Berlinograd 1920s

Berlinograd 1920s: In Conversation with Vladimir Tatlin

August 16, 2018

Vladimir Tatlin is the forefather of constructivism and at the same time the enfant terrible of Russian modernism. He had an indispensable aversion to any kind of authority, which is why his relationships with his fellows often failed. To Kazimir Malevich connected him a special kind of love-hate relationship, which was based on absolute reciprocity. Because of “Tatlinism” Malevich felt threatened in his position as king of the Avantgarde.

Ani Menua:
Gospodin Tatlin, thank you for agreeing to our conversation. I truly hope you do not blame our mutual friend, whom we do not want to reveal now, for having inadvertently informed me that you are in Berlin. He felt guilty and did not aim to tell your secret or to disappoint you. It happened accidentally…

Vladimir Tatlin:
This fact cannot be undone anyway. Why did you really want to meet me?

A.M.:
I like your ideas about art and I want to understand them correctly. Therefore, I could consider your pieces, but I try to use this opportunity to talk to you face to face to hear from you what I might assume about your perspectives on art.

V.T.:
What if I didn’t agree?

A.M.:
But you did, so for me the answer to the opposite of this question is not relevant.

V.T.:
Nevertheless, I need an answer.

A.M.:
Then I would have broken into you your place, as you did with Picasso.

V.T.:
Resolute…

A.M.:
Are you for a certain reason in Berlin?

V.T.:
I am following the invitation of our mutual friend, who wanted to give me the possibility to rest a little. As much as I love Berlin, but right now I just want to go back to my studio, because of my upcoming exhibition. I feel paralyzed when I cannot work.

A.M.:
What you love most about Berlin?

V.T.:
What I love about Berlin is its immediacy and openness to any kind of people. Berlin does not condemn and offend people because of their views. It takes them into its broad open arms and kisses him on the forehead. If you go down here, it’s because of your own lack of discipline. It is not a city for yes-men, then Berlin is getting merciless. Which aspects of my art are you particularly interested in?

A.M.:
First, I would like to know how you developed the idea of ​​constructivism.

V.T.:
You know, it’s no secret that I in my opinion Pablo Picasso is the greatest genius of our time. I admire his radicalism and the courage to break with all the previous ones. The way he creates art seems to me extremely sensual and intuitive. He plays with materials, forms and colours in an unprecedented way. His technique and methodology are supernatural. I saw it all myself with my own eyes, that was incredible. Back in Moscow, I realized that the revolution in art is unstoppable and that it is really a revolution that will cause fundamental change, both in theory and in practice. I continued mentally with what I found in Picasso and came up with the idea that art must be composed of three dimensions, namely of material, volume and construction, therefore Constructivism.

A.M.:
How can this idea be put into practice?

V.T.:
That is what my upcoming exhibition is all about, but I will not say anything about it. The piece I’m working on is in a secret place that only I know. I hope you can understand that I cannot trust my ideas anyone.

A.M.:
That was not what I intended with my question. It must be possible to bring the whole thing to an abstract formula, without betraying something…

V.T.:
As you say the formula of my abstraction is Constructivism. The term itself is self-explanatory.

A.M.:
What moves you to be against everything, even against what already is against something?

V.T.:
I have often asked myself that question, believe me. The answer is: I just do not know. I feel an unmistakable resistance to things. As soon as this resistance becomes apparent, I must give in to it. It is not a conscious decision, I have no power that is effective against it. At this point, I feel like the eternal child. For me, there is nothing exciting about things that already exist. Art must be able to keep up with the dynamics of history. That’s the only claim it should make to itself.

A.M.:
What means rebellion to you?

V.T.:
Rebellion should be used as a springboard to overcome a certain state, which already exists and transform it into something new. Such a process can be set in motion about one’s own person, society or art. It always starts from a single person and then transfers to a crowd by gradually captivating people, resulting in a transformation. If the result is evil or good for the human kind can only be judged from retrospective in terms of art, because the course of history gives us the definitive answer to this question. The present itself is sometimes blind and does not see the light.

A.M.:
What do you think, what will you leave to posterity?

V.T.:
The liberation of art from the idea that a work of art can only be considered as a work of art if it has an appropriate frame and a wall to decorate. In Constructivism, art gains two other dimension, drops the dress of conservatism, and shatters its boundaries.

 

The conversation with Vladimir Tatlin was made during a walk in a park in July of 1920. He did ask me not to reveal, where and when exactly we met. His biggest fear was that someone could steal his visions. Tatlin’s creative process was subject to a strict secrecy.

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