The Professional Artist in Russia: The Evolution of Status

The social and cultural biography of the professional artist in Russia is a most fascinating subject. The integration of professional painters into public life in the late 18th and early 19th centuries caused significant shifts in the national psyche and self-awareness. It added new overtones to the cultural orientations of different social strata, sometimes reinforcing their boundaries and sometimes, on the contrary, blurring them. From the moment the artist as a public figure emerged in Russian society, he exerted a powerful grip on the public imagination, creating a new “us versus them” distinction, unfixing established rules of etiquette and promoting a crossbreeding of “Western” and “Slavic” values.

Alexei ANTROPOV. Portrait of Peter III. 1762
Oil on canvas. 242 × 174.5 cm. © Russian Museum, St. Petersburg

The evolution of the cultural biography of the artist in pre-revolutionary Russian was fast: during a century and a half (from the 1750s to the 1900s), the social position of the artist progressed through all the important stages it had taken 300 years for European artists to complete. Artistic endeavour - which developed either under the auspices of the gentleman’s code or, at times, moved closer to the cultural worlds of the raznochintsy (low-born clerks and intellectuals), the intelligentsia and the merchant class - became enriched by a variety of tastes and was compelled by many ambiguous stimuli. The way in which contemporaries perceived the artist and his position in the social hierarchy were important motivational factors in the arts, along with the influence of the artistic experience itself and artistic traditions. To put it simply, artistic endeavour was not informed by creative factors alone. Social attitudes and norms set a very special tone, kept the artist’s wilfulness in check, and subverted the predictability of artistic endeavour.

The process of professionalisation of the arts in Russia was initially seen as Russia’s “progress” towards European standards. Indeed, the system of training in the field of the visual arts, ballet and music initially amounted to adapting and recasting the experiences of Italian (painting, music, theatre) and French (theatre, ballet) masters, whose presence in the Russian cultural arena in the 1750s to 1840s had significant impact.

Trying to understand the environment in which the arts were becoming a profession and the first artists, actors and writers for hire were working, we should take a close look at the traditions of the gentry, the era’s foremost social group. Usefulness to the homeland, gentleman’s honour, the duty of loyal subjects, service to the Emperor, blue blood, glory: these were the ideas at the core of what used to be called the lofty ideas of the nobility. In the second half of the 18th century, such values as erudition and enlightenment were added to the array of qualities that the Russian aristocrat should possess.

As the order by which Moscow University was established (1755) shows, nobles began to take the matter of educating their offspring seriously. Applicants to the university were required to have a minimum knowledge base, a circumstance that was to have an impact on the education of those “ignoramuses” who were educated only by private tutors. Moscow University had two gymnasia: one for nobles, the other for raznochintsy. The university, therefore, had to fulfil two objectives at once, one noble, the other academic. At the gymnasium, sons of noble parents did not come into contact with children “of the plebeian class”. In addition to sciences, both raznochintsy and children of the gentry were taught painting, music and singing.

Thus, with the rise of state-run educational establishments, artistic skills became part of the quality education that “distinguished citizens” ought to receive.

The small groups of raznochintsy who graduated from the university (no more than 7-10 people per annum initially) perhaps formed the core of the emergent Russian intelligentsia not affiliated with any of the feudal statuses. The Instructions (Nakazy) issued by Catherine the Great reference “the middle class” of townsfolk (a special status), who “practice trade, commerce, fine arts, and sciences”.

Catherine the Great took great pride in the breadth of education provided for students of the military schools for the nobles (Shlyakhetsky korpus), whose mission was “to train officers fit not only for warfare”. “My cadets,” wrote the Empress, “will become all they want to be and choose a walk of life according to their tastes and pref- erences”[1]. And although, as one detractor noticed, the school’s graduates “were good at performing comedy and rhyming - in a word, knew everything except what an army officer should know,” contemporaries agreed that artistic skills were indispensable for a truly cultured person.

If you try to imagine the hierarchy of the arts in the minds of noblemen in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, the top spot was undoubtedly occupied by visual artists - painters, sculptors, architects.

There can be little doubt that the visual arts owed their high status first and foremost to the vital needs of the court: building palaces, laying out parks, mounting statues, decorating interiors. Full-dress portraits and historical compositions, intended to strengthen the prestige of the family, were a symbiosis of utilitarian/practical and artistic objectives. A knowledge of such subjects as construction engineering, the technology of casting statues, techniques of composition and perspective drawing, proportions of volumes, methods of spatial arrangement and many others were a terrain shared by visual artists and scientists. High society regarded the activities of both as useful. So it was not by chance that the first school of drawing, which had been opened in 1715 during the reign of Peter the Great, not only included “painting, sculpture, engraving” workshops, but also offered instruction in “joinery, turning, coppersmithing”. Significantly, the great masters of the era had a professional awareness that made them willing to take on prosaic tasks - for instance, in addition to his main pursuits, the architect Bartolomeo Rastrelli studied mechanics, the portraitist Johann Gottfried Tannauer taught clockmaking and so on.

The system of training top-notch artists required a lot of investment and expense. For the Academy of Sciences, which ran the engraving and drawing school in the 1730s-1750s, such expenses were unsustainable, and often incommensurately greater than expenditure on natural science research. Agreeing that “artists are necessary for drawing anatomy, grasses and other natural phenomena,”[2] the Academy of Sciences complained about the burden of expenses it could rid itself of if “an Academy of Fine Arts, so much hoped for, would be established.”[3]

Keeping all this in mind, it is easy to understand why the Imperial Academy of Fine Arts became Russia’s first institution of higher learning to train professional artists. Its first class of 16 students, who enrolled in 1758, was drawn from students at Moscow Universit (a group that included the future renowned architect Vasily Bazhenov), with another 20 students recruited in St. Petersburg, mostly from military families. In 1764, the Imperial Academy of Fine Arts sent out “notices” to different institutions, informing them that, every three years, it would enrol 60 boys “from any type of family except serfs.”

Catherine the Great herself took part in the ceremony of laying the foundation stone for the Imperial Academy of Fine Arts on June 28, 1765, in St. Petersburg. The empress laid a specially prepared stone “and, having taken a trowel and lime, she deigned to smear it as canons fired 31 shots from yachts, while trumpets and timpani were played on balconies.”[4]

As usually happens in every new undertaking, when the rumble of timpani subsided, the Academy had to overcome many a hurdle along the way in its everyday functioning. The biggest among them were related to the quality and direction of instruction. The aesthetic credo of the era was this: the refining of human nature can be achieved only with special efforts, through cultivation. So painting things that could be found nearby was deemed to be in very bad taste, an act unworthy of art. Having been transformed in the crucible of academic training, all things real were to be represented in a refined manner, which is to say embellished and in accordance with the precepts of academic painting. In Russia, this sort of training was initially the hallmark only of the Italian, French and German artists invited by Empress Elizabeth, and then by Catherine to teach at the Academy of Fine Arts.

In 1756, the Academy elected its first permanent members from the ranks of its Russian graduates: Vasily Bazhenov, Gavriil Kozlov, Fyodor Rokotov, Kirill Golovachevsky and Ivan Sablukov. Little by little, artists of Russian origin, in no way inferior to those who came from abroad, began to gain a foothold. The older generation included such artists as Fyodor Rokotov, Alexei Antropov, and the brothers Pavel, Nikolai and Yakov Argunov. An appreciation of beautiful things was cultivated in the students, who were fond of theatre and taught “clavichord music”, as well as country dancing and the minuet. Beginning with the first class, which graduated in 1762, students who were awarded gold medals at graduation were sent abroad to improve their skills. The Academy of Fine Arts rapidly gained steam and, from the 1770s, its faculty was comprised predominantly of Russians. Thus, Dmitry Levitsky began as an instructor in the portraiture workshop and then became its head; Gavriil Kozlov was an instructor in the workshop of historical painting; Semyon Shchedrin was an instructor in the landscape workshop and later became the head of the landscape engraving class; and the art of battle painting was taught by Gavriil Serebryakov.

The aristocracy continued to patronise the arts on a grand scale. Appointed president of the Academy in 1795, Count Alexei Ivanovich Musin-Pushkin established prizes for the best works created by the Academy’s members in order to promote “laudable ambition” in artists: one prize in the amount of 700 rubles, another worth 500, two amounting to 300 rubles each, and two more to 200 rubles. Musin-Pushkin donated his salary to the prize fund.[5]

However paradoxical it may seem, in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, performers (actors, musicians, singers) had higher rates of pay than painters and sculptors. This indicates a disparity in the factors determining the status of the different artistic professions. Contemporaries’ perceptions of the prestige associated with certain arts were at variance with the financial circumstances of their practitioners. An incident that took place in 1810 is a case in point, illustrating this social incongruity. A
non-resident student named Dubrovin was awarded a grand silver medal but “received only a commendation since it turned out he was a serf.”[6]

The nobleman’s ability to give free rein to impractical creative instincts and be guided by ideals rather than heed pragmatic considerations undoubtedly held an appeal for artists. By contrast, the consciousness of the merchant was regarded by nearly everyone as something ruinous for the arts because it responded to the insurmountable “force of the moment” before all else and was far removed from “soaring above circumstances”.

The aristocrat and the artist would come together as closely as possible when the former, possessing an independent source of income, could devote much of his time to artistic endeavour if he wished to. Here, however, there was an indelible difference as well: artistic endeavour for the sake of pleasure or artistic endeavour “for bread”. In the case of the professional artist, the special mobilisation of his creative energies had an impact on his psyche as well. One cannot but agree with the 20th-century sociologist Karl Mannheim, who perceptively identifies, in a pursuit so universal as travel, reflections of various psychological overtones: “The nobleman who journeys abroad for his pleasure, without the necessity to establish himself at every turn, experiences new people and customs only as variations of familiar sights. Only the traveller who steps out of his social milieu and abandons his station to find a new one discovers alternatives and acquires a new horizon. This is how the relatively unattached and itinerant knights become spokesmen of a reflective and multi-dimensional view of life.”[7]

There are arguably at least two reasons that caused aristocrats to distance themselves from the fine arts as a profession. The first reason was the uncertain legal standing of the artistic intelligentsia - this situation, despite minor legislative changes, remained invariable until the very end of the 19th century. Although certain talented individuals who had distinguished themselves in the visual arts, theatre or music were celebrated enthusiastically, surprising orders were issued by the authorities every now and then. Thus, an order issued on October 11, 1827, prescribed that every clerk who became an actor would be divested of every rank he had previously been promoted to. Four years later, however, an amendment was issued: should an actor quits his stage career, he would be reinstated to the rank from which he had been demoted. Sure enough, such rules did not promote the erosion of social boundaries. It was not that unusual in the first half of the 19th century to address an artist or an actor informally, no matter how famous they were. Actor Vasily Karatygin once made attempts to end this humiliating tradition, but the ensuing scandal changed only his own situation.

Numerous examples lead to the conclusion that, in the Russian social hierarchy, intellectuals (who also included the artistic intelligentsia) were not accepted as equals by high society at least until the turn of the 20th century. As already mentioned, the patronage of the arts and amateur art were encouraged. However, as Russian music critic and pianist Wilhelm von Lenz once wrote, “if a nobleman is gifted, woe to him... He has no hope for leniency and he will always stick out like a sore thumb.”[8] The first aristocrat to enrol at the Academy was Fyodor Tolstoy, who later gained prominence as an artist and medallionist. Later in life, he explained what a great surprise it was for his relatives and even for people outside his inner circle, “who condemned me because I was the first aristocrat who, being very close with many grandees capable of backing me up for promotion and, finally, being a count, chose to become an artist who had to work towards recognition all by himself” (italics mine - OK). A noble who opted for a career as a professional visual artist, Tolstoy experienced pressure not only from his family (“he’s taken up with German and Russian professors, and now spends all of his time with them”) but, strangely enough, also from his future colleagues, who, at first, distrusted such a figure. When Tolstoy started attending classes at the Academy, the professors there “displayed a certain resentment; sculptor Martos in particular never missed a chance to mention, with ridicule and disdain, my desire to be at the same time a count, a soldier and an artist - something which, in his opinion, a nobleman could not achieve.”[9].

The legal standing of the Academy’s graduates remained vulnerable, and their social privileges, flimsy as they were, totally depended on the job and rank an art ist would manage to obtain within the system of public administration. The title of “free and unattached artist”, meanwhile, did not bring any benefits. To put it simply, the creative worth of an artist was defined by non-artistic criteria.

One can only guess how humiliated Karl Briullov may have felt when he returned to Russia after his “Italian stipend”. In Italian cities where his composition “The Last Day of Pompeii” was displayed, locals carried Briullov in their arms through the streets, with music, flowers and torches. Grand parties were given in his honour, poems were dedicated to him. The master already enjoyed international recognition but, upon his return to Russia, he was surprised to learn that Nicholas I had unaccountably declined his request for a professorship. In the surviving documents, Briullov comes across as an artist who, vivid memories of the trouble-free Italian period still fresh in his mind, is taken aback and perhaps panicked. Pavel Nashchokin, who met Briullov and struck up a friendship with him in those days, described taking lunch with him in a letter to Pushkin: “[He’s] very eager to acquaint himself with you and asks me to provide him with a letter of introduction. What do you think? It seems he had been well received here, but was afraid of approaching you without warning. He can be excused - he has noticed there is a lot of respect for rank here, whereas he himself is of a low rank, not even a collegiate assessor. He’s a genius - but we don’t care - in Moscow, genius is not hard to find...”[10].

It is small wonder that most Russian artists, after a course of study in Russia, were eager to settle abroad, preferably in Italy. That was where landscape artist Fyodor Matveyev lived most of his life and died. Sylvestr Shchedrin never returned to his homeland. After his return to Russia, Orest Kiprensky never abandoned his hope of moving to Italy again and managed to do so two years prior to his death. In the letters he wrote from St. Petersburg to sculptor Samuil Galberg, who lived in Italy, Kiprensky tried to persuade him not to return to Russia.

Still, slowly but steadily, time did its job. The expansion of the thematic range of paintings (classical mythology and biblical themes were replaced by historical paintings depicting the deeds of Peter the Great, Martha the Mayoress, etc.) and the enrichment of theatre repertoire (in the first third of the 19th century, almost all the classics of world opera and drama were performed on Russian stages) all nurtured national artistic awareness and instilled a more comprehensive and deeper view of art.

In 1832, the authorities issued an order that was very important in stabilising, to some extent, the social position of Russian practitioners of the arts. Nicholas I established a new privileged class of hereditary and non-hereditary honorary citizens. Distinct from the nobility, this class was, nonetheless, at the top of the social hierarchy, its representatives considered an upper level of urban society. The status of non-hereditary honorary citizen was conferred on 1) university graduates, both those who graduated with honours and those who did so without them; 2) artists who graduated from the Academy of Fine Arts; 4) foreign artists, scholars, capitalists and manufacturers. The lawful children of non-hereditary nobles became hereditary honorary citizens. All honorary citizens were granted the right to be addressed as “Your Honour”. The new status strengthened the prestige of both the artistic and academic intelligentsia in the mind of the public.

In that period, the artist was vigorously asserting himself in the visual arts. Briullov had to endure high-handed treatment from the beau monde but, unlike many other artists, ultimately succeeded in making his aristocratic customers treat him like an equal. Chancellors, grand dukes and the most high-placed aristocrats from all over Europe were lining up to have their portraits painted by Briullov. And in a major departure from the previous order, Nicholas I himself visited Brullov more than once in regard to the artist’s portrait of the Empress[11]. One episode shows Brullov’s self-confidence and independence: Nicholas I once happened to be 20 minutes late for the appointment and Briullov left the place before he came. As a result, he never painted the Emperor’s portrait.

Throughout his reign, Nicholas I (like his father) generously patronised the arts: he spared no expense in sending artists to Italy and buying new items for the Hermitage’s collection. In 1845, the Emperor personally visited stipend holders of the Academy of Fine Arts in Italy.

More than 20 stipend holders were invited to St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome for a meeting with Nicholas I, who arrived there, in the company of the Academy’s vice-president Count Fyodor Tolstoy, after a round of Russo-Italian negotiations. As he walked away from the altar, “Nicholas I turned around, lowered his head in a welcoming gesture and quickly ran his mercurial, dewy eyes over the gathering. ‘Your Highness's Artists,’ declared Count Tolstoy. ‘It is being said that they revel a lot,’ noted the monarch. ‘But they work too,’ replied the Count.”[12]

Like his predecessors, Nicholas I considered it possible to combine financial patronage with censorship or even advice on the techniques of artistic embodiment. Thus, on a visit to a stipend holder’s workshop in the outskirts of Rome, the Emperor drew attention to a sculptural group “depicting a satyr who had caught a nymph from a fountain and, having wrapped his arms around her lower limbs, was asking for the bashful beauty’s kiss with his pouting lips.” “That is much too explicit!” the Tsar remarked. “This group needs to be reworked and made more decent.”[13] Later, the statue, made of marble, was bought for the palace.

By the mid 19th century, the Academy had become a state-run educational establishment recognised by the upper echelons of society. Although noblemen’s children were in the minority among the students, they were not a rarity either. The key governmental agencies also began to appreciate the Academy. Thus, in 1843, the Ministry of Finance sought its help in “identifying the boundary between artistic and industrial objects made of bronze and marble brought from abroad.”[14]

By the mid 19th century in Russia, the community of artists, architects, sculptors and the cultural intelligentsia in general had become quite large. Artists, writers and actors gradually dissociated themselves from the upper classes without, however, merging with the lower ones. There was an emerging trend which can be described as the social integration of the artistic intelligentsia. Society’s interest in the artist grew not only because the artist catered for the needs of the high and mighty. The artistic intelligentsia itself was becoming the arbiter of taste and the centre of society's attention.

1. Quoted from: Pavel Milyukov, Essays on the History of Russian Culture (Paris: 1931), p. 754.
2. Collection of Articles and Documents Highlighting the History of the Imperial St. Petersburg Academy of Fine Arts in the Hundred Years of Its Existence, ed. P.N. Petrov, Part 1 (St. Petersburg: 1864-1866), p. 14.
3. Ibid.
4. Imperial St. Petersburg Academy of Fine Arts (St. Petersburg: 1914), p. 3.
5. Ibid.
6. Non-resident students, recruited from different social groups, were admitted to the school of drawing, established under the Academy’s aegis in 1798. See: Collection of Articles and Documents Highlighting the History of the Imperial St. Petersburg Academy of Fine Arts in the Hundred Years of Its Existence, ed. P.N. Petrov, part 1 (St. Petersburg: 1864-1866), p. 16.
7. Karl Mannheim, The Problem of Intelligentsia, part 1 (Moscow: 1993), p. 50.
8. Wilhelm (Vasily) von Lenz, “Adventures of a Livonian in St. Petersburg,” Russky arhiv [Russian Archive], book 2 (1878), p. 259.
9. “Notes of Count Fyodor Tolstoy” in Russkaya starina [Russian Antiquity], no.7 (1873), p. 26.
10. Alexander Pushkin, Complete Works, 17 vols. (Moscow: 1949), vol. 16, p. 68.
11. Karl Briullov in the Letters, Documents and Memoirs of His Contemporaries (Moscow: 1961), p. 160.
12. Nikolai Ramazanov, Materials on the History of Fine Arts in Russia (Moscow: 1863), pp. 127-128.
13. Ibid., p. 132.
14. The Imperial St. Petersburg Academy of Fine Arts (St. Petersburg: 1914), p. 45.