
Soviet postcards are fascinating, and for a wide number of reasons. The Government between 1930 and 1991 clearly used this format for propaganda purposes, but just as clearly... artists are funny people. Even when they are trying to go along with how someone is dictating their art should appear... the repetition, for the best of them, can't help but get boring. Inevitably, they end up trying new things, whether successfully or not. Artists age, and change their minds... this has a tendency to show up in their work more often than even they themselves can recognize.
In the last six months, I've found myself increasingly drawn in by these images. The naïveté, the subtlety. The lack of subtlety! I picked up a few cards "for fun," and now... I've picked up a few more.
In the last six months, I've found myself increasingly drawn in by these images. The naïveté, the subtlety. The lack of subtlety! I picked up a few cards "for fun," and now... I've picked up a few more.
When I was traveling this summer, I stopped in at a gas station and looked for a postcard or two to write home. The man (he was older) behind the counter laughed at me. "Who writes those any more?" Obviously not many. Eventually I found a few cards--sun-damaged, and disorganized, on a rack. These cards come from a specific time and place, and the end of their era is very defined. Leonid Emilevich Hamburger (or Gamburger, the Russian letter "Г" can be translated either way) may not the best Soviet postcard artist. But he had a nice sense of humor, and a perhaps suspect affection for the frivolities of the circus as he aged. He's where I'm starting. I'm hoping to find out more about the artists behind the images as I go along. |