The Rise of Censorship in Russia; Botero's Political History
THE RISE OF CENSORSHIP IN RUSSIA
Despite the success of the first Moscow Biennial, life is getting more difficult for Russian artists. Writing a grim report in the Neue Zürcher Zeitung, Boris Schumatzky notes that, while there is not yet any official censorship in the country, President Vladimir Putin's recent restrictions on the press seem to have encouraged government officials and the Russian Orthodox Church to exercise more control over the visual arts, popular culture, and literature.
According to Schumatzky, the trouble dates back to the Yeltsin era, when a public television channel aired Martin Scorsese's The Last Temptation of Christ despite protests from the Orthodox Church and its followers. One year later, in 1998, the visual artist Avdey Ter-Oganyan was charged for destroying icons at a Moscow art fair after his intervention was condemned by a priest and by government officials. Officially charged with "inciting national and religious hatred," Ter-Oganyan left Russia before receiving what could have been a lengthy prison sentence, and now lives in exile. Another visual artist, Oleg Mavromati—charged for the same offense after reenacting the crucifixion—was forced to leave for England.
In Schumatzky’s view, religious fundamentalism and nationalism joined forces against the arts in January 2003, when the group exhibition "Caution: Religion" opened at Moscow's Sakharov Museum. On the fourth day of the exhibition, the artworks, which critique religion, were vandalized by Orthodox believers who stormed the center. The Russian press blamed the destruction of the works on the artists' “provocations,” and a judge agreed, throwing out a case against the vandals. It was the curators who were subsequently put on trial, having been charged with "inciting religious hatred."
There seems to be a relationship between the trend toward censorship and rising anti-Semitism in Russia, writes Schumatzky. The mathematician Igor Schafarewitsch, who penned the anti-Semitic bestseller Russiaphobia, denounced "Caution: Religion" in terms that echo his anti-Semitic diatribes, calling the curators and artists "enemies of the Russian people" and describing them as "a bigger danger for Russia than the former Godless communism.” "The increasing social influence of the Church is slowly making anti-Semitism more socially acceptable," writes Schumatzky. Around the time of the Moscow Biennial’s opening in January, one group circulated a petition asking the government to ban all Jewish associations. Last March, another complaint signed by five thousand cultural figures accused Jewish organizations of "genocide against the Russian people and its traditional culture."
As for the curators of "Caution: Religion," they were pronounced guilty after the case spent two years wending its way through the courts, although they escaped prison sentences and were instead handed heavy fines. In the new Russia, apparently, making or exhibiting art about religion can be a high-stakes affair.
BOTERO'S POLITICAL HISTORY
Fernando Botero might not be the first name that comes to mind when one thinks of artists who could capture the horrors of Abu Ghraib. But the 72-year-old Colombian artist—renowned for his paintings of plump figures—rose to the challenge, raising eyebrows when it was revealed last week that his latest series of paintings deals with Iraqi prisoner abuse. The Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung's Frank Wagner notes that Botero has always been political: "First, in his opposition to hostility toward the body and to the prudishness of the Anglo-Saxon-Protestant world; second, in his sarcastic and ironic representations of state leaders, as in 1971’s Official Portrait of the Military Junta, which depicts those in power as overgrown, dangerous children." Scenes from the Abu Ghraib series—men in blindfolds, in piles, in women's lingerie—recall the images circulated in the mass media. Yet Botero, who is a fanatical reader, actually got his ideas from written reports that were made public months before any photographs were published. "I began to read everything I could about the incidents," says Botero. "I was dismayed, because Americans should be ethical models." The works in the series, due to go on display at Rome's Palazzo Venezia, Mussolini’s former residence, are not for sale. Instead, Botero hopes to show them in as many museums as possible, including, he hopes, some in the United States.