Klutsis’s scissors
In
the previous article, I briefly discussed the fate of Gustav Gustavovich
Klutsis, taking as my starting point a poster used in the header of a Stalinist
blog. This artist, who had devoted so much effort to glorifying Stalin, was
eventually shot on his orders.
I would like to take this opportunity to look a little more
closely at Klutsis’s work. In particular, I want to examine how people were
enlarged, reduced in size and, when necessary, cut out of the posters he
designed. All this tells us a great deal about the Stalinist regime in the
Soviet Union.
Let us begin with a brief introduction to the artist. Born in Latvia in 1895, Klutsis continued his art education in Moscow after the Revolution. He worked in the studio of Kazimir Malevich, the founder of Suprematism and one of the pioneers of abstract art. He studied and taught at VKhUTEMAS, one of the leading centres of the Soviet avant-garde. He shared his life and work with the photographer and graphic artist Valentina Kulagina. He became one of the pioneers of photomontage in Soviet art.
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| Klutsis and Kulagina (1922) - Photomontage by Klutsis. |
Photomontage involves recombining pieces taken from different photographs. You can cut out people, machines, buildings and crowds and bring them together in a single composition. In the days before computers and programs such as Photoshop, let alone artificial intelligence, this work was done by hand and offered designers a wide range of possibilities. They could change the sizes and relative proportions of people and objects, combining them with text and colour to create a new image. Klutsis used this technique in his experimental work, sports posters, and book and magazine designs. In the 1930s, he became one of the leading artists of Stalinist propaganda. His posters, printed in their tens of thousands, helped to shape the regime’s visual world.
Photomontage was an ideal art form for Stalin.
It made it possible to adjust people’s size according to
their political importance. When you enlarged Stalin’s photograph and reduced
the size of the workers, peasants and soldiers around him, the hierarchy
between the leader and the people was clear before a single slogan had been
read.
This reminds me of ancient Egyptian art. Depicting the
pharaoh as larger than the people beside him did not reflect any actual
difference in height. It made his power and superior status visible. A similar
logic operated in Stalinist photomontage. As the leader grew larger, the people
grew smaller.
This was no mere incidental possibility offered by the technique. In a text written in 1931, Klutsis described the use of different scales as one way to overcome the limits of traditional perspective and increase a poster’s impact. He also stressed that political content should determine the poster’s composition. Within this approach, deciding how large people should appear was a political decision.
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| On certain special occasions, Stalin could edge ahead of Lenin in the hierarchy of scale - but only just. |
In the same text, Klutsis viewed photography as documentary material for use in photomontage. The photograph of Stalin was real. The photographs of the workers were real too. But the encounter created by bringing these pieces together was the artist’s own construction.
Every detail of this encounter was determined at the montage table. Who would stand beside him, how close people would get to him, what expressions they would have on their faces… No one could ask an unexpected question. Stalin was among the people, but these encounters had never actually taken place.
There was also an aspect of this technique that became dangerous over time. Other leaders were depicted alongside Stalin. When someone counted among the leaders one day was declared an “enemy of the people” or something similar the next, the poster itself became a problem.
Let us look at Klutsis’s 1935 photomontage bringing together the members of the Politburo. Stalin is right at the centre, far larger than anyone else. The leaders around him are arranged in two rows. The people are absent here, but the hierarchy of scale is once again at work. Stalin’s superiority over the other leaders is conveyed through the size of his body.
This composition, however, also bears the marks of the purges. Rudzutak’s face, immediately to Stalin’s right, has been blacked out. His name at the bottom has also been erased. In place of the man once shown beside the leader, there is now a black blot.
Rudzutak was arrested in May 1937. His face was blacked out after his arrest. Blacking out faces in this way was particularly common during the Stalin era. But not everyone who was purged has been erased from this copy. Kosior, who would be arrested in May 1938, is still in the picture, at the far left of the upper row. We can therefore date the defacement to the period between these two arrests.
In the poster “Long Live the Workers’ and Peasants’ Red Army!”, the traces of intervention are even more striking. When Tukhachevsky and Gamarnik were purged in 1937, Klutsis had to cut out their figures. This left two human-shaped gaps. Stalin, meanwhile, remained in place in all his grandeur.
Marshal Yegorov, on the right, was still in the picture. His turn would come soon afterwards. Klutsis was shot in February 1938. Yegorov was arrested that same year, subjected to brutal torture and shot in February 1939. Klutsis could no longer cut him out of his own poster.
Looking at this image, I wonder how Klutsis felt. What went through his mind as he cut out, with his own hands, the people he had once placed beside Stalin? Did he really believe they were traitors? Or did he harbour doubts but fear admitting them even to himself? Had he ever considered that all his work to glorify Stalin might not be enough to protect him?
I suppose we shall never know. But looking at those gaps, it is hard not to think of the artist’s own fate.
There is also a bitter irony in Klutsis’s fate after his death. He was rehabilitated in 1956. Over time, his works were exhibited again and entered museum collections and catalogues. In 1970, an exhibition devoted to him was even held in Riga.
But the artist’s rehabilitation did not mean that his posters glorifying Stalin would regain their former political function. The bureaucracy now wanted to enjoy its material and social privileges without fear of death, torture or imprisonment. While rehabilitating Klutsis, it also had to make people forget the Stalin cult he had helped to build.
Klutsis, who enlarged Stalin in his posters, put the other leaders and the people in their allotted places, and cut out those who were purged, had himself been eliminated. By the time his name was restored, the bureaucratic caste no longer needed his posters glorifying Stalin.













