 Torn between nostalgia and a tentative
optimism, Russian art and design may not be renowned for its
playfulness, but Yolanda Zappaterra finds some rather witty and
whimsical works coming out of Russian design studios at the moment.
London seems to be awash with Russian creativity at the moment, from
a celebration of Russian Futurism at the Estorick Collection to a more
modern view of the country via Motherland, Simon Roberts' amazing
photographs at Photofusion, and contemporary Central Asian art at Space
in Hackney. They all share a curious factor, something that's hard to
define - an almost schizophrenic sense of nostalgic backward-looking
while embracing the possibilities that lie ahead.
Roberts, who spent a year travelling the country, describes
Motherland as a 'layered visual statement about a country that's
embracing the capitalist model, but carrying the weight of a Communist
past that it's trying hard to break free from'. The dichotomy such a
position creates is evident in his images, but less clearly visible in
the contemporary art and design coming out of Russia. What is clear in
this work is something that John Milner, Professor Emeritus in Art
History at Newcastle University and curator of A Slap in the Face!
Futurists in Russia, describes as 'the very Russian aesthetic of the
home-made, peasant sensibility coming up against a current world view
that's the opposite of it'.
Implicit in the sensibility described by Milner is a playfulness and
whimsy that's often forgotten in Russian creativity. This is
exemplified by much of the product design of Artemy Lebedev Studio, a
multidisciplinary Moscow-based consultancy that designs everything from
erasers to computer keyboards. Latest in the studio's output is a plug
adapter for sticking your fingers into electrical sockets - the Vilcus
plug dactyloadapter - lovingly displayed and wittily described on the
studio's website. Is it a joke? The date of the design, 1 April,
suggests our Western legs are being gently but convincingly pulled, but
there's no real way of knowing, particularly as Lebedev is given to
comments such as, 'Western standards may be artificially applied to
Russian design, but they rarely work. Russian standards don't work
abroad, which is a good indication that Russian design is crap. But
this crap works here, in Russia.' It's a statement that's as offbeat as
the adapter and the Tersumus eraser, shaped like the delete computer
key and designed by Daniil Rassadin, but it is also disingenuous, for
many of Artemy Lebedev's projects would work well anywhere in the world. 
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This
is also true of another Russian designer's work, Vadim Kibardin, who
creates tea cups that call to mind earlier Soviet space stations and
draws his inspiration from the natural world. 'A close examination of
nature can provide solutions to all sorts of aesthetic and engineering
design problems,' says Kibardin, who strives to 'create products that
ease man's interaction with his environment. I work to do away with
extraneous detail in the hope that my designs will express their beauty
through their simplicity, their utility and their compatibility with
the natural world,' he explains.
Here Kibardin is bringing into play another dominant Russian theme
identified by Milner and Roberts, that of the rural or natural. 'The
sense of vast spaces, changing seasons and the sheer size of the
country' were what Roberts was trying to capture in his images, and
this is visible in the country's art and design too. As Kibardin puts
it, 'Russian culture is very rich, and encompasses not only classical
examples like Russian literature, painting, ballet, music, theatre and
cinema, but also deep folk culture, and lots of designers turn to these
traditional images when developing and searching for their own style.'
Kibardin's studio is based in Prague, a location that literally and
metaphorically enables him to reference and span both East and West
rather than bring a purely Eastern approach to his work/ 'Products
issued under the mark Kibardin Design are on sale both in Europe and in
Russia. I win international competitions and my projects are published
in many international editions, so the maintenance of my ideas does not
carry national attributes,' he says.
In
this sense, Kibardin exemplifies the position of modern Russian design
as one that's about looking both backward and forward, outside and
inside. It's a position that's fraught with frustration, but also with
exciting possibilities. As Milner says, 'There's a lot happening in
Russian art and design at the moment, but it's incoherent. All the
elegant work and influences are Western, all the Russian stuff isn't,
so there's a real ambivalence there. But just as in the 1920s and
1930s, when designing anything was about making real the idea of a new
society, there's potential for designers and artists to start making a
real impact. There's a fantastic, unstoppable ambition in Russia only
held back by vodka.'
Yolanda Zappaterra, Design Week magazine, Apr. 2007
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