18 February 2008

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4916966280753281829.post-20306084584858659302008-02-18T11:46:00.000-08:002008-02-18T11:47:53.724-08:0018 February 200818 February 2008 Mark Twain United States of America Dear Mark, I apologize for the long span between letters; recent traveling has made writing progressively more difficult. I am now back in St. Petersburg for a few days before heading off to Central Asia. My hope is to write you again before I leave, for after that it will probably be a couple of weeks until I can write again. I wanted to write about some cultural experiences that I had in Moscow. Actually, they are more than cultural experiences, more like cultural epiphanies. The first occurred on a Saturday evening. We had just been walking through Red Square and decided to take a particular side street that was lined with small churches. Only one, St. George the Victorious, seemed open. We went inside. They were holding an evening vesper service and the lights were out; only candles lit the faces of the priests, 5 of them, holding service. It was beautiful, even more so when the lights came on (we stayed quite a while). I have to say that my ‘Organized Religious’ experience in the USA has always been somewhat…lacking. I was brought up (Greek) Orthodox Christian, the same as the Russians. Religious services back home seemed, well, overshadowed by politics and fashion to such an extent that I was disgusted from attending-no one was listening, no one seemed to care. Granted, I know that some do, but to be honest, they were few and far between. I felt worse after attending, so then, why bother? It seemed more important for the attendees to be seen rather then to be in Communion with the Church. To see these people, after decades of religious oppression, once again being able to Celebrate the Divine Liturgy (as the Orthodox call Mass) out in the open with no fear of government persecution is an experience that I can’t really begin to explain. There they were-not just the very old, but younger generations whose families practiced in secret-not caring who was there or who ran the church or who was wearing what; just pure, simple, total devotion. I can only hope that this is something that I can bring back to the West, and hope even more so that I can make some understand it. I guess the people who want to listen, will-Free Will, which is our Gift-humanity’s gift that is constantly threatened by these oppressive regimes…but, as we have seen, the human spirit does eventually prevail. Speaking of oppressive regimes, let’s talk about the Soviet Union some. The reason that I’m bringing this up is that I also experienced Russia’s ‘other religion’: Pushkin. Now, to most Westerners, Pushkin is a name that is synonymous with Russian literature, even though none of us have actually read any of his works. I will be the first to admit this. Even if I did, it would be nothing but an English translation, and Pushkin’s genius is in his use of Russian, so I still wouldn’t get it… Now, one of the main things that I had noticed here in Russia is the tremendous number of buildings, parks, museums, streets, railway stations, etc., named for Pushkin. It is as if you couldn’t go a couple of blocks before running into the “Pushkin Center for the Arts”, or “Pushkin Metro Station”, or “Pushkin Place”. I didn’t get it…why? It has been told, or at least implied heavily, to me that during the Soviet regime, since God was outlawed, people turned, in a way, to Pushkin as the epitome of Russian art and culture and he became a sort of surrogate divinity. And like a divinity, he had (has) a following of cult worshipers that seems to be the vast majority of Russians. So…I went to a special ceremony at the Pushkin Museum (which, it seems, is the only place that actually has something to do with Pushkin…but not really…see below) to celebrate the anniversary of his death. Now, Pushkin was born in Moscow, but lived mostly in St. Petersburg…BOTH claim him. This has led to problems. The Pushkin Museum in St. Petes actually has personal belongings and manuscripts. Moscow, not to be outdone, built their own modern museum-which, by the way, was BY FAR the most attractive modern building I’ve seen in all Russia-as a dedication to their idol. Now, they actually don’t have anything BY or OF Pushkin, but the faithful followers have made donations of items from their own family heirlooms that could possibly in some way relate to Pushkin and his times, such as: a china set from the early 1800s, or modern recordings of Pushkin’s favorite music, or antique furniture…you get the picture… So…in this packed hall were people from all ages and walks of life. After a moment of silence at 2:45 (the supposed time of his death), the program began. There were overly dramatic readings of his verse (by saying ‘overly dramatic’ I’m not (and can’t, really) giving you the true picture of this Russian style of reading-I would say that listening to it is not unlike being whacked on the head repeatedly by a tennis racket, and even then you still wouldn’t get it-it must be experienced…), playing of his favorite music, and speeches by greats from a past generation. Wow…it was truly cultish…there were tears, really …the man died 170 years ago, but fresh flowers by the score were by his picture. THIS was a window into understanding Russians. At least they hold a literary figure thusly, and not an athlete in such esteem. Even at one of the major museums, the Tretakov, the portrait of Pushkin is bathed in a special spotlight, and there are flowers there, too. Speaking of galleries and Russo-Soviet outlooks, we went to the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts (which has nothing to do with Pushkin…) to see the 19th Century to Contemporary exhibits. There was a room-not just a wall, mind you-but a whole room dedicated to that most brilliant and talented of American artists who truly understood life and idealism in 20th Century Russia and was considered among the greats in American art history: Rockwell Kent! What’s that? Really? You have never heard of him?…’gasp’! Well, neither had I. Neither have most Americans, or anyone else, for that matter, so we’re not alone. Rockwell Kent painted what is known as Socialist Realism. What this means is that he portrayed ‘happy’ scenes of the simple life and people at work and enjoying the wonderfully fulfilling collective lifestyle that had been forced on them by their totalitarian regime…oh, sorry, went a little too far there. Anyways, his work was bought up by the Soviet government and displayed here, with captions telling about his vanguard leadership of the American arts…propaganda at it’s best. He wasn’t even taken seriously in the US…Hell, he was a rotten artist, downright miserable, but…he towed the party line, and that made him accepted…at least here… …I just wish that in 1990 that they would’ve dumped this stuff and bought some Pollack…Rockwell Kent? What were they thinking? Geeze… So, there is my Moscow story. It’s quite a place-great city, really. I could live there; I enjoy it and it has a lot to offer in so many ways that it leaves St. Petes in the dust. But…for now, St. Petes is home. Until soon, as always, your devoted correspondent, DemetriusDemetrius Spaneashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04527904613791909714noreply@blogger.com