēsture: 1800–1914. Rīga: Avots, 1991, pp. 302–330. For eye-witness interpretation of historical facts see: Kaudzīte, M., Kaudzīte, R. Mērnieku laiki. Rīga: Zvaigzne, 1983.