Your book Performing the East. Performance Art in Russia, Latvia and Poland Since 1980 came out this summer under the UK Publisher IB Tauris and you are already working on another one that addresses a broader area of Eastern Europe, including the former Yugoslavia, Central and Eastern Europe, and the former Soviet countries of Europe, such as Estonia. Yet you are an American scholar living and working in Scotland. What intrigues you in the former Eastern bloc? Is it art or is it politics?
It’s an interesting question that I often get asked. I guess my initial interest came from my own personal background. Two of my grandparents were Polish, and I grew up, as many Americans do, with my own family’s national traditions and customs. When I studied art history, I was painfully aware of the fact that no Polish artists were included in the curriculum – or even visible in the textbooks. I was genuinely curious what the art looked like in all of these underrepresented places in Eastern Europe.
When I finished my Master’s degree, I wanted to travel and live in Europe. Having studied mainly European art in university, this continent, and all of its individual countries, fascinated me. As part of my travels, I went to Estonia, Poland, the Czech Republic and Hungary. I was interested in the way the recent political history had affected the local visual landscape. At the time, one of the easiest ways to live in Europe was to get a job teaching English in Eastern Europe; this was in the 1990s, and English-language schools were popping up all over the place. I ended up working at a college in Czestochowa, Poland, which trained teachers of foreign languages, including English.
I was there for nearly three years, so I learned Polish, and then decided to continue my studies at the PhD level. I chose Rutgers University, in New Jersey, because at that time it was one of the only places where one could do a PhD with a focus on Soviet and Eastern European art, because of the Dodge collection.
Aside from my personal motivations for studying the region, I think what attracts me is the way that art and politics intersect – sometimes overtly, and sometimes covertly. But the socio-historical context is almost always somehow present, and even when it isn’t, this absence is also meaningful. But at the end of the day, I guess that I also just happen to find the artists and art produced in the region really interesting, and really good.
You have been travelling the former Soviet block a lot lately and must have met many Eastern European artists and art historians on your way. The question of whether Eastern Europe has an identity of its own has been haunting me a lot lately, and if we do have something in common with all these countries from former Yugoslavia up to Latvia and Estonia then is it the shared historical trauma mostly or is there something more affirmative besides that?
The issue of “Eastern Europe,” and even the term, is a tricky one. We know that it is a geo-political term, and we should also know that if we use that term, then we are implicitly speaking about many “Eastern Europes,” not only geographically (the situation in Yugoslavia was quite different than in Poland or Lithuania, for example, and even from Romania to Czechoslovakia we see major differences in how communism was implemented), but also temporally (compare Czechoslovakia in the 1960s versus 1970s, or Poland in the 1980s with Hungary in the 1970s, for example). So while on the one hand there is a sense of a “shared historical trauma,” it is also different from country to country, decade to decade.
What interests me with regard to this question is the way that various styles, traditions, and approaches have been shared, imported and exported across this region. We certainly know more about the East’s adoption of Western styles – it is probably most often noted trope. It seems that we know a lot less about the influence that Eastern artists had on Western artists, despite the fact that it is well-documented that artists from the West came to the region and also knew about the art being produced here through mail art and other informal forms of export. The obvious examples are Allan Kaprow’s interest in the work of Milan Knizak, or Lucy Lippard’s inclusion of Czech artists such as Petr Stembera and the Slovenian artist group OHO in her text Six Years: the Dematerialization of the Art Object. But I think the more that we learn about the ways in which artistic practice was shared and distributed both across Eastern Europe and from East to West, the more we will see that there was considerable influence in the direction of East to West, which is not discussed nearly as often as it should be.
Your PhD is from Rutgers University which for the Estonian art circles, is known mainly because of the Zimmerli Art Museum that is under the tutelage of the university and houses the Norton Dodge Collection of Soviet nonconformist art (there is quite some amount of the cream of Soviet era Estonian art in that collection too). What role has the Rutgers University and the Norton Dodge collection played in your research curriculum?
The Dodge Collection was the foundation for my PhD studies, and really my introduction to the art of this region. When I was considering my dissertation topic, I always knew that I wanted to examine art from three different countries within the Soviet sphere of influence – Russia itself, a Soviet Republic, and a Central European country. Because of my experience in Poland, I decided to use my knowledge of the language to further my research. I thought that the Baltics would provide an interesting point of comparison, since these countries are very much part of the European tradition, yet were then cut off from Europe when they were incorporated into the Soviet Union.
I remember sitting in the registrar of the museum, looking through slide after slide in the collection, both to familiarize myself with it, and to select an artist or artist whose work I wanted to investigate. From there, I chose an artist whose work I found really compelling – that was the work of Latvian artist Miervaldis Polis. I was attracted by the use of humour and irony in his work, and the performative element that carried through from his performances into his paintings (or vice versa, really, because he was a painter before he created his performances). I do recall very vividly the collection of Estonian graphic artists that we had in the collection. While I liked their work, I was more interested in performance, which is how I chose my focus.
The Norton Dodge collection – in my mind - also bears historical traces of Western attitudes towards Eastern Europe at the end of 20th century when dissident art was smuggled out of the Soviet Union as an act of saving, whereas the region itself lost essential part of its cultural memory with this act. Have you felt this weight of your predecessors – art historians and art dealers travelling Eastern Europe in the 1990s – while travelling Eastern Europe now in the 2000s?
When I first started my research, back in 2004, I think I did get some apprehension on the part of locals, who felt that I, as an outsider, wouldn’t really be able to understand the local issues, since I hadn’t lived through them myself. I’ve encountered that attitude less and less, although someone did actually say something similar to me just this past summer! I can completely understand this hesitation with regard to “outsiders,” and the fear of being mis-represented. But usually the response to my work is quite positive, once I explain that my approach is really to tease out all of the various nuances within the context of this greater “Eastern Europe.” It’s actually really interesting to see the response of different artists when I ask to meet with them. Many of the younger artists are very interested in being represented now, as they are trying to gain as wide an exposure with their work as possible. Some of the older artists are surprised that I am interested in their work, and happy that I’ve contacted them, because they feel that the world has forgotten them.
How do you work on your field trips in these countries?
To be honest, for my current research I’m using as my guide Zdenka Badovinac’s Body and the East catalogue, together with IRWIN’s East Art Map. I use these texts almost as a phone book – they serve as my starting point whenever I visit a country. From there, I usually contact the local contemporary art center or modern or contemporary art museum, and local curators and art historians. I usually present local curators and art historians with my “list” of artists that I would like to meet, and then ask them to suggest other artists, so maybe this is why it works, because as an outsider I try to approach the scene from within, through the local experts and also texts compiled from within the East.
It has also been really interesting to see the legacy of Badovinac’s groundbreaking exhibition, because the vast majority of artists in that catalogue are still active, and still relevant. Only a token few have abandoned performance, or, sadly, some have since died, but Body and the East still presents an accurate picture of performance art in the region. My text will hopefully complement that one, and also present the subsequent twenty years since it was produced. I suppose that because my focus is performance, and not painting or sculpture – which is predominant in the Dodge collection – the Dodge Collection hasn’t been my point of reference as much for this aspect of my research. But it still remains a phenomenal collection, historical circumstances notwithstanding, and certainly formed the foundation of my initial work on the region.
Has it been difficult to understand the cultural code of Eastern European art as America is perhaps better known to us via TV and internet than Eastern Europe is to you?
I suppose I’ve been lucky in that I managed to start traveling in the region quite early. I made my first trip to Russia in 1996, and then in 1997 I traveled around Europe, as I mentioned, and lived in Poland from 1998-2000. While completing my PhD, after the requisite initial two years in residence at Rutgers, I worked on my dissertation remotely, living in Latvia from 2004-2009. So my vision and understanding of “Eastern Europe” has really been shaped by my experiences there. Although no one can understand a foreign situation completely, I feel that I am able to speak from the position of a very informed outsider, which has both advantages and disadvantages.
On the one hand, while I have the sense that I understand the nuances of the region, I continually have experiences that remind me that I don’t have the whole picture – it is easy to make assumptions based on individual experiences, and I continually have experiences that challenge those assumptions. But another thing that I learned from living in the region is how different each individual experience is from the point of the insider, as well. When locals discuss the Soviet period or the transition times of the 1990s and all voice different perspectives and opinions, and demonstrate different understandings of those times, I wonder how I can ever have a complete picture when even they can’t agree what it was really like! But I suppose that simply underscores the fact that history is never objective, and each perspective is individual and unique, and can provide insight – as long as it is an informed perspective, with strictly defined terms, then it has value.
In Kumu there is a huge European Council exhibition as we speak, which aims to prove that there is no difference between Western and Eastern European contemporary art. There is a point there from one side, as the avant-garde in the East has often been deemed less radical than the avant-garde in the West, but from the other side the conditions in which these avant-gardes emerged were still pretty different, the first acted in public space whereas the second in private or semiprivate space. You first book focused on exactly these differences between performance art in the East and in the West and you pointed out the influence of the art market in the West as the most essential of them. But didn`t the state with its commissions embody the art market in the East?
I absolutely agree that the state in Eastern Europe forms a similar parallel with the Western art market in terms of that entity from which artists wanted to distance or free themselves. In generic terms, much of the artistic work that has been developed in the 19th and 20th centuries has been about rebelling against something. But in specific terms, I think it means something very different to rebel against an academy, a predominant style, an art market, a governmental policy, a repressive regime, etc. I hope that in my work I can discover and highlight the subtleties of these differences.
In the earlier part of the twentieth century, artists throughout Europe were oriented towards the artistic centers in the West – Paris, Munich, Milan. Artists traveled there, and brought back the latest trends and styles – but almost always they made an effort to adapt those styles to local traditions and tastes, and the result was some interesting and innovative artistic forms, which happen to have their origins in the West (although at that time I think the idea was more that these places were considered artistic centers before they were thought of as Western). Take for example Czech Cubism. The style may have originated in Paris, through the collaboration between Picasso and Braque, but the Czechs took that style and ran with it, applying it to furniture and architecture, in ways that the Parisian artists never dreamed of. But this example illustrates that it is not simply a question of East or West, but of a layering of styles, approaches and influences. Because the Czech variant of Cubism happens to have its origins elsewhere in no way diminishes its uniqueness and art historical value.
So, in terms of there being “no difference” between East and West, I suppose it depends what terms we are considering, and also the time period. Indeed, the social and cultural differences between East and West are diminishing, and so many young artists these days are studying abroad and participating in residencies all over the world. So it makes it very difficult to speak of influence and background as homogenous. It should also be remembered that when we speak of the historical avant-garde, it was Eastern European artists who were at the forefront – most notably the Romanian artist Tristan Tsara (Tom Sandqvuist’s 2006 study, Dada East: The Romanians of Cabaret Voltaire addresses this gap in the literature).
Speaking of the neo-avant-garde, I think that what seems like a difference between radical art being enacted in public spaces in the West versus private spaces in the East is actually the result of a gap in the knowledge and literature that is slowly being filled. Even in Romania during the Ceasescu regime, there are examples of public performances (for example, those of Paul Neagu), although they are perhaps more rare than those witnessed in Yugoslavia. In some ways public performances in these places can perhaps be deemed more radical than their Western counterparts, since these public displays were enacted in places where free speech and expression was not the given that it was in the West at the same time.
It is very nice that you have helped make the Western readers acknowledge with your book that avant-garde is also a phenomenon of the East. If we assume that avant-garde is not a game for the insiders of art world but carries a mission in the larger society then do you think performance art has had a special role to play in Eastern European societies that have been struggling in great deal with maintaining free and open society?
I do, actually. My PhD dissertation was in fact focused on performance artists in the region in relation to Western theories of the avant-garde (Burger, Poggioli, Krauss). Their argument is that the avant-garde is either dead or doomed to repeat itself, but in the East the avant-garde actually functioned in many instances as inadvertent political activism. One of the most obvious examples of this was the Bulldozer Exhibition in Moscow in 1974, when artists pushed the boundaries of what was accepted, and the result was an article in the New York Times the day after the show was bulldozed, which forced the city authorities to allow the artist to stage a similar exhibition two weeks later, so as to appear open and tolerant of artistic expression. Each time an artist pushed these boundaries, they inched further and further toward the complete artistic freedom that they would experience in a democratic society. Many agree that the nonconformist artists in the Soviet Union were integral to its fall.
When I was in Croatia, which has a wealth of both older and younger generation performance artists, we were discussing whether performance art was now an exclusively Eastern European phenomenon, as it seems that the genre has really taken hold in the region, following the fall, and one can’t help but wonder if part of the reason – aside from the obvious idea that the body is now reclaimed from the state – is that artists aim to use these radical art forms to help shape these new democracies. By creating a discourse about relevant issues, in a very visceral, and sometimes public form, they can engage viewers in ways that they otherwise wouldn’t, and contribute to the discussion as to how the new societies that are in development should look.
But if to think of many Western exhibitions and books on Eastern European contemporary art, then the traumatic post-socialist Eastern Europe still seems to be the commodity that the Western world is willing to buy. Do you see Eastern Europe as responding to this Western commission to produce art that deals with the pain, with the humiliation?
I think that good art is art that responds sensitively and intelligently to relevant issues, no matter how great or small. The East-West division is an issue that many artists are certainly aware of, whether it is an awareness of the fact that their work is subject to external market forces, now more than ever after the fall of the Soviet Union, or an awareness that the Western market may be looking for something particular from the region – the exoticism that you mentioned – or even just a desire to be a part of the Western canon, for the simple reason of having their work known by a wider audience. I’ve seen a number of artists whose work deals with these issues, but the good ones are the ones that do it sincerely and honestly.
For example, I met a number of artists in Serbia who spoke to me about this phenomenon. Being from a nation that was recently involved in war, artists spoke of the expectation, by the Western curators, for work that directly addressed the war, was somehow about war, or about ethnicity. Vladimir Nikolic’s work engages with these issues directly. His 2004 piece Death Anniversary involved him hiring a dirge singer from Montenegro to sing at the grave of Marcel Duchamp. While Duchamp created the concept of the readymade, which is an object that is removed from its context and given a new meaning or value, Nikolic feels that, as a Serbian artist, he is prevented from participating in that discourse that was started by Duchamp, because of the expectation that his work be somehow about his local origins, or is interpreted through that lens. During the performance, the dirge singer, which represents that ethnicity, is placed directly between him and Duchamp, preventing him from entering the world of contemporary art autonomously. It is a very sophisticated piece that responds to this idea of “trauma” in a highly intelligent way.
The work of Zoran Todorovic is a different case. His work deals with traumas inflicted on the body by society. For example, in his piece Assimilation (1997-2006), he took the discarded pieces of human tissue that no one wants – cartilage and fat that is removed after plastic surgeries, such as liposuction or rhinoplasty – and made it into aspic that attendees of the exhibition opening could eat. The piece refers specifically to the notion of beauty in contemporary society, yet the artist tells me that a lot of people want to see his work as being solely about the Serbian experience, and emerging from the context of violence and war, which it isn’t. I think that Nikolic’s piece illustrates and addresses precisely what artists are up against in the post-Cold War world, and Todorovic is an example of an artist whose work could be misunderstood if subjected to reductivist and uninformed interpretation.
What have you concluded from your research so far - are there any archetypal motifs or themes that seem to unite performance art in Eastern Europe?
I don’t know that I could go as far as to say that there are archetypal themes running through performance art that are unique to Eastern Europe. Many of the motifs that we see with performance art in general, such as gender, or the exposure or destruction of the body, for example, are commonly seen in performance art in general, regardless of whether it is from the East or the West. Of course in Eastern Europe there is the engagement with the local political situation, which varies from place to place, but historically performance art has often functioned in concert with social and political protest. For example, the International Situationists were at the forefront of the protests in Paris in 1968, and the work of feminist artists in North America largely grew out of the civil rights and women’s movements there.
While I was in the former Yugoslav countries this past summer, I did notice a number of artists doing work that voiced protest again the EU. The Slovenian artist Ive Tabar, for example, who actually works primarily as a nurse, but also does performances, has a series of medical performances that he created to voice his discontent with Slovenia’s accession to the EU. I also came across a number of artists doing work dealing with gender, quite often with regard to women’s issues. I found this quite interesting, given that the East did not experience the same sexual revolution as in the West, nor were there definite feminist movements like those in North America or Western Europe.
For example, looking at the recent work of Borjana Mrdja, from Banja Luka, Bosnia, one sees striking similarities with the work of Croatian artist Sanja Ivekovic, however Mrdja was unaware of that work when she created hers. In 2009, Mrdja created a series of self-portraits entitled Enthroning, made from a make-up removal wipe that she pressed to her face, and which retained the traces of her make-up from that day, and resembled a self-portrait. In 1975-6, Ivekovic’s Diary also presented the remnants of the artist’s make-up, in the form of cotton balls and tissues used to remove it, together with photographs from women’s magazines of women made up in garish make-up. Much of her work from this time deals with notions of beauty and fetishizaton of make-up, much like Mrdja’s does today. Ivekovic was one of the few female artists in Eastern Europe at that time dealing with issues of gender. Perhaps the work of Mrdja, among others, suggests an awareness, among artists, of the significant work yet to be done with regard to gender issues in the region.
In Estonia, people do not identify with the concept of Eastern Europe much, as the politicians keep telling them that Estonia will soon be among five richest countries of Europe and wipe the dust of history from its feet. The reality is more diverse than that of course, though we have to agree that the former Eastern block has started to differ more and more in the 21st century, Estonia is strongly pro free market economy, Hungary has chosen an ultra right wing path, Ukraine is not supporting the citizen society etc. What have you experienced in your field trips – is Eastern Europe a historical phase rather than cultural region and geographical term? And if so, then are you as a researcher of Eastern European performance art collecting and conceptualizing the ephemeral, the temporary, the disappearing?
Just as each nation in the Eastern bloc adopted state-sponsored socialism in different ways, it is interesting to see how each one transitions into a free-market democracy. I think that’s why while it is convenient to use the term “Eastern Europe” to refer to a geo-political region, one must at the same time acknowledge the differences, with the East, from region to region, and nation to nation. That is also why I think the model of local, national, regional and international contextualization is important when looking at the art produced here, in order to acknowledge the many layers of history at work, influencing the cultural sphere. I like the idea of “capturing the ephemeral,” not just with regard to performance art, but to the history as well.
Having travelled in the region since the mid-1990s, I’ve had the opportunity to witness first-hand how much these places have changed. It isn’t just the Western chain stores and the presence of things like Starbucks on the main square, but the way that each country is now marketing various aspects of local culture. For example, it is interesting to see the different products presented by each nation as an assertion of local national cultural identity, with restaurants and souvenir shops offering unique traditional cuisine and hand-made products. So while the political differences between East and West are disappearing, what seems to be appearing in its place is an assertion of the individual national identities that can now be found in Europe. This is an example from the tourism and commercial industries, but I think it also informs perceptions of the region, both in terms of the insider (how he chooses to represent himself) and the outsider (how the nation is perceived).
In your blog you said you were surprised that Estonia has such amount of performance art. Was it because of the nordic shy stereotype you had of Estonians? Or did Latvians tell you that it`s pointless to go up north from here as there is nothing there?
Ha ha, I did hear my fair share of local neighbor jokes when living in Latvia, but none about artists! Having been doing research on Latvian performance art for years, I suppose I expected a similar representation of performance artists in Estonia. Latvia doesn’t have a strong tradition of performance art, and the examples I found seem to be unique – but shining – examples in contemporary art. (That said, I have spoken with those who disagree that performance isn’t a popular genre in Latvia. Instead, they say that it simply hasn’t been represented adequately in the literature).
The other reason I was surprised is that in terms of area and population, Estonia is one of Europe’s smaller nations, so the idea that having so many significant performance artists per capita seemed surprising. I suppose it shouldn’t be, considering the Baltic legacy of both the Singing Revolution and the Baltic Chain – two very artistic and performative forms of resistance that helped these nations break from the Soviet Union. But as to the reason why Estonia seems to have a greater cohort of active performance artists in comparison to Latvia and Lithuania is something I haven’t yet figured out – but maybe it really isn’t something that needs to have a reason.
Whom inspiring have you met in Estonia? Have Estonian artists changed in any way your understanding of art in the former Eastern bloc?
Every artist that I met in Estonia was captivating in a different way, and I would hate to single one out or omit another. After speaking with Al Paldrok, I was really intrigued by the phenomenon of Non Grata, which represents an art that can really exist outside of the institution, and be the result of a collective effort – at least I feel that it was that way in the beginning. Tanel Rander told me about “Oak Night,” which he described to me as more of a religion than an artistic project, based around the city of Tartu. I found this approach interesting, the idea that a philosophical ideal or religious state of mind can take on the characteristics of a piece of art. I was really fascinated with the work of Flo Kasearu, from her pieces dealing specifically with the Estonian identity and migration (Estonian Sculpture, Multi Travels, Estonian Dream) to her more recent work with the Flo Kasearu Museum, where she places her whole life on exhibit. I think that she addresses a variety of significant issues in really sophisticated and nuanced ways.
It was also really interesting to meet artists such as Siim-Tanel Annus, Raul Meel and Raivo Kelomees, who were doing such vanguard work in the 1970s and 1980s. Hearing them tell me about the challenges they faced getting their work done during that period was like witnessing a piece of history. It is interesting to see the different issues that artists faced in different periods, and the different topics that their work addressed. Kai Kaljo’s video performance, Loser, was a very topical piece when it was created, and really informs the viewer about the situation for an Estonian artist in the 1990s. It was also exciting to meet Jaan Toomik, and then see the work of his students, Sandra Jõgeva and Mai Sööt, whose work, I think, bears traces of his influence. I was disappointed that I wasn’t able to meet Raoul Kurvitz, whose work with Group T I know was very influential in the 1990s. Nor did I manage a meeting with Marko Raat, although I am happy that I was able to view his film, For Aesthetic Reasons, which I loved. I even met with the dancer Kaspar Aus, who told me about a piece that he had done with Raul Meel, so the crossover and interrelation between artists in this very compact art scene was stimulating to witness.
As to whether these artists have “changed my understanding” of Eastern European art, I think that they certainly have, given the range, variety and sophistication of their work. But as to how Estonian performance art fits into the whole of my study, I hope to be able to offer a more intelligent answer in the text of my book. The problem with this very intense research is that, when travelling from country to country, there is very little time for reflection on all of the information that I have taken in. I am looking forward to poring over these materials through the winter, before I start traveling again next spring.
It is extremely exciting to see how Eastern Europe is constructed from the West, which art works are chosen to represent Eastern Europe, made emblematic symbols of Eastern Europe etc. Do you already know which art work is going to be on the cover of your next book?*
I realize that in writing a book entitled Performance Art in Eastern Europe I am unwittingly constructing that history, but it really isn’t my aim. For the purposes of my research, I am trying to meet as many artists as possible whose work delves in any way into the performative – this includes artists who work on participatory artworks or even those who do staged performance and photo performances. I don’t feel that these artists necessarily represent the local culture, nation or region from which they come. Rather, their work is interesting, and might happen to address local issues, but it can’t simply be reduced to being representative. This is especially true for artists working nowadays, when international travel is so prevalent – as I mentioned, many of the young artists I meet today come with a range of experiences, both from within their own countries and from foreign travel and residencies.
Rather, I prefer to think of my research as seeking to meet with interesting and engaging artists, who sometimes happen to refer to local influences, and other times consider global issues. Marjan Crtalic, for example, who is based in Zagreb, Croatia, does a lot of work that references very specific social and political issues in the small town of Sisak, where he is from, but the universal themes that his work touches upon makes it relevant to a more global audience. Milena Jovicevic, from Montenegro, does work that specifically references gender issues significant to the local community, referencing the patriarchal society in Montenegro and the great divide between women of the older and younger generation. But because these issues can also be understood on a more global level, they have universal application and significance to a wider audience. I think this range of relevance is what often makes good art – the fact that it can be read and understood on many levels gives it a much greater depth.
As for the cover art, that is a good question. I.B. Tauris did such a great job with the cover to Performing the East that I don’t know how to top it. But I am sure that I will come up with something! During my travels I have met so many interesting artists and seen so many engaging and unique works of art. It will be difficult to select just one, but whichever work makes it to the cover will hopefully be an invitation to buy it, open the book, and read beyond the cover, which will reveal a wealth of artwork that will continue to delight the reader’s eye and mind beyond the surface appearance. At least that is my hope!
*On the cover of Performing the East one can find the image of the Latvian artist Miervaldis Polis`s performance Bronze People's Collective Begging (1989).
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