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Exploding Tongues: Language, Art, and the Russian Avant-garde

Malevich, K. "Eight Red Rectangles," 1915

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Leftward-Leaning: The Diagonals of Communism INTRODUCTION
In the Baroque era, painters and sculptors sought a visual language that would allow them to strike through the Renaissance ethos of stability and reflect a new era of drama, tension, and emotional dynamism. They found their answer in the diagonal line. Whether projecting upwards or slanting downwards, diagonal lines draw the viewer’s eye in a particular direction, simulating a feeling of movement. However, is movement always progress? Mathematically, diagonals are considered in terms of positive or negative slope. Positive slopes indicate that as x increases, y also increases. This is shown on a graph as a line with its lowest point in the left, increasing in height toward the right. Negative slopes go in the opposite direction, where y decreases as x increases. This gives the impression of a “downward” trajectory, beginning in the top left and moving toward the bottom right. While positive and negative may be neutral descriptors of direction, culturally they take on a moral significance. Positive=good, Negative=bad. Upward=good, Downward=bad. Progress=good, Regress=bad. Fittingly, in compositional analysis, positive diagonals are commonly referred to as “Baroque diagonals,” and negative as “Sinister diagonals.” This terminology may originate from heraldry, which uses the Latin words “dexter” and “sinister” to indicate the right and left sections of a coat of arms. The evolution of the word “sinister” in the English language clearly indicates the conception that anything leftward-leaning is evil or unlucky. Given this culturally and historically-steeped reading of diagonals, what might we make of the fact that directional lines—specifically right-to-left diagonals—appear so frequently in Russian visual culture as a symbol of futuristic progress? …Is a world that launches toward the left Mirskonsta--a “world backwards”?

READING LANGUAGE
To be able to “read” images, that is, to apply a linguistic sensibility to the analysis of symbols, we must first understand the conventions of the Western linguistic codex. All writing systems have some element of directionality coded in their structure. Latin, Cyrillic, and Greek alphabets for instance are read left to right. This means you, reader, have been scanning through every sentence on this page beginning in the left and moving toward the right in order to uncover meaning from the words on this page. (Take a moment to feel the way your eyes glide across this sentence.) Very few writing systems are read conversely, from right to left—the most well known are the Semitic languages Arabic and Hebrew. In all cases, the eye is culturally trained to expect some kind of semiotic logic from the direction of words.

The advent of the moveable type printing press by Johannes Gutenberg in the mid-15^th century played a paramount role in the standardization of language through the mass production and dissemination of books and pamphlets throughout Europe. The term “Gutenbergian” refers to the elements of type that inform much of our standard thought patterns today. Some elements of Gutenbergian type include rigid linearity and an absence of multidirectional or non-horizontal text (Janecek, 42). The Russian avant-garde practice of bookmaking that proliferated in the early 20th century directly challenged these standards. Indeed, as Janecek notes, the turn of the century was a time for all art forms to be deconstructed and reevaluated: “Rather suddenly the trend in all the arts was to interrogate the nature of every art form and to establish and maximally focus on the most basic traits, goals, and means in each of them.” Reducing things to their most essential forms found expression in painterly movements such as Suprematism, which extolls the supremacy of non-figurative shapes, and Rayism or Rayonism, which focused on the primacy of light in creating spatial forms. To make the transition from visual culture to political culture—for the remainder of this inquiry will be concerned with the intersection between the two—we may return again to this idea of language. Most linguists agree that the essence of language is verbal communication (Pinker, 16). This is true of politics, as well—Michael Morris defines political rhetoric as “the examination of how political leaders within a given speech community use words to lead or mislead the public” (31). So, if the spoken language is the most basic trait of political practice, then political art must focus on somehow communicating sound rhetoric through visual means. Thus we see time and again the thrust of a diagonal, both a signifier for radiating sound and linear (read: “forward”) progression.

TRAJECTILE TENDENCIES IN RUSSIAN ART
From here we launch an inquiry into the socio-political implications of the directional line in Russian visual culture. A directional line may be more accurately referred to as a "ray," or a line that begins at a definitive point and extends infinitely into one direction. The word ray derives from Latin radius, meaning "beam." As with all things that radiate, from light to sound ("radio" derives from the same root), there is an origin point- a source of projection. For Russia, as we will see, this source is Lenin.

Figuring Lenin: Leader of the Left
One of the most famous depictions of Lenin (and the one Lissitsky used in his design for the Lenin Tribune) is G.P. Goldstein’s photograph of Lenin addressing the Red Army in Sverdlov Square, Moscow. It was taken on May 5th, 1920 as the soldiers were about to depart for the Polish front, and Lenin is captured in a moment of impassioned speech: his mouth open and brow furrowed as he leans out over the edge of his platform. Lenin is not a static figure, and his mobility here can be viewed as a symbol for the fervent dissemination of Communist rhetoric across Russia. His leftward projecting body allows his leftist message to reach thousands.

Gustave Klutsis' gelatin prints take the political symbolism of Lenin’s body and abstract it into a compositional device. Lenin’s larger than life form is oriented on a diagonal axis from the lower right corner of the page to the top left. The raised hand gesture and open mouth indicate declamatory speech and will crop up again in a variety of shapes and forms throughout propagandist print media.

Communist Posters and Print Media
Husband and wife duo Gustav Klutsis and Valentina Kulagina produced numerous Soviet photomontages throughout their careers, both individually and collaboratively. Many of these materials utilize directional imagery: for example, Kulagina’s poster design for the female shock workers of the Communist party shows a central figure taking up the entire mid-ground of the composition, angled diagonally from lower right to upper left, just like Klutsis’ Lenin prints. The figure raises an arm in salute, reinforcing the upward thrust of the diagonal. Similarly, Klutsis’ piece entitled “Workers, Everyone Must Vote in the Election of Soviets!” emphasizes the diagonally raised hand. Kulagina’s postcard design “We Are Building” incorporates Constructivist imagery of industry and urbanization, again along a progressive and futuristic diagonal.
(More work by Klutsis: Here and here)

Building a Future: Constructivist Architecture
El Lissitzky's unrealized design for the Lenin Tribune exemplifies the avant-garde desire to disrupt and conquer space. Lissitzky's 1920 design is for a moving speaker's podium; thus, inherent to the structure is the possibility for mobility and transport. The tribune evokes other engineering feats of Western technology such as the Eiffel Tower and the skyscrapers of New York City and Chicago, speaking to the vision of constructing a new modern society. In doing so, it merges the abstract elements of Suprematism with a utilitarian consciousness, seen also in the mid-avant-garde "techno-fetishism" which privileges machine-driven artistic endeavors in service of a utopian vision.

The hybrid architectonic forms in Lissitzky's proun paintings realize the spatial depth implied in the two-dimensional forms of Suprematist works by artists such as Malevich. One can see in Lissitsky's prouns a similar vocabulary to the tribune: a deliberate construction from parts, operating around a central, energetic diagonal. Furthermore, this diagonal draws the eye from the bottom right into the upper left field of vision, challenging the linguistic impulse to "read" forms from left to right. Language is in fact employed in the tribune's design through the word "proletary" emblazoned across a sign over Lenin's head.

Through the Lenin Tribune, Lissitzky enacts the Suprematist principles of motion and layering in three dimensions, while also distilling the dynamic, aural quality of Russian culture by functioning as a platform for the projection of Lenin's propagandist oration. The diagonal composition of the tribune reinforces the outward projection of Lenin's voice. Further, the insertion of Lenin's body into the tribune design replicates the iconography of propaganda posters: leaning forward toward the crowd, the embodiment of potential motion. Here as well, he is foregrounded by text, the words on his podium being the first line of the Communist Manifesto. These words, just like the "proletary" sign affixed to the tribune, undergo a transformation from text to sound, and with Lenin's body as the medium, from theory to practice.

Vladimir Tatlin’s Monument to the Third International is another iconic, unrealized example of projectile architecture designed to serve a political function. The project, a building to house the communist government, “represented a vital extension of construction into the public sphere, exemplifying the wedding of constructivism and social commitment” (Milner, 151). The first model was exhibited in 1920 first in Petrograd and then in Moscow, and was often compared to the Eiffel Tower, although far exceeding in height. Tatlin’s Tower consists of spiral twists around a vertical axis that appears to lean leftward and recede from a wide horizontal base to a small focal point. The perspective forced by this diagonal diminution emphasizes the large scale of the structure (153). As Milner describes, “the monument appeared to lean, dramatically emphasizing its energetic qualities: the spiral there seems to heave forward off its base upwards and forwards, the screw thread of a tunneling device screwing into the air as it emerged from the earth.” The tower takes on a modified pyramidal form by having one of its sides vertical, contributing to the “leaning” effect, which simultaneously suggests instability while remaining in engineered equilibrium. Additionally, the tower was designed to actually rotate, producing the visual effect of a monument that emerges from the earth and ascends forward and upward, screwing and spiraling into the sky. Scholar John Milner compares the tower to the forceful stride of Italian Futurist Boccioni’s sculpture, Unique forms of Continuity in Space, a comparison which highlights the militant, forward-moving progress of communism (155-56). As a political vessel, Tatlin’s Tower embodies the processes of governmental decision-making: the decrease in size toward the top indicates the hierarchy of power, with fewer individuals at the top, “higher in authority and altitude” (160). The emphasis on progress and process, an active “becoming” versus a static “being” carries spiritual and political aspirations for human evolution. The dynamic diagonal, like Lenin’s tribune, is a call to action and a reach for a material Utopia.
Projectile Politics: Moving Sound, Objects, and Ideas through Space El Lissitzky's unrealized design for the Lenin Tribune exemplifies the avant-garde desire to disrupt and conquer space. Lissitzky's 1920 design is for a moving speaker's podium; thus, inherent to the structure is the possibility for mobility and transport. The tribune evokes other engineering feats of Western technology such as the Eiffel Tower and the skyscrapers of New York City and Chicago, speaking to the vision of constructing a new modern society. In doing so, it merges the abstract elements of Suprematism with a utilitarian consciousness, seen also in the mid-avant-garde "techno-fetishism" which privileges machine-driven artistic endeavors in service of a utopian vision.

The hybrid architectonic forms in Lissitzky's proun paintings realize the spatial depth implied in the two-dimensional forms of Suprematist works by artists such as Malevich. One can see in the image to the left a similar vocabulary to the tribune: a deliberate construction from parts, operating around a central, energetic diagonal. Furthermore, this diagonal draws the eye from the bottom right into the upper left field of vision, challenging the linguistic impulse to "read" forms from left to right. Language is in fact employed in the tribune's design through the word "proletary" emblazoned across a sign over Lenin's head.

Through the Lenin Tribune, Lissitzky enacts the Suprematist principles of motion and layering in three dimensions, while also distilling the dynamic, aural quality of Russian culture by functioning as a platform for the projection of Lenin's propagandist oration. The diagonal composition of the tribune reinforces the outward projection of Lenin's voice. Further, the insertion of Lenin's body into the tribune design replicates the iconography of posters such as the one on the right: leaning forward toward the crowd, the embodiment of potential motion. Here as well, he is foregrounded by text, the words on his podium being the first line of the Communist Manifesto. These words, just like the "proletary" sign affixed to the tribune, undergo a transformation from text to sound, and with Lenin's body as the medium, from theory to practice.
Orientation (Proper) How do you see a painting?
Not all paintings are meant to be viewed with the goal of finding a meaning. This emphasis on ambiguous abstraction was one that was prevalent during the Russian Avant-garde movement, including Kazimir Malevich's Suprematist works of the mid 1900s. However, when presented with a painting, viewers will still often attempt to restructure the painting in terms that are more accessible for them such as images that they may see in the work so they can formulate an interpretation they are comfortable with. Perhaps this is something they can clearly point out, or it may be more difficult for them to articulate, but they at the very least try to garner some kind of interpretation. However, this interpretation is subject to differentiation based upon the orientation of the piece. Oftentimes, a single orientation is considered the "proper" orientation, but this restricts the reader to a limited number of possible interpretations when, in reality, there may be numerous other possibilities. This is especially true in Kazimir Malevich's Suprematist works of the mid 1910s. Upon first glance, the majority of Malevich's Suprematist paintings appear to be an incoherent jumble of shapes and colors, but regardless, a viewer would still be able to look at a piece such as Suprematism - 1915 and come to some kind of conclusion. This conclusion is not complete, however, because the viewer was looking at the painting not the right side up. In fact, it is impossible to do so because there is no single correct orientation. Each turn of the piece changes it and together, these different interpretations paint a complete story, a visual poem. This emphasis on looking past a single orientation allows the viewer to see the painting as an active story that gives a piece of the plot with each vital rotation. After completely exploring these differing orientations, a story comes into focus. This is the only way any of Malevich's pieces such as his self-portrait can be fully enjoyed. Malevich's experimentation with visual poems in the form of paintings can be traced back to the early Russian Futurist poets and their experiments textually altering and manipulating their poems so that they are read differently. Malevich employs similar methods, but he focuses on a completely visual translation without any basis in sounds or text.

Orientation (Which one)?
Observing a painting is a fairly simple process in that the steps are to see it and then to observe it, in that order. However, Malevich's Suprematist works redefined the process and even lengthened it. Now, it is see it, observe it, turn it, see it, observe it, repeat twice more, and then observe the entire thing, now with a more complete knowledge of the painting. For some paintings, especially the more simple ones, this may seem not necessary as the viewer may immediately recognize something that they feel doesn't require further elaboration. For instance, look at Suprematist Painting. Rectangle and Circle. It is a fairly obvious work in that the majority of its viewers may immediately recognize the appearance of a person, no manipulation of the artwork necessary. The circle represents the head, the rectangle represents the torso, and together one could draw a conclusion. For example, this could be seen as a purposefully simplistic representation of a person with the intention to highlight how simple people are when stripped of all else but their shape. However, now look at the same painting, but tilted to the right 90 degrees. Now, look at it when it is tilted to the left 90 degrees. These orientations of the same painting present a completely different image that directly affects the portrayal of the original, upright orientation. Looking at these two examples, interpretations will not be as easy or intuitive to find as the human figure. However, looking at the painting tilted to the right, a knife can be seen with a large rectangular blade and a connected hand with an off canvass arm. Furthermore, the painting tilted to the left can appear to be a gun. Both of these interpretations are not necessarily the right ones and most definitely not the only ones, but their violent nature completely change the originally proposed meaning of the first orientation. Now, instead of being a painting about the simplicity of the human form and how we are all a torso and a head, it instead preaches a story of how easily humanity can tilt off balance and turn to violence against each other.

Turn-Per-View
Suprematist Painting. Rectangle and Circle is a good example of how adjusting the orientation gives more pieces of what first appears to be a simplistic story or available interpretation. The story of this painting is enhanced and revealed as originally incomplete. However, with some paintings, such as Suprematist Composition: Airplane Flying, any interpretation requires much more work as there is ostensibly no figure, or any shape at all. The title suggests that there should be a Sudden Airplane, but upon looking at the piece after flipping it 180 degrees or "upside down", suddenly there is an image of a person that can be seen carrying a stack of boxes. The figure is more abstract in that it is not the shape of a complete person, but only the top half. However, it is more complete than anything that may have been gleaned from the initial orientation offered of the painting.

Another, and perhaps an even more abstract example, is Malevich's painting Suprematist Painting. Eight Red Rectangles. Looking at this painting, there are many, many possible interpretations and generally everyone will see something unique in their observation. If the two long red rectangles on the left side are seen as lips, the upper block as a nose, and the lower block as a chin, then the smaller rectangles could possibly be interpreted as words escaping from the lips, or perhaps they are blood red bullets and the long skinny rectangles are the barrel of a gun. The point is, there is not a single correct viewing of this painting and the infinite number of ways to view it are doubled when the painting is looked at upside down. Now looking at this orientation of the painting, there are even more possible interpretations that can be taken from the arrangement of these rectangles. Perhaps it is a cruise ship, perhaps it is a cocked gun, or it could possibly even be seen as a hand performing a rude gesture. Regardless of what one sees, if they were presented with the second orientation and told it was the "correct" one, they would not question it because it is, in the end, just as alien of a painting in that orientation as it is in the first one. In fact, in order to prove my point, I introduced the two orientations in the wrong order. The second one is actually the orientation the painting is normally presented in while the first one is the "upside down" view. The ambiguity of this painting and these two orientations highlights how neither one is necessarily "better" or more correct of a way to view the painting than the other.

Visual poetry when it was just poetry
Before Kazimir Malevich's Suprematist paintings, Futurist poets in Russia experimented with implementing visual elements into their poetry and making the act of reading more active of a process than simply reading words on a page. They accomplished this through such techniques as altering: the font size, the appearance of the letters themselves, kerning (in typography, the spacing between letters), the material that their books of poetry were made from, and the orientation and direction that the words were printed in. This last technique is the most relevant to our discussion as it shows, similar to Malevich's Suprematist works, a prerequisite task for the reader to change the orientation of the piece they are reading before they may fully appreciate it. For instance, Mayakovsky's book For the Voice includes several examples of text being written sideways and forcing the reader to turn the book to be able to read it. These examples of a singular, proper orientation being disregarded in textual poetry directly relate to the lack of a single orientation in Suprematist paintings and the idea that these paintings are not just a visual piece to view, but are in reality a visual poem expressed purely through images instead of with the textual support of words.

Closing
Ultimately, Kazimir Malevich's Suprematist paintings are a medium for storytelling. This is why any concerns of the necessity of a proper orientation must be disregarded when examining a Suprematist painting. Each of these stories employs a different panel of the story depending on how the painting is being viewed. The combination of these four representations into a single, holistic interpreation allows a greater understanding of the work as opposed to the more narrow interpretations that are possible form a viewing limited to a single orientation. Such restrictions cut short the plethora of possible meanings that are opened up to the viewer and give but a portion of what is available.