Russian capital

"I see that you love money wholly without self-interest."

Contempt for money is deeply rooted in the Russian consciousness, where people have always been suspicious of riches. Among those most respected by the people were many poor and mentally ill beggars—who were often seen as prophets—but almost never rich or petty bourgeois. The rich were trapped in the material world and were therefore not spiritual enough. One was ashamed of capital, since capital was associated with thievery. Many rich Russians were quite generously charitable. But in the eyes of the people, a truly righteous man was always honorably poor. Even a rich person who built churches and hospitals for the poor could hardly count on the love of the people. If someone gave freely to charity, it meant that he had sinned heavily. He who helps the poor is trying to pay them back, wash their hands of sin and avoid the wrath of God. This is how they thought in Russia. It is not surprising that many people were suspicious of material values.

It is where you refuse the physical world that the ghosts start appearing. The Communist ghost, which wandered around Europe, did not land on Russian soil by accident. Materialists took up the ideological and spiritual fight against less spiritual and all too materialistic rich devils. “Freedom, equality, brotherhood!” The German Das Kapital crushed the foundation of Russian capital.
Afterwards, art reigned. Comrade Lenin and his colleagues were the first to make performance a truly respected art form. They were good. “Expropriate the expropriated!” What a slogan! Many great artists joined the fight: Rodtjenko, Malevitj, Lissitski, Chagall... For the first time, art was used as a deciding factor in the struggle for power. Propaganda. Agitation. Artists were given almost limitless means, they were desirable commodities, they could affect reality directly. The Revolution was a great art project. Many artists all over the world still long for a revolution. But they can relax. They have no money.

Another great art project, whose founding principle was taken directly from Goethe’s Faust, was called Homunculus. Homunculus was a logical continuation of the Revolution. One needs no magic to create a new form of human… thought Soviet artists. They were right. Homo Soveticus has no respect for money either, but for a different reason than a Russian before the revolution: money is a leftover from the past. “The past” in this case means “capitalism.” Since our future is communism, of course. And during communism there will be no money. Everyone would receive according to their needs. And the New Man has almost no needs, at least no material needs. But lots of other ones. Cultural ones.
In 1960 we were promised that Communism would come in 20 years. It didn’t exactly turn out that way. But during the 80s, it was clear that money had totally lost its earlier meaning. From being a banal means of payment, it started to become an object. Ready made. Finely designed collector’s items.
Soviet life was meant to be a complete work of art. The concept was simple—an artistic leader/curator, some artists, and millions of happy and thankful members of the audience. Homo Soveticus was a classic art collector. Everything around him was rare and unintelligible, just like fine art should be. Everything was art: apartments, food, hot water, cars… Things could not be mass-produced even though mass production was one of the cornerstones of the Soviet aesthetic. Mass production brought on mass culture, and that could not be tolerated. McDonald’s would never be allowed to take its place in the Soviet heart. That body part was meant to love Communism. Mass production could only exist in a strictly limited amount.

Money played a principal part in the Soviet artwork, since money was a symbol for all that was bad. When everything else was successfully transformed into either art or useless works of art, they tried to do the same thing with money. They were almost successful. They had already come to the point where one could have limitless amounts of money, but couldn’t buy anything, since there was nothing to buy. But this was at the same time the biggest problem. Money had won. Because if you don’t have any goal, any meaning in life, any faith, or something to own or love, what is then left? That’s right. Exactly.
Money.
Lots of money.

Dmitri Plax is an arist, curator and writer. He was born 1970 in Minsk, Belaruse. Lives and works in Stockholm, Sweden.

Translated from Swedish by George Kentros

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