Estonian Art in 1980-2009

28.03.2008 00:00

Spring 2009

The art in the 1980s was in certain sense just a preparation for the end of the decade. Quite a few admit that after the 1970s had passed, the situation was much like that of the 1930s: everyone was tired of experimenting. In addition to that, many authors that had still carried the spirit of “Pallas” in their work and within their persona - had passed away, leaving a void into the national-conservative trend. In order to avoid a standstill, a breakthrough had to be brought on. By the end of the decade this breakthrough arrived, but as the borders opened up, other borders shifted and the local art world was invaded by new trends, styles, media, principles and themes. Therefore it is difficult to compare the art of the 1990s with the art of the previous decade.
The first half of the 1980s comes across as kind of an epilogue to the 1970s. There can be, of course, superb standalone works like “Wistful Angel (1985)” by Tõnis Vint or “Cutting the Hay (1984)“ by Nikolai Kormašov; they both belong to the respective artists’ more interesting periods and they are exciting in their contrast: from one hand the metaphysical, entirely dreamlike angel, filled with symbols; on the other hand the totally common guy cutting the hay, smelling of grass and dirt. Both of them fit nicely next to the other: the decade is still missing a backbone to separate the works into good and bad. Both the angel and the hay cutter describe their time as controversial and eclectic – that’s how it must have been.
At the time, a certain breaking point is brought into the art by Rein Kelpman with his “out of this world” pieces (“Youngster from a Collective Farm, 1985-2007”; “Deserted, 1986”). Those have inspired a lot of philosophical discussion, as Kelpman’s works show a certain willingness to be excitingly ugly. There is nothing optimistic, glamorous, pop or beautiful in them – instead, there is strange tension, enigma, atmosphere. In fact, Kelpman’s somewhat crazy style breathes some life into the traditions that have pushed their roots deep into the Estonian culture, but it does not find too many followers right away. For him, the person to share his views with is Peeter Mudist (“Landscape”, 1990; “Landscape with a Boat“, 1998), whose distinguishable world of thought reaches some of its most eminent solutions especially during this period. Those two do not interact with the social world, while at the same time Kaljo Põllu’s prints (“Motherhood“, 1987) are carried by the national-romantic movement and Finno-Ugric mythology, sounding more appropriate in the political landscape of the late 1980s than ever before. A similar comment to the prevailing situation is made 7 years later by Lembit Sarapuu (“To Europe“, 1994). His surreal and at the same time straightforward way of painting finds new challenges namely during the period of advocating the freedom of speech. “To Europe”, which is a known and widely quoted piece, is one his most critical and ironical paintings.
The beginning of the 1990s was marked by a serious breakthrough, but towards the end of the decade, the things on the local “sea of art” become a little more placid. There is an explosion of angles; suddenly there are tens, if not hundreds of them. Let’s take a look at what happens to nature motifs that have always been considered so characteristic of Estonian art. Malle Leis (“The Gardens of Childhood III, 1998-1999”) continues with the pop-like large images; nature is the source of blissful inspiration for her. Anne Parmasto (“The Moon and the Tomato“, 2004) uses elements from nature to discover combinations of colour and shape and experiment with them. In Virge Jõekalda’s (“Crazy Garden“, 2007) award-winning prints the nature motifs become channels for certain “outside” moods, telling stories about vulnerability, tenderness and poetry. Peeter Laurits (“Two Cities“, 2007) is mixing nature with cultural history, fairy tale with reality, without seeing any particular gaps at all. These powerful and almost visionary assessments of nature somewhat coincide with those of Jaan Toomik (“Fishermen on the Ice“, 2009) – both dig around in the deep layers of consciousness, looking for the general (Laurits) or the solitary (Toomik). Toomik’s loneliness, mystery, closeness to nature and slight mysticism find an outlet in his paintings as well. Olev Subbi’s (“Evening Still life“, 2009) depiction of nature raises the question not so much about what is painted – but how it is painted. Subbi has never tried to hide the fact that his ideals come from the 1930s. Even 80 years later nothing stops him from taking a bow to the good old-fashioned values in painting. Therefore, the still life, being a classic genre, finds an additional meaning under Subbi’s paint brush.
Maarit Murka and August Künnapu are probably one of the most well known among young authors. Their comparison helps, once again, to illuminate the colourful state of contemporary art. While Künnapu (“Jolly Cat“, 2004) is light and innocent in the tradition of pop art, Murka (“Estonian & Russian“, 2008) is conceptual and critical. But these descriptions could be easily switched. Künnapu’s kitty is not Andrus Johan’s dog Luti; it is a conceptual kitty that no longer takes a romantic whiff by the garbage cans and does not just happen to represent the eternity. The cat is finally just a cat. With Murka’s work it is easy to over-ideologize and miss the lightness and suppleness of this painting. However – being probably a general problem in contemporary art – it has been described as complex so often that simplicity comes very unexpectedly for the spectator.
The public’s relationship with art ended up being problematic again in the 1990s. Jaak Kangilaski has written that in the past the so-called “intelligentsia” had reached a consensus about what is good art; but now this consensus had disappeared. People visited art shows as seldom as agricultural exhibitions. Many turned their backs and only pertinent circles took interest in contemporary art. It seems intriguing, that at the same time, the appeal for collecting art was increasing. The range of interests was more colourful than ever before: Protecting national history, defining personal identity, interest towards aesthetic and intellectual values etc. It has been emphasized that collecting art in Estonia is not a freedom, but it is a duty. The cultural heritage of a small nation is always at risk of perishing and that’s why protecting it from being forgotten is something that cannot be avoided. The latter aspect is gaining more and more importance in the course of time. Earlier the tone was set by personal preferences like a desire to decorate one’s home or office; now the social developments are perceived on a broader scale. Just like with the judges or lawyers in the 1920s, the concept of collecting art is seen as a possibility to interpret Estonia as a whole. Art is not just a collection of pretty things; it is the national collective memory, cultural identity and pride of the society.

In our auction selection this period is represented by the following works:

RAIVO KORSTNIK (1932–1992)
Rannamaastik. 1981
Coastal Landscape. 1981

JEVGENI KLIMOV (1946–1996)
Natüürmort tuviga. 1982
Still Life with a Pigeon. 1982

MARI ROOSVALT (s 1945)
Sügisene. 1983
Autumnal. 1983

NIKOLAI KORMAŠOV (s 1929)
Niitja. 1984
Cutting the Hay. 1984

TÕNIS VINT (s 1942)
Mõtlik ingel. 1985
Wistful Angel. 1985

REIN KELPMAN (s 1960)
Nooruk ühismajandist. 1985-2007
Youngster from a Collective Farm. 1985-2007

REIN KELPMAN (s 1960)
Mahajäetud. 1986
Deserted. 1986

KRISTIINA KAASIK (s 1943)
Ideemaastik. 1986
Landscape of Ideas. 1986

KALJO PÕLLU (s 1934)
Emadus. 1987
Motherhood. 1987

IVAR TÕNURIST (s 1937)
Tänav Toompeal. 1988
Street in Toompea. 1988

PEETER MUDIST (s 1942)
Maastik. 1990
Landscape. 1990

VIKTOR SINJUKAJEV (s 1941)
Kullmani 8. 1991
8 Kullmani Street. 1991