Art the Way Joe Stalin Liked It : Russian Museum Displays Works of a Closed Society

What sort of art did Josef Stalin like best? Some answers: a bronze statue of a Greek athlete, beautifully proportioned, muscles rippling as he raises his discus above his head in victory--and nearly bursts his tight-fitting shorts.

Or a lovely black lacquered box painted carefully in the Russian folk tradition--of men with jackhammers slung over their shoulders in a composition titled “Glory to the Miners!”

Both are on display at St. Petersburg’s Russian Museum, part of one of the most intriguing and entertaining collections of artwork assembled here since perestroika.

“Agitation for Happiness: Soviet Art of the Stalinist Epoch” gathers works from 1930 to 1950--a period “short and, in the opinion of many, far from artistically faultless,” according to Evgenniya Petrova, the show’s organizer.

Being a Soviet artist was never more confining than during that 20-year period. Artists were expected, in Stalin’s words, to concentrate on a single theme: “A majestic theme--the theme of the hero of our times. The hero of the Stalinist epoch is unlike the heroes of all other ages: He is marked by activity and modesty, moral cleanliness and exactingness, nobility and constancy.”

The most heroic subject of all, of course, was the Great One himself, and “Agitation for Happiness” struts more than its share of Stalins: Stalin staring ahead purposefully, Stalin with binoculars calling artillery adjustments at the front, Stalin drawing a line in pencil along a map while generals watch in adoration, Stalin graciously receiving the applause of a multi-cultural crowd (“Glory to the Great Stalin”), Stalin schmoozing with pretty young women (“Leader, Teacher and Friend”).

There is far less Lenin to be seen, although his bust or statue hovers in the background of most of the Stalin portraits, like a guardian angel squinting down upon his chosen successor.

If the era on display was artistically stunted, the exhibition manages to be intelligent and varied. It includes not only paintings and drawings--some the size of a postcard, others larger than a dump truck--but also sculptures, vases, china cups and alarm clocks. Such was the tenor of those times, when, according to Petrova, “a jewelry box, a tea service and a painting all had only one purpose: to mark the grandiosity and greatness of the particular historical moment.”

Petrova spent six months assembling the show, which runs through May. Many of the works on display have languished in the museum’s vaults since the 1950s.

The exhibition also includes period posters, newspapers and pamphlets, rousing piped-in music from the 1940s and ‘50s, and even a hall dedicated to art about holidays, where visitors can dance on a gazebo-like stage to live music.

Valentin Preobrazhensky, a 70-year-old painter, has visited twice. He finds the work too patriotic and too commercial. “These paintings were painted to order, for money, and so they are of a lower quality.” Although none of Preobrazhensky’s works are included, he admitted freely to having done his share of agitating for happiness.

His father, a poet and a student, disappeared into the labor camps. “Stalin killed him,” Preobrazhensky said. But a few years later, during World War II, while working at an airplane factory, Preobrazhensky said, “We painted Stalin portraits, with the same paint we used for the planes.”