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The paper discusses the context of the two editions (1967 and 1982 respectively) of Drafting Modernism [ Modernizmo metmenys], a monograph by Lionginas Šepetys. It is argued that the five reviews of the 1967 edition and the two reviews of the 1982 edition that appeared in news media and cultural press of the time, are partially indicative of the levels of knowledge on modernist art the readers of the book had during the different times. An overview of the publications on modernist art gives an impression that, in order to justify a comprehensive presentation of the theoretical and methodological approaches in modern art, publishers and news media had to find ideological pretexts and make it look like they were following the guidelines of the soviet cultural policy. Hence, instead of being the actual means of implementing the ideological cultural policy, these cases were rather a result of the specific circumstances and the particular relations between people and nations. At that time, Drafting Modernism was the single most prominent Lithuanian publication dedicated to modern art, and the totality of its critical reviews forms a picture of the informational field of the time, allowing us to see what information was available to the expert reviewers that used to be commissioned by the cultural press. In order to recognise the significance of the publication within the information field of the time, the paper analyses the texts via the methods of knowledge sociology and critical discourse analysis. Only a small part of the soviet art theorists had access to the specialised information—these were usually the researchers and acknowledged dissertation authors trusted by the regime who were permitted access to the Western libraries or at least the special collections in the Moscow libraries. Lionginas Šepetys was one of those few researchers. It would be more accurate to say that many of those who, in the conditions of freely available information, might have been called experts, or whom soviet publishers and media regarded as experts, were what the knowledge sociologist Alfred Schütz called ‘well-informed citizens’. They had access to the special collections in the libraries of Moscow and Vilnius, and were able to summarise the opinions of both local and foreign experts. Meanwhile the authors who favoured the soviet regime used to create socialist narratives about the well-analysed artworks. Thus a large number of those wanting to become well informed citizens had to rely on the popular soviet literature which was too sparse for the readers to engage in an informed polemic that involved different points of view. In addition to that, an author did not have to be an expert—in principle, a work on popular science could have been published by a well-informed citizen who was capable of interpreting the research of experts, and yet the publications often did not list their information sources. This gives an impression that, from the standpoint of the publishers, this kind of literature was aimed not at a citizen who wants to be well-informed, but rather at the ‘man on the street’ who had no interest in the cultural principles and processes. In 1967, there were no experts capable of debating Šepetys as equals. Lacking in specialised knowledge and unable to rise to the level of experts, the local well-informed citizens were reviewing the monograph within the bounds of their limited knowledge based on the soviet art history and their enquiries into the notion of modernity according to the Lithuanian art theory. Meanwhile, the 1982 edition no longer holds its status as an indisputable source of expert information—with the advent of the alternative expert narratives, the new edition now featured source references, which was a telling sign of the shifting relations between the actors in the information field. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

The paper discusses the idea of ‘cultural resistance’ or ‘quiet modernism’ by analysing the records (in the form of interviews, papers and books) of the first generation of the post-WWII Lithuanian modernist architects (Vytautas Edmundas Čekanauskas, Vytautas Brėdikis, Algimantas and Vytautas Nasvytis, Algimantas Mačiulis, and Justinas Šeibokas), also known as the founders of the ‘Lithuanian school of modernism’. This generation of architects emerged in the late 1950s, when it started criticising the Stalinist architecture, realising important public objects in city centres, and occupying increasingly prominent positions in academia and the world of architecture, which eventually led to the formation of a particular cultural elite. This story of success might seem unrelated to the notion of ‘cultural resistance’ (or ‘quiet modernism’) often mentioned by the architects themselves. The paper concludes with the analysis of the evolution of and the ‘grand narrative’ behind this architect group that shared the same values and employed certain ‘quiet motifs’. The research also focuses on analysing how this myth has been reconstructed after the 1990. In conclusion, the paper argues that the notions of compromise, adaptation, and subversive opportunism—rather than ‘cultural resistance’—are more appropriate to describe the architectural and urban practices of the aforementioned generation of architects. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

The paper aims to clarify the specificity of the art field in the Soviet Lithuania, and argues that the latter cannot be exhausted by the dichotomous approach based on a clear-cut separation between the official (non-modernist) art and the ‘quiet’ (invisible) modernism. The paper focuses on the art phenomena that, until now, have been referred to via a rather lofty umbrella term ‘quiet modernism’, and breaks them down into three segments: ’quiet’ systemic art, ‘shadowy’ non-systemic art, and anti-systemic art. Compared to the ideological control of other arts, fine art censorship in Soviet Lithuania was relatively weak, with only the mass-oriented genres having been subjected to closer scrutiny. The control of easel painting was delegated to the art professionals themselves, while the experts and audiences were fully trusted in setting the boundaries of artistic expression. Meanwhile, during the late period, the Soviet regime itself became much more tolerant of the possibilities of artistic expression. Here we can highlight several factors that contributed to the fact that, having been a less visible and yet fully established within the bounds of the official, the quiet systemic art in Soviet Lithuania not only completely ‘overshadowed’ the non-systemic art, but also left no place for the anti-systemic art production. First, with regards to the problematic territory where public dissent was still rife and unchecked, Soviet government felt it important to divert the potential opposition through relatively harmless channels such as the spaces of limited visibility, decorative applied art, and art export. Second, during the late soviet era, the soviet republics of the Baltic region were looking for the ways to reach out for the lost world of Western art by strengthening their cultural ties with exiles and neighbouring countries west of the Iron Curtain, which was another important factor that modified the rules of the game. Third, local party elite quickly realised that they could strengthen their administrative powers by exploiting the work of Lithuanian, Latvian, and Estonian artists who, particularly in the sphere of applied arts, were largely inspired by West and therefore freer in expression—party leaders were using this kind of art as a regional business card both inside the soviet empire, and abroad. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]

This paper expands on the art historical context of Elona Lubytė’s project Quiet Modernism (1997)—which is now widely acknowledged as a certain point of reference in soviet art studies and art distribution—with the aim to introduce other concepts relevant to Lithuanian art history. Here the modernisation of art that began during the decade of the Khrushchev Thaw is discursively separated from other modernisms or, rather, (post)modernisms that are currently being invented as a result of using the (Jacques Ranciére’s) aesthetic regime to interpret the late soviet art. When researching the art of the past, particularly that of the periods of political oppression, it is crucial to distinguish between the productive and reproductive approaches, as well as to differentiate between the perspectives of creator and perceiver. Art production and historical distribution are deeply rooted in the milieus of each period, therefore we should also consider not only the art shows in remote areas and other nuances of ‘quiet modernism’, but also the clamorous modernisation of the official art. In other words, it is not only about the resistance against the sovietisation of art, but also about the very project of sovietisation as such. Viewed from our current perspective and linked with the discursive contexts that are relevant to the interpreters themselves, the soviet artworks become freed from the historical clutches of a particular epoch and enter a more universal discourse. The year 1997 was a particularly favourable time to invent some of those possible ‘local’ modernisms. The end of the 20th century saw a renewal of the debates on the heritage of the Western modern art. This project is still pertinent in the context of the multiple, extended, repeating, and recurring global modernities. The fact that, in the field of Lithuanian art, artists are showing their interest in modernist heritage, proves that the currently ongoing process of ‘reloading’ the modernism is very much alive. The paper also gives an overview of this new stage of modernist development in Lithuania. Some of the works by middle-aged artists are just as attributable to the new modernism as those by the young generation. With their serene and constructive attitudes, the former are displaying purity of forms (but not that of media) that they clarify, reactivate, reference, and reflect on. The paper concludes with the question: why the 20th century Lithuanian modernism is still excluded from the global history of the ‘reloaded’ modernism, and why is it not featured at the representative art ‘centres’? This might be due to the fact that Lithuania still lacks a clearly articulated visual narrative of its own modernism. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]