Suzanne W. Churchill

Churchill

A Final Word

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I took a Russian literature course in college taught by a visiting professor from what was then the USSR. With an authoritarian teaching style that was a marked contrast to the American liberal arts approach I’d become accustomed to, he interrogated us with questions like, “What’s the one word to describe Raskolnikov?” A student brave enough to posit an answer was pronounced, “WRONG.” I sat in silence, fearing humiliation and fuming at the poetic injustice of a question that reduced a complex character to a single word.

Yesterday, when my son Thomas asked me to sum up my trip to Russia in a single word, I felt no such resistance.

Transformative.

I replied, without hesitation.

“Studio R” has transformed my assumptions about Russia. Until I toured Moscow and St. Petersburg, I did not realize how much my imagination was dominated by vague, grim images of Soviet deprivation; Kruschev-era, cement block buildings; soggy cabbage and pickled radishes.

In the place of these dreary images, my memory is now full of pictures of bustling, vibrant city streets; ice-cream colored buildings that blend European style with Russian folk accents; and gleaming pastries, salty cheese breads, bliny filled with red caviar and sour cream, salmon salads with citron vinaigrette, beet-wrapped goat cheese, and other sweet and savory indulgences.

image18-1024x768As in the U.S., such plenty is often juxtaposed to poverty and want (see Shelley’s post), though homelessness and panhandling were less evident, perhaps because of communal housing and aggressive policing. Prices were high, especially for clothing and material goods, and I wondered how the working class managed to get by.

The people we met were lively and vocal, offering perspectives strikingly different from my own: strange mixtures of free speech and adherence to what to me sounded like authoritarian, party-line thinking. They did not seem to feel oppressed by the state, nor obsessed by the enemy (aka the USA), but primarily concerned with making and sustaining a good, stable lives for themselves, their families, and their country.

In part because the language barrier limited my interactions with locals and in part because I was traveling with such brilliant, knowledgeable, and perceptive companions, I learned most from my colleagues.

Amanda and Irina generously and continuously interpreted the language and culture for us, helping us to understand menus, street signs, buildings, monuments, gestures, behaviors, and customs. They gave spontaneous history lessons, too, allowing us to see both transformations and connections to the past.

Shelley offered comparative political insights, with her keen insights into Russian politics and American cultural blind spots and assumptions. Kristi made me aware of the both subtle and monumental ways that individual and cultural memory operated. Shaw taught me to see the transition from stage paintings to scene paintings in the Hermitage, while Sharon taught me about Bulgakov and his contributions to Russian theater, explaining the origins and impact of method acting. Mark not only contributed to my understanding of method acting, but also navigated the streets with his trusty laminated maps and opened my eyes to the melodramatic power of the ballet when he remarked, “It’s like a silent movie!” Alison enabled me to recognize the distinctively Russian aspects of the ballet and appreciate the value of discipline and tradition.

In our casual conversations, we exchanged ideas and reactions, so that at every turn, my fleeting impressions were transformed into more substantive understanding. Studio R has given us an opportunity for learning and reflection in a relaxed yet invigorating environment. This is the best of the liberal arts tradition, and I hope it’s the beginning of many faculty enrichment trips to come. The innovation grant that funded this trip was large, but the pay off was immeasurable.

The Fountain of Bakhchisarai

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photo[1]We saw “The Fountin of Bakhchisarai” at the Mariinski Theater in St. Petersburg, a ballet based on an 1823 narrative poem by Pushkin. The ballet debuted in 1934 in the same theater, which was then called the Kirov (and St. Petersburg was called Leningrad).  Alison, Mark, and Shaw have already posted vivid descriptions of the opulent theater and the gorgeous ballet. I’m adding on in an attempt to capture a thought-provoking conversation with Alison the next day. One of the great benefits of traveling with Davidson professors is that you get to reflect on what you see, augmenting your impressions with their rich insights and diverse perspectives.

Alison raised the question of why this particular Pushkin story was revived in 1934, during Stalin’s rule. What was it about the story that resonated in 1934?

The ballet begins with a scene of a sultan wracked in grief. It then dramatically shifts to a European palace, where a nobleman is hosting a ball to celebrate the engagement of his beautiful daughter Maria to the dashing young Vaslav. The festivities are interrupted by an attack by Tartars, who murder all the aristocrats and kidnap Maria, whisking her back to their Oriental palace.

Naturally, the sultan, Khan, is transfixed by Maria’s pure, celestial beauty, and immediately loses all interest in the erotic charms of Zarema, his harem favorite. Zarema stabs and kills Maria in a jealous rage. Khan, unable to bring himself to kill Zarema, has his minions push her over the walls of the palace. The ballet concludes where it began, with the sultan wracked in grief over the loss of his beloved.

There’s no obvious political allegory here, and the story can simply be interpreted as an Orientalist fantasy in which the Occident celebrates its own moral superiority by depicting the erotic excess and violent brutality of the Orient. Even though the ballet delivers this predictable lesson, however, it also exalts the sultan as a powerful ruler who controls, kills, and suffers. We are invited not to critique the sultan, but to marvel at his power and grandeur and to weep at his suffering. Perhaps in 1934, the ballet sent a message to the audience that a great leader suffers even more than the people he executes. In this way, the ballet’s powerful, mysterious, tragic aura may have helped consolidate and ennoble Stalin’s authoritarian rule.

Of course, it’s also possible that the ballet was produced not for any political resonance at the time, but because of the timeless popularity of Pushkin. As Amanda has explained, Russians have tremendous reverence for their great authors, who never seem to go out of print or production. Every square in Moscow seems dedicated to literary giant, with fresh flowers laid upon their statues.

When we asked Anatoly Smeliansky, the president of the Moscow Art Theater, why Bulgakov was so popular right now (we saw a play adaptation of his work at an artsy small theater, and the Moscow Art Theater had two of his plays in their current season), he explained that Bukgakov’s work was banned in the late 1930s, but revived in the 1960s and has been continuously popular since. There was no political reason for the current string of Bulgakov plays running in Moscow. It wasn’t that Bulgakov’s plays speak to the current moment, he implied, but that they speak to all times.

We’re in St. Petersburg

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imageWe took the high speed train from Moscow to St. Petersburg this morning. Maybe it was the smooth traveling, the precipitous drop in temperature (from high 80s to high 40s), or the delicious lunch we had a cafe Amanda took us to when we got here, but we were quite giddy in the van on the way to our apartment. The driver told Irina (in Russian) that we were a “joyful group”: “you ladies are a fun bunch, so there are some dance clubs around here that you might want to know about.”

Despite the 4 flights of stairs and persnickety lock, we are delighted with our spacious new apartment–with two bathrooms!  We unloaded our baggage and went out to the little market across the street, where Irina picked up some meat dumplings, spicy mustard (Shelley looked at the container and said, “What’s that ham drink?”), and “Korean carrots.” She cooked us a delicious late afternoon dinner, which you can see her serving here. She’s giving us what she insists is the typical Russian expression for photos: no smile.

But if you were here, you would see lots of smiles, hear gales of laughter, and have trouble, as I am, focusing on what I’m writing in this post.

Pushkiniana: “that’s a story”

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Our Moscow guide speaks excellent English, with a delightfully idiosyncratic vocabulary. He speaks of “impudent” paintings and “violet” buildings in the skyline. As we approach the White House, he quips, “the closer you get to the government, the more forbidding the signs.”

He’s studied English all his life, but he acquired his marvelous vocabulary from an elderly Englishman who hired him to teach him Russian in the early 1990’s, when the USSR had dissolved and Russia was opening up to Western businesses. The Englishman would doze off shortly into the lesson. Then he would wake up from his nap and say, “Well, that’s enough for today; let’s go have a drink.” They would drink and converse about everything under the sun–in English. So the Englishman never learned any Russian: “He paid me to learn English,” our guide said, chuckling.

imageHe is also full of anecdotes, like the one he told in front of the church where Pushkin was married (there is the church, here is the steeple). Pushkin was of course brilliant, literary, intellectual, etc…, but he was also very short and not very attractive. He made the mistake of falling for a beautiful, shallow woman, who cared only about fashion and dancing at balls. Pushkin didn’t like dancing, because he was shorter than all the women. Despite their incompatible interests, he proposed to the beautiful young lady’s family, they accepted, and she was dragged reluctantly to the church.

Pushkin was normally very superstitious, but he ignored three signs that the marriage would be a disaster: [Read more…] about Pushkiniana: “that’s a story”

Moscow’s Wide Streets

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Here’s picture of the building we (the women in the group) are staying in, taken from across the street. Further down, you can see the Foreign Ministry, one of the “Seven Sisters” buildings constructed under Stalin, which we affectionately call the Ministry of Magic. You can also see that the boulevard is extremely wide, with several lanes of traffic in each direction. To cross the boulevard, you have to walk to a corner with an underpass. This boulevard is one of the widest we’ve encountered, but it’s not exceptional. The streets of Moscow tend to be very wide. We thought this was odd because, until recently, not many Russians had cars. We asked our guide why the streets are so wide, and he said it was for parades. They must have had lots of parades, stretching for miles, but I haven’t seen one yet–except in a video of Red Square playing in the Museum of Contemporary Russian History. That military parade, celebrating the defeat of Germany in WWII, lasted for 8 hours–in pouring rain. I can only imaged what the boulevards looked like, with miles of officers and soldiers marching by.

Today Moscow is a huge, bustling city. It’s even harder to imagine what it looked like in the 18th century, when the establishment of St. Petersburg as the capital in 1703 reduced Moscow to a “provincial capital.” In his vivid cultural history of Russia, Orlando Figes described the character of Moscow then:

With its little wooden houses and narrow winding lanes, its mansions with their stables and enclosed courtyards, where cows and sheep were allowed to roam, Moscow had a distinct rural feel. It was called ‘the big village’–a nickname it has retained to this day. (153)

Moscow may have retained the nickname, but it doesn’t feel like a village anymore, at least not on the wide boulevards. But according to our able guide, the locals know how to find sheltered courtyards that no longer house cows and sheep, but do contain lively bars and restaurants. And last night after the theatre, we turned off Smolyenskaya Boulevard onto a side street, descending the steps into a charming restaurant that served food of the Caucuses (Georgian and Armenian). Alison had spotted it earlier because she liked the look of its sign. The waiter allowed us to sit downstairs near the open kitchen where it was less smokey, pulling together two rustic wood tables to accommodate us all. We ordered family style–khachupuri (a salty, sour, buttery cheese bread), pickles, a summer salad of fresh greens and beet-wrapped goat cheese, grilled lamb, nastoika (a thick fruit juice infusion), and Russian vodka. Our waiter was friendly and mischievous, speaking a few words of English and teaching us some Russian–teasing us when we wanted more water, because the word for “water” sounds like the word for “vodka,” which we didn’t need more of. In that setting, Moscow felt like a ‘big village,’ which may be why so many Russians feel at home here.

Museum Feet

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Today we had a great day of museum going, starting with a four-hour guided tour of the State Central Museum of Contemporary Russian History.  Here we are outside the museum.

After lunch at a nearby cafe, several of us decided to forgo the Metro and walk along tree-lined boulevards to the Pushkin Fine Arts Museum. We went to the twentieth century building, which was the perfect sized museum, the fine arts equivalent of Alison’s ideal play length–70 minutes without intermission. Still, by the end of the day, I had a case of serious museum feet and felt like the woman in this painting looks.

imageOur party broke up, with Mark, Allison, and Sharon going to meet a theater director, and the others heading north in the city to meet a current and former Davidson student for dinner at 8 pm. Having slept little last night, I just didn’t have the energy for a late dinner, so I walked back to our apartment, stopping for a ham and cheese bliny on the way. Though I managed to navigate the streets of Moscow, I couldn’t figure out how to call Amanda to tell her I made it back. Maybe she’ll check this blog and see that I have.

Women and Self-Fashioning in Moscow

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Amanda had warned us that women in Russia tend to dress up and dress fashionably. When we first got to Moscow, I didn’t notice the difference, because I was distracted by the wide variety of fashion, ranging from elegant dresses to jeans and even shorts. I couldn’t detect any dress code. But the more I people-watched, the more I was struck by the care and attention the women devoted to fashion and grooming.

The high standards were most clear at MGIMO university where the halls and classrooms were filled with young men and women. While the young men dressed well, the women were positively stunning, many wearing what I would call party dresses. Their makeup was exquisite. Most popular was the carefully lined “cat’s eye,” with the upturned curve at the outer corner of the upper lid, extending the lashes and widening the eyes. Shoes ranged from dainty ballet flats to strapping stilettos.

Back on the streets and metro of downtown Moscow, I realized that nearly every woman I saw, no matter how casually or formally dressed, appeared to have devoted a great deal of time and attention to her clothing, make-up, and hair.

Among women, grey hair is almost non-existent. Shelley and I have both had women who weren’t much younger than we are give us their seats on the metro. Call it vanity, but I could only conclude that they thought we were much older because of our grey hair. When I told Kristi my theory, she thought I said that they gave us their seats “because we have great hair.”  The look of perplexity on her face lasted only until we both dissolved in laughter. Later, when Shelley and Kristi both scored a seat on the metro, I told them they had great hair.

But I digress… Back to the Moscow women, who have great (not grey) hair… Whether the look is catwalk, corporate, goth, or gamine, it is decidedly feminine.  Like grey hair, androgyny has no place in Moscow.

Women seem to have plenty of freedom: they walk on the streets, in the metros, and through the halls of the university. They wear high heels, low heels, and sneakers. They bare cleavage and curves, or cover up. They travel alone and in pairs, with and without men and children (but mostly without). But despite their freedom of movement and wide range of stylistic choices, I can’t help feeling like the standards of femininity are limiting.

imageThis sneaking suspicion surfaced today during our tour of the Tretyakov State Gallery of Russian art. We looked at art spanning the 12th through the 19th century. Every work our guide directed our attention to was painted by a man. When at last we entered the early 20th century wing, just as we were leaving a room, Amanda pointed out a painting that was done by a women. It was a self-portrait by Z. Serebryakova, entitled “At the Dressing Table” (1909). The painting seemed surprisingly bold and modern, yet also distinctly feminine.  Was it celebratory or ironic? Her expression is coy; the hairpins are preposterously oversized. I don’t know enough about Serebryakova (our guide didn’t mention her), or about Russian women, to come to any  conclusion.

“Everybody is wrong”

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In the weeks prior to our trip to Russia, the political crisis in Ukraine was front page news.  US coverage of the tensions between Russia and the Ukraine led me to believe that:

  1. Most Ukrainians desired independence from Russia.
  2. Aside from right-wing hard-liners, most Russians were (secretly) aghast at Putin’s despotic machinations (even if they are afraid to admit it publicly).
  3. Russians were as preoccupied with the East-West conflict as we were, if not more anxious and dismayed.

Now that I’ve been in Moscow for a few days, I get the sense that the Russians aren’t nearly as concerned about the US as the US is about the Russia, and they fear chaos much more than they fear Putin.

We first met with Russian businessman who is a Davidson alum.  When we asked his opinion on the Ukraine situation, he said,

Look, there’s no right or wrong in this situation. Everybody’s wrong.

In his view, political situations always complicate business transactions, and business is always political. The current crisis was no more critical than any other. The important thing was getting the deal done.

Later, on our tour of the Kremlin, our guide explained the four party system in Russia, explaining that two of them exist to create the illusion of democracy. “But we don’t have democracy in Russia,” she said cheerfully.

imageWe’ve also encountered evidence that plenty of Russians are quite content with the situation.  A dean at the university we visited (MGIMO) shrugged off our concerns, saying, “Everyone knows Crimea has always been a part of Russia.” In the theater district, next to the theater once famed for its political radicalism, was a huge billboard celebrating “Crimea and Russia, Together Forever.” Meanwhile, cars and busses sped by, and people passed without a glance.

Wherever we go and whomever we talk to, I get the sense of “business as usual.” The locals are aware of what is going on politically, but not particularly concerned, as long as it doesn’t disrupt the business of their lives.  Irina and Amanda explain that Russians remember all too well the economic collapse and deprivations after the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991. No one wants to return to that kind of “free state,” in which no one can afford anything. A strong ruler like Putin is preferable, even if “we don’t have democracy in Russia.”

Today we toured the Tretyakov Gallery of Russian art.  Our tour guide displayed the same cheerful cynicism, as he linked the habits of former rulers like Ivan the Terrible to more recent heads of state.  Even though Ivan the Terrible didn’t have the nationalist vocabulary, our guide said, he was the first to commission blatantly self-serving political propaganda. Our guide then directed our attention to an “impudent” painting depicting Ivan and his troops being welcomed into the gates of heaven (the panoramic scene naturally omitted any reference to the roughly 20% of the population Ivan had killed during his rule).

Later, in the 19th century wing, the guide directed our attention to a painting by Perov (aka Nikita Pustosvyat), called “Dispute About Faith.” The painting depicts the Schism between the old believers and the new believers in the Russian Orthodox Church.

Perov, “Dispute About Faith”

imageThe queen-like figure on the upper left who looks fearful and aghast is Sophia, the sister of Peter the Great. Neither she nor the other aristocratic figures on the left side of the painting look very sympathetic. Their stern faces and elegant clothing hardly make them seem like noble keepers of the faith. But the bearded rebel in the center of the painting, presumably the radical reformer, looks pretty crazy–not like a prophet I’d want to stand behind. And the people on his side don’t look very comfortable there either.

As I studied this painting, trying to figure out whose side Perov was on, it occurred to me that maybe he’s not worried about who is right and who is wrong, because he knows “everybody’s wrong.” Americans (like me) look for heroes and villains in history, but maybe Russians adopt a different perspective, in which the divisions aren’t so stark. Maybe for them, the greatest danger is neither the ruler nor the reformer, but the chaos that can come between them.