Cold Snaps
When the Cold War began to thaw in Moscow, photographer Boris Savelev was there to capture the changing times. Yet, as Alex Rayner discovers, to view these shots as purely documentary is to miss out on their crucial artistic element IF YOUR SON or daughter wanted to quit their engineering job to become a photographer, you [...]
When the Cold War began to thaw in Moscow, photographer Boris Savelev was there to capture the changing times. Yet, as Alex Rayner discovers, to view these shots as purely documentary is to miss out on their crucial artistic element
IF YOUR SON or daughter wanted to quit their engineering job to become a photographer, you might counsel them against so risky a career move. Yet when Boris Savelev resigned from his position at a Moscow aeronautical firm and began plying his trade with a trusty SLR camera, his folks took it all rather well. This was, after all, the mid-1970s, when, in the USSR, according to the then-young Boris, “there wasn’t much money to be had as an engineer anyway”.
Thankfully, aeronautics’s loss was the art world’s gain. Four decades and one regime change later, Savelev’s photographs capture the changing beauty of Russia as dispassionately as he once sized up his career options.
His images, on display at the Michael Hoppen gallery in London this month, reflect everyday life in Russia, both before and after Gorbachev. Yet, to view these images as simple historical documents is to miss out on a crucial element within Savelev’s art. Though he began by shooting reportagestyle images, he went on to develop a photographic manner he has now dubbed ‘polyphonic’. “It includes a documentary feel, and sometimes encapsulates ‘the decisive moment’,” he says, “but it is also contains geometrical, compositional elements.”
This beguiling style first found an outlet in the West with Savelev’s 1988 monograph, Secret City, published by Thames & Hudson. The book was as significant for Savelev himself as it was for the Western take on contemporary Russian photography.
“When the publisher of Thames & Hudson – a Western publishing house – flew out to meet me in Moscow,” Savelev recalls, “I knew times were changing.”
Interestingly, the thaw in East-West relations also gave Savelev the chance to get hold of decent colour film.
“We had always had access to colour film, mainly stuff made in East Germany, but it wasn’t of very good quality,” he says. “In 1987 we got Kodachrome film [made by Kodak in the US]. That gave me a new impulse.”
The flashes of pigment in among his shots of late 1980s Moscow serve as the perfect metaphor for the changing political climate. However, Boris himself is more cautious about the significance of the USSR’s dissolution.
“The big difference is that Russians can travel more now,” he says, “otherwise, I don’t think much has changed.”
While he remains reserved about political progress, Savelev delights in technological innovation. Though shots at the London exhibition date from the 1970s, Savelev has used the most up-todate scanning and printing techniques to add incredible depth and texture to his earlier photographs.
“I’m seeing beauty in these photographs that before I dismissed,” he says, “I compare it to getting a diamond from a rock. You hew away at the image, using these new technologies.”
Savelev’s gem-like prints are certainly among the finest examples of Russian contemporary art, even if it’s hard to decide where the history ends and the artistry begins.
31 Years runs 21 April to 30 May at Michael Hoppen Gallery, 3 Jubilee Place, London SW3, +44 (0)20 7352 3649; www.michaelhoppengallery.com
