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ARTIFICIAL HELLS

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artificial hells<br />

non- aligned former Yugoslavia under Josip Broz Tito (1943– 80), where<br />

internationalism was embraced, along with greater ease of travel to and<br />

communication with the West. These geographical variations must in turn<br />

be cross- referenced with a chronology of cultural policy changes in<br />

Moscow itself: Nikita Khrushchev’s partial de- Stalinisation (1953– 64) was<br />

followed by the hardline conservative backlash of Leonid Brezhnev (1964–<br />

82), although policy oscillated even within these respective regimes. A final<br />

point to note is that there are no easily drawn lines of artistic communication<br />

between East and West, since these depended on individual relationships<br />

between specific critics and artists rather than on general international<br />

alignments. However, one can cautiously claim that the most influential<br />

artistic communication took place between individual artists and specific<br />

centres in Western Europe (especially Paris and Cologne) rather than<br />

between neighbouring countries in the Eastern bloc; the relative isolation<br />

of these parallel histories is, among other things, revealed in IRWIN’s East<br />

Art Map (2007). 3<br />

In the present chapter, I want to focus on two moments of socially<br />

oriented, performance- based actions in the 1960s and 1970s: the first in<br />

former Czechoslovakia (with two distinct scenes in Bratislava and Prague),<br />

and the second in Moscow from the mid 1970s to mid 1980s, focusing on the<br />

Collective Actions Group. Participatory art is rare in the Soviet bloc, and<br />

these two contexts form an important exception. Unlike some of the Latin<br />

American artists discussed in the previous chapter, for whom social participation<br />

in art denotes the inclusion of the working class, or at least everyday<br />

non- professionals (rather than the artists’ friends and colleagues), the political<br />

context of the examples in this chapter rendered such distinctions<br />

redundant. The contemporary impulse to collaborate with disenfranchised<br />

communities was an alien concept: under Cold War socialism, every citizen<br />

was (at least nominally) equal, a co- producer of the communist state. Class<br />

difference did not exist. 4 Finding participants for one’s art was therefore a<br />

question of selecting reliable colleagues who would not inform on one’s<br />

activities. In an atmosphere of near constant surveillance and insecurity,<br />

participation was an artistic and social strategy to be deployed only amongst<br />

the most trusted groups of friends. Most of the case studies that follow therefore<br />

break with this book’s criterion for inclusion, since they are concerned<br />

almost solely with participation as a device to mobilise subjective experience<br />

in fellow artists and writers, rather than with the general public.<br />

The restrictions of life under Cold War communism do more than<br />

simply affect who participates in art, they also govern the appearance of<br />

these works: materially frugal and temporally brief, many of these actions<br />

and events were located in the countryside, far away from networks of<br />

surveillance. The fact that many of these actions do not look like art is less<br />

an indication of the artists’ commitment to blurring ‘art and life’ than a<br />

deliberate strategy of self- protection, as well as a reaction to the state’s own<br />

130

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