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Nikolai Ladovskii’s studio at VKhUTEMAS (1920-1930)

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With an original translation
of Ladovskii’s 1921 program

Untitled.
Image: Photograph of Nikolai Ladovskii
during his professorship at VKhUTEMAS
untitled2.

Special thanks are due to Monoskop for pointing out to me a number of new images, as well as to TotalArch for providing Selim Khan-Magomedov’s selected Russian text online to translate for this post.

Nikolai Ladovskii and students at VKhUTEMAS, 1922

Nikolai Ladovskii and students at VKhUTEMAS, 1922

“On the program of the working group of architects” (1921)

The task of our working group is to work in the direction of elucidating a theory of architecture. Our productivity will depend on the very rapid articulation of our program, on clarifying the investigative methods to be used and identifying the materials we have at our disposal to supplement the work. The work plan can be broken down into roughly three basic points:

I) aggregation of appropriate theoretical studies and existing theories of architecture of all theoreticians,
II) excavation of relevant material from theoretical studies and investigations extracted from other branches of art, which bear on architecture, and
III) exposition of our own theoretical perspectives to architecture.

The result of these efforts must be the compilation of an illustrated dictionary that establishes precisely the terminology and definitions of architecture as an art, its individual attributes, properties etc, the interrelation of architecture with the other arts. The three elements of the work plan relate, in the case of the first, to the past, to “what has been done”; in that of the second, to the present, and “what we are doing,” and in that of the third, to “what must be done” in the future in the field of theoretical justifications of architecture. A commission, which might be necessary to set up for the program’s elaboration, must build upon the foundations we have suggested.

I. Lamtsov, workshop of Nikolai Ladovskii %22Beam, Revelation of Structure,%22 1922 study И Ламцов, Мастерская Н Ладовского
I. Lamtsov, workshop of Nikolai Ladovskii %22Double Volume, Revelation and expression of mass and weight,%22 Sketches 1922 И Ламцов, Мастерская Н Ладовского
I. Lamtsov, workshop of Nikolai Ladovskii %22Double Volume, Revelation and expression of mass and weight,%22 Sketches 1922 И Ламцов, Мастерская Н Ладовского1
I Lamtsov, Nikolai Ladovskii’s workshop, Grain elevator, revelation and expression of form, 1922
I. Frantsuz, Il’ia Golosov and Konstantin Mel’nikov’s workshop, Crematorium (1922)
Nikolai Krasil’nikov, workshop of Nikolai Ladovskii, apartment building 1921 2
G Vegman, Nikolai Ladovskii’s workshop, grain elevator, revelation and expression of form, 1922
Nikolai Krasil’nikov, Nikolai Ladovskii’s workshop, Water Tower, revelation and expression of form, 1921
Nikolai Krasil’nikov, workshop of Nikolai Ladovskii, apartment building 1921
I Reberg, Crematorium (Diploma Project, 1920
V Ianovskii, Revelation of structure, first year (1924)
Unknown, Ladovskii’s workshop, Alkaline manufacturing tower, revelation of volume and space, 1922
V Vladimirov, Nikolai Ladovskii’s workshop, grain elevator, revelation and expression of form, 1922
G Gol’ts, Nikolai Ladovskii’s workshop, architectural and spatial design of the entrance to Nikitskii boulevard in Moscow, 1920-1921
G Gol’ts, Nikolai Ladovskii’s workshop, architectural and spatial design of the entrance to Nikitskii boulevard in Moscow, 1920-1921
Iurii Spasskii, Nikolai Ladovskii’s workshop, Grain elevator, revelation and expression of form, 1922
Iurii Mushinsky, Nikolai Ladovskii’s workshop. Wharf with a restaurant under a rock over the sea, revelation of the physico-mechanical properties of formIurii Mushinsky, Nikolai Ladovskii’s workshop. Wharf with a restaurant under a rock over the sea, revelation of the physico-mechanical properties of form
G Gol’ts, Nikolai Ladovskii’s workshop, architectural and spatial design of the entrance to Nikitskii boulevard in Moscow, 1920-1921
Decorative composition for Ladovskii’s class, 1923
Decorative composition for Ladovskii’s class, 1923
Lidiia Komarova, thesis project for Nikolai Ladovskii’s studio, 1923
Unknown, project for Nikolai Ladovskii’s studio, 1926

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Buried treasure: The splendor of the Moscow Metro system

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Owen Hatherley
The Calvert Journal
January 29, 2013

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Reposted from The Calvert Journal, a daily briefing on the culture and creativity of modern Russia.

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Post-Communist underground stations in Moscow, like the recently completed Pyatnitskoye shosse, are still, very visibly, Moscow Metro stations. Regardless of the need or otherwise for nuclear shelters, they’re still buried deep in the ground; ubiquitous still is the expensive, laborious, but highly legible and architecturally breathtaking practice of providing high-ceilinged vaults with the trains leaving from either side. There have been attempts at “normal” metro lines, like the sober stations built under Khrushchev, or the “Light Metro” finished in 2003, but they didn’t catch on. Largely, the model developed in the mid-1930s continues, and not just in Moscow — extensions in Kiev or St Petersburg, or altogether new systems in Kazan or Almaty, carry on this peculiar tradition. Metro stations are still being treated as palaces of the people, over two decades after the “people’s” states collapsed. This could be a question of maintaining quality control, but then quality is not conspicuous in the Russian built environment. So why does this endure?

Moscow Metro station
Moscow Metro station
Moscow Metro station
Moscow Metro station
Moscow Metro station
Moscow Metro station
Moscow Metro station
Moscow Metro station
Moscow Metro station

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The original, 1930s Moscow Metro was the place where even the most skeptical fellow travellers threw away their doubts and surrendered. Bertolt Brecht wrote an awe-filled poem on the subject, “The Moscow Workers Take Possession of the Great Metro on April 27, 1935,” dropping his habitual irony and dialectic to describe the Metro workers perusing the system they’d built on the day of its opening. At the end, the poet gasps, his guard down, “This is the grand picture that once upon a time/ rocked the writers who foresaw it” — that is, that here, at least, a dream of “Communism” had been palpably built. It was not an uncommon reaction, then or now, nostalgia notwithstanding. The first stations, those Brecht was talking about, were not particularly over-ornamented, especially by the standards of what came later, but their extreme opulence and spaciousness was still overwhelming. Stations like Sokolniki or Kropotkinskaya didn’t bludgeon with classical reminisces and mosaics. Yet three things about the underground designs created by architects Alexei Dushkin, Ivan Fomin, Dmitry Chechulin et al were unprecedented in any previous public transport network, whether Charles Holden’s London, Alfred Grenander’s Berlin or Hector Guimard’s Paris. First, the huge size of the halls, their high ceilings and widely-spaced columns; second, the quality of the materials, with various coloured marbles shipped in from all over the USSR; and third, the lighting, emerging from individually-designed, surreal chandeliers, often murkily atmospheric, designed to create mood rather than light.

[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jDC9Fd7UT9w] Continue reading →

Narkomtiazhporn: The pornographic proto-Stalinism of the Commissariat of Heavy Industry

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Narkomtiazhprom + archiporn
Narkomtiazhprom + archiporn =
Narkomtiazhporn.

The competition for the design of the National Commissariat of Heavy Industry building [Наркомтяжпром] would be the last under Stalin to feature a number of submissions using modernist forms and techniques. Heavy industry is always sexy: scorched, hardened bodies covered in sweat, filth, and grime. Sparks spew all about, illuminating in flashes the piping and steel grating that surrounds. There’s no orgasm quite like the panting, hyperventilating surge toward climax one experiences while suffering from black lung. No sex like pneumoconiosic sex.

Already here, though, one can discern the contours of an emerging Stalinist sublime. This can be seen in the absurd scale onto which neoclassical forms have been projected. The contest for the Palace of the Soviets had been completed, to nearly universal disappointment within the modernist camp. There can be little doubt that the winning design from that whole affair weighed heavily on the minds of the modernists.

Like so many other architectural projects from the time, Narkomtiazhprom would never be built. Some have questioned whether it was really ever meant to be built at all, or if it was rather a ruse intended to unmask newly-unionized architects who were still harboring some loyalty to modernism.

Narkomtiazhporn

Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934
Photo of proposed Narkomtiazhprom, 1933-1934
Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934
Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934
Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934
Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934
Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934
Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934
Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934
Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934
Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934
Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934
Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934
Vesnin brothers’ Narkomtiazhprom proposal for Moscow, 1933-1934
Vesnin brothers’ Narkomtiazhprom proposal for Moscow, 1933-1934
Ivan Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom model (1934)
Ivan Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom model (1934)
Ivan Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom proposal (1934)
Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom (1932)
Sketches and proposals by Ivan Leonidov
Ivan Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom proposal (1934)
Konstantin Mel’nikov’s Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934
Narkomtiazhprom proposal, 1933-1934

Georgii Krutikov, The Flying City (VKhUTEMAS diploma project, 1928)

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The conquest of gravity


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В 1928 году молодой архитектор Георгий Крутиков на защите дипломных работ во Вхутеине представил совершенно безумный по тем временам дипломный проект «Город будущего», который сразу же стал сенсацией. Концепция «летающего города» заключалась в следующем: архитектор предлагал оставить землю для труда, отдыха и туризма, а жилые помещения перенести в парящие в облаках города — коммуны.

In 1928, the young architect Georgii Krutikov, in defending his diploma work at VKhUTEIN, presented a thesis project completely insane for the time, a “City of the Future,” which immediately became a sensation. The concept of a “flying city” was as follows: the architect proposed to leave work, leisure, and tourism on the ground, while living areas would be moved to communes floating in the clouds of the city.

Translated by Natalia Melikova, with slight edits by me.

Georgii Krutikov, 1927

Julia Vaingurt

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Possibly one of the most interesting and the most telling projects of such artistic investigations of the time was the Flying City of Georgii Krutikov. A student of architecture at Vkhutemas, Krutikov presented his project “The City of the Future” as his graduation thesis in 1928. It is telling that Krutikov called his project a quest. It was a quest for mobile architecture. Krutikov’s project was as much a child of its age as Tatlin’s machines and Khlebnikov’s city-plants. Just like these artists, Krutikov was fascinated by movement and flexibility. Departing from the rigid forms dominating the architecture of the time, his city would incorporate living, plastic structures capable of changing qualitatively and quantitatively in accordance with changes in the environment itself. The goal of Krutikov’s work was to prove the theoretical possibility and preferability of mobile architecture.

In his project, industrial and commercial spaces are located on the ground, while residential quarters are suspended in the air. The architecture itself is not in motion, but it will mobilize its inhabitants, who will be able to reach their homes only via individual flying capsules. Selim Khan-Magomedov, who first brought Krutikov’s project to a wider audience in 1973, studied Krutikov’s thesis and concluded that its author “was fully aware that the project of housing structures suspended in space has significance only (at least, for the near future) as an essentially investigatory (speculative) idea.” At a time when the state was taking a pragmatic and utilitarian approach to its existence with the adoption of the First Five-Year Plan, Krutikov envisioned a project whose value to immediate tasks at hand was very ill-defined.

Despite the awareness Khan-Magomedov mentions of the complex’s utter unfeasibility, at least for the foreseeable future, Krutikov was determined to prove its physical possibility. The scale of the project humbled inept contemporaries and mocked the scarcity of the material means at their disposal while exposing the riches of the universe and its offerings to humanity. In this theoretically possible and practically impossible project, technology becomes a part of “nature” — since the potential for this undertaking is present in it — and takes on its sublime quality. Even eighty years later this project lends itself primarily to aesthetic appreciation, its sheer magnitude arousing feelings of awe and incredulity. The pleasure that Krutikov’s project offers is the pleasure in the sublime, a disinterested pleasure in perceiving something immense that transcends a moment and a place.

Krutikov’s portfolio

Georgii Krutikov, diploma portfolio for The Flying City (1928)Georgii Krutikov, diploma portfolio for The Flying City (1928)Georgii Krutikov, diploma portfolio for The Flying City (1928)

From Richard Stites’ Revolutionary Dreams (1981):

A far more popular craze of the 1920s that fed into science fiction was aviation. Russian fascination with aeronautics has been immense in our time — a kind of fear of not flying, of remaining earthbound and thus immobile. Flying — as in the archetypical dream — is a kinetic metaphor for liberation. The literary obsession with it in Europe, America, and Russia is well-known. Figures such as Tatlin and Mayakovsky are inconceivable without the airplane image. Vasily Kamensky — like d’Annunzio — was an aviator poet. Alexander Lavinsky in 1923 designed a plan for an “airborne city.” And Georgy Krutikov in 1928 envisaged a “Flying City Apartment Building” moored to dirigibles when at anchor. Taking off into a better world was semantically and psychologically linked to taking flight. The revolutionary terrorist Nikolai Kibalchich, waiting for his execution in 1881, designed a flying machine that was based on rocket principles. The father of Soviet rocket design, Konstantin Tsiolkovsky, hatched most of his ideas while living in an obscure little Russian town. N. A. Rynin, professor and popularizer of space literature in the 1920s, began his work on the cosmic age during the dark years of the Civil War.  “I was hungry, ” he recalled, “I was cold, but one good thing about it — nobody came to see me .“

From Jean-Louis Cohen’s The Future of Architecture since 1889 (2012):

[C]ertain thesis projects still explored radical hypotheses for public buildings. Ivan Leonidov designed a Lenin Institute (1927) with a prophetic structure made of cables and futuristic electronic technology; Georgei Krutikov designed a Flying City (1928). After visiting the Vkhutemas in 1928, Le Corbusier described the school in his journal as an “extraordinary demonstration of the modern credo,” adding: “Here a new world is being rebuilt” out of a “mystique which gives rise to a pure technique.”

Below are some more of Krutikov’s drawings. Enjoy!

Georgii Krutikov’s Flying City

Detail of Georgii Krutikov’s Flying City (1928)
Detail of Georgii Krutikov’s Flying City (1928)
Detail of Georgii Krutikov’s Flying City (1928)
Detail of Georgii Krutikov’s Flying City (1928)
Detail of Georgii Krutikov’s Flying City (1928)
Detail of Georgii Krutikov’s Flying City (1928)
Detail of Georgii Krutikov’s Flying City (1928)
Detail of Georgii Krutikov’s Flying City (1928)

Bury me beneath the Black Square

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The Suprematist funeral
of Kazimir Malevich

Untitled.
Image: Malevich’s funeral procession,
his coffin carried by Suetin and others (1935)
untitled2

On the death of Kazimir Malevich
……………………………...………(1935)

Daniil Kharms

Ripping the stream of memory,
You look around and your face is pride-stricken.
Your name is — Kazimir.
The sun of your salvation wanes and you look at it.
Beauty has supposedly torn apart your earth’s mountains,
No area can frame your figure.
Give me those eyes of yours! I’ll throw open a window in my head!
Man, why have you stricken your face with pride?
Your life is only a fly and your desire is succulent food.
No glow comes from the sun of your salvation.
Thunder will lay low the helmet of your head.

Daniil Kharms, aburdist Soviet poet

Daniil Kharms, aburdist Soviet poet

Pe — is the inkpot of your words.
Trr — is your desire.
Agalthon — is your skinny memory.
Hey, Kazimir! Where’s your desk?
Looks as if it’s not here, and your desire is — Trr.
Hey, Kazimir! Where’s your friend?
She is also gone, and your memory’s inkpot is — Pe.

Malevich in his sickbed, approaching death (1935)
Malevich in his deathbed, surrounded by his works (1935)
Malevich in his deathbed, surrounded by his works (1935)
Suetin’s arkhitekton coffin for Malevich (1935), side view
Suetin’s arkhitekton coffin for Malevich (1935)
Malevich’s body placed into Suetin’s coffin, shortly after the artist’s death (1935)
Attendants of Kazimir Malevich’s funeral (1935)
Malevich’s funeral procession, his coffin carried forward by Suetin and others (1935)
Malevich’s funeral car, with the black square (1935)
Malevich’s funeral car, with the black square (1935)
Malevich’s grave, underneath the black square (1935)
Malevich’s grave, underneath the black square (1935)
Malevich’s grave, underneath the black square (1935)
Malevich’s grave, underneath the black square (1935)
Malevich’s grave, underneath the black square (1935)

Eight years have crackled away in those ears of yours.
Fifty minutes have beat away in that heart of yours.
Ten times has the river flowed before you.
The inkpot of your desire Trr and Pe has ended.
“Imagine that!” you say, and your memory is — Agalthon.
There you stand, pushing apart smoke with your hands supposedly.
The pride-stricken expression on that face of yours wanes,
And your memory and your desire Trr disappear.

May 17, 1935
Translated by
Ilya Bernstein Continue reading →

Marx and Wertkritik

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Elmar Flatschart
Alan Milchman
Jamie Merchant

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Originally published in the Platypus Review. On Saturday, April 6, 2013, the Platypus Affiliated Society hosted a panel, “Marx and Wertkritik,” at its Fifth Annual International Convention, held at the School of the Art Institute Chicago. The panel featured Elmar Flatschart of the German theoretical journal EXIT!, Alan Milchman of Internationalist Perspective, and Jamie Merchant of Permanent Crisis. It was moderated by Gregor Baszak, of Platypus. What follows is an edited transcript of their discussion. A full recording of the event can be found online. 

Event Description

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Perhaps one of the most influential developments in Marxist thought coming from Germany in the last decades has been the emergence of value critique. Building on Marx’s later economic works, value critics stress the importance of abolishing value (the abstract side of the commodity), pointing out problems in traditional Marxism’s emphasis on the “dictatorship of the proletariat”. The German value-critical journal Krisis has famously attacked what they believed was a social democratic fetishization of labor in their 1999 Manifesto Against Labor. Such notions have drawn criticism from more “orthodox” Marxists who miss the role of the political in value critique and the possibility of immanent transformation through engaging the realities of capitalist societies.

Did the later Marx abandon his political convictions that he expressed in the Manifesto? What about his later political writings, such as his “Critique of the Gotha Program,” in which he outlines the different phases of early communism? Is Marxism a scientific project, as claims from value critics seem to indicate? Was Marx trying to develop of a “science of value” in his later works? What can value critique teach us after the defeat of the Left in 20th century? Did traditional Marxism necessarily lead to the defeat of the Left?
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Elmar Flatschart: Value critique, or, following the theorem developed by Roswitha Scholz, a critique of value-diremption [Wertabspaltungskritik], seeks to understand and critique the fundamental mechanisms that govern modern society. This critique is not as interested in the political Marx of class struggle and the workers’ movement, but more in the philosophical aspects of his work that focus on the abstract and fetishized character of modern domination. This approach tries to keep the abstract critical theory of society strictly separate from the contradictory practical attempts to overcome capitalism. Marxism shouldn’t be understood as an identity-giving, wholesome position, which history proved to be erroneous, but should be reduced to a theoretical core that can help us to understand society, via a negative critique, even if it does not necessarily provide us with a way out. The call for the abolition of labor does not have immediate ramifications for Marxist politics.

There is no new program or a master plan for emancipation that can be developed out of the abolition of value. Rather, it can be seen as a condition of emancipation from value and the abstract system of oppression it represents. How emancipation will be achieved is a more complex story. We know what will not work: much of what the Old Left proposed as Marxist politics. A lot of that should be abandoned because, essentially, abstract domination cannot be abolished through the imposition of some other kind of direct, personal domination. If we are to critique the abstractions of the economic forms, we similarly have to target the political form itself. While Marx and Engels suggested as much by their formulation of the state eventually “withering away,” I think we need to be a lot more radical. Emancipation ultimately has to mean the abolishment of the political as well. This is contradictory in the present political situation, but we should not try to postpone this task until after the revolution. We should see the constraints and the fetishizations immanent to the political form as something we want to get rid of now. Continue reading →

Paxton’s Crystal Palace at Hyde Park (1851)

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I recently finished reviewing Douglas Murphy‘s debut book The Architecture of Failure (2012). For whatever reason, the review took me much longer than I had anticipated. Nevertheless, I am extremely pleased with the result and have submitted it in the hope it might be published somewhere soon.

As a way of disburdening myself of its unbearable weight, in light of its completion, I’m including a gallery that features some of the more impressive photographs and renderings I was able to find of Paxton’s original Crystal Palace at Hyde Park (1851). Of course, it is important to make this specification given the widespread confusion surrounding it and a subsequent (heavily altered) iteration of the Palace after the bulk of its materials were relocated to Sydenham, only now with an arched transept running cruciform along it, bisecting the front vault.

For any Russian readers who might follow my blog, I will leave you with an abbreviated version of Dostoevskii’s literary treatment of the subject in Notes from Underground:

Вы верите в хрустальное здание, навеки нерушимое, то есть в такое, которому нельзя будет ни языка украдкой выставить, ни кукиша в кармане показать. Ну, а я, может быть, потому-то и боюсь этого здания, что оно хрустальное и навеки нерушимое и что нельзя будет даже и украдкой языка ему выставить.

Вот видите ли: если вместо дворца будет курятник и пойдет дождь, я, может быть, и влезу в курятник, чтоб не замочиться, но все-таки курятника не приму за дворец из благодарности, что он меня от дождя сохранил. Вы смеетесь, вы даже говорите, что в этом случае курятник и хоромы — все равно. Да, — отвечаю я, — если б надо было жить только для того, чтоб не замочиться.

Image gallery

Rendering of the interior of Paxton’s 1851 Crystal Palace at Hyde Park
Color rendering of the interior of Paxton’s 1851 Crystal Palace at Hyde Park
Black and white rendering of the interior to Paxton’s 1851 Crystal Palace at Hyde Park
Figure 3: Photograph of the interior of Paxton’s 1851 Crystal Palace at Hyde Park
Photograph of the interior of Paxton’s 1851 Crystal Palace at Hyde Park
Photograph of Paxton’s 1851 Crystal Palace at Hyde Park
Photograph of the exterior of Paxton’s 1851 Crystal Palace at Hyde Park
Sketch of the interior of the Crystal Palace at Hyde Park (1851)
Sketch of the exterior of the Crystal Palace at Hyde Park under construction (1851)
Color sketch of the interior of the Crystal Palace at Hyde Park (1851)
Sketch of the interior of the Crystal Palace at Hyde Park (1851)
Color sketch of the interior of the Crystal Palace at Hyde Park (1851)
Color sketch of the interior of the Crystal Palace at Hyde Park (1851)
Sketch of the interior of the Crystal Palace at Hyde Park (1851)
Sketch of the interior of the Crystal Palace at Hyde Park (1851)
Vladimir Lenin standing and talking

A snapshot of historical self-consciousness

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Photograph of a display honoring the
First through the Third International,
with gigantic constructivist arrows (1919)

Honoring the First through Third Internationals (1919), with gigantic constructivist arrows

Outdoor diorama honoring the First through Third Internationals (1919), with gigantic constructivist arrows

Photographic details

Vladimir Lenin standing and talking
Third International closeup, with Lenin
First International Marx closeup
Crowd in Red Square
Soldiers in front of the monument
Plaque commemorating the fallen Bavarian Soviet
To the glory of India, China, workers of the world unite

Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom [Наркомтяжпром Леонидова], 1934

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Above: Ivan Leonidov

From explanatory notes to the Narkomtiazhprom competition

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Until now the architecture of the Kremlin and St. Basil’s Cathedral have formed the architectural center of Moscow. It is natural that with the construction of a colossal new building on Red Square, the role of some buildings within the ensemble of this central Moscow complex will change.

I consider that the architecture of the Kremlin and St. Basil’s Cathedral should be subordinated to the architecture of the Narkomtiazhprom [Commissariat of Heavy Industry], and that this building itself must occupy the central place in the city.

The architecture of Red Square and the Kremlin is a delicate and majestic piece of music. The introduction into this symphony of an instrument so strong in its sound and so huge in scale is permissible only on condition that the new instrument will lead the orchestra, and will excel over all the others in its architectural quality.

The foundations of the competition of the Narkomtiazhprom building must lie not in splendor, or in the florid trumpery of details and forms, but in simplicity, severity, harmonious dynamism, and pithiness of content. Historical motifs must be compositionally subordinated to this leading element, on the principle of aesthetic contrast.

In the project the high towers are the compositional center. Their forms are determined by both functional considerations and architectural ones, in which I include such factors as the need for a clear structure of composition, for a sense of movement, and for powerful spatiality and grandeur. The low parts of the building such as the auditorium, speakers’ tribunes, exhibition areas, and the rear building are related in heigh to the surrounding architecture, and this lower plan is assembled in a composition of lesser contrasts.

Three towers:

The first is rectangular in plan with a lightweight, openwork top, and its main elevation faces Red Square. The top is glazed with suspended terraces constructed of stainless steel.

The circular tower is conceived as a contrasting element to the first. In form and treatment it is picturesque, with balcony-like terraces on its exterior. Here the material is glazed brick, and the surface character of this unusual material is what makes it possible to achieve this integrity of form. The illumination inside the tower is diffused; visibility is resolved by the insertion of vertical windows of clear glass within the general pattern of the cladding. At night the tower will stand out with its light silhouette and barely-perceptible structural frame, and with the dark patches of the balconies.

The third tower has a complex spatial configuration on plan, while being simple and strong in elevation.

Red Square, as the focal space of the entire proletarian collective, must not cut itself off from access by this proletariat, and therefore the low parts of the building must be treated in such a way that they enter into the general idea of ideologically saturated movement in the Square.

This is achieved by placing spectator stands in the foreground.

The Square is divided into two terraces at different levels. This makes it possible to achieve new effects in military parades, such as putting the tanks onto one level and the cavalry on the other.

Even with the existing width of the Square, it is impossible to provide a good view of the Lenin Mausoleum from the GUM side, when it is used as a saluting base for Party leaders] during the parades and mach-pasts. Extension of the Square to a width of 200 meters will create even greater difficulties of visibility. But this terraced treatment of the Square will also provide good views of the Mausoleum.

The main accommodation in this project is distributed as follows:

The main foyer is located in the center of the building and illuminated from above. Entrances are provided from the new boulevard, and from Ilinka and Nikol’skaia Streets.

The polyclinic, kindergarten, creche, mechanized canteen, hotel, and library are located in the lower volume behind the spectator steps. Here too are all other forms of service accommodation.

All accommodation for the working operation of the Commissariat is located in the towers, which are interconnected by aerial walkways. The Workers’ Club faces towards Sverdlov Square, and is connected by a passageway with the main entrance foyer. The total built volume of the complex is 1,064,460 cubic meters.

Arkhitektura SSSR, 1934 № 10, pgs. 14-15

Ivan Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom proposal (1934)
Sketches and proposals by Ivan Leonidov
Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom tower proposal (1932)
Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom tower proposal (1932)
Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom tower proposal (1932)
Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom (1932)
Ivan Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom proposal (1934)
Ivan Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom proposal (1934)
Ivan Leonidov’s proposal for a House of Industry (1929)
Ivan Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom model (1934)
Ivan Leonidov’s Narkomtiazhprom model (1934)

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Aelita, or the decline of Mars

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With an image gallery and synopsis

Untitled.
Image: Still from Aelita (1924)
untitled2.

Image gallery

Still from Aelita (1924)
Movie poster for Aelita in Russian (1924)
Movie poster for Aelita in German (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Book cover to Tolstoi’s Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Building the constructivist set for Aelita (1924)
Building the constructivist set for Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
The constructivist Martian surface from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)
Still from Aelita (1924)

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ENGINEER M.S. LOS INVITES ALL WHO WISH TO FLY WITH HIM TO THE PLANET OF MARS ON AUGUST 18 TO CALL ON HIM BETWEEN 6 AND 8 PM AT 11 ZHDANOVSKAYA EMBANKMENT.

This notice is hanging on the wall of a deserted building in Petrograd. A tall, broad-shouldered demobilized soldier named Aleksei Ivanovich Gusev reads the notice and reacts approvingly. An American reporter named Archibald Skiles also sees it and is stunned. He assumes that the author must be either a fraud or a raving lunatic.

Building the constructivist set for Aelita (1924)

Building the constructivist set for Aelita (1924)

The workshop

Skiles goes to the modest shed/workshop where engineer Mstislav Sergeevich Los is constructing his spacecraft, a metallic egg about 8 and a half meters high and 6 meters in diameter. Los estimates that his trip to Mars will take only eight or nine hours, since he’ll be traveling at close to the speed of light. The spacecraft is powered by ultralyddite, a fine powder which is more powerful than any other known explosive (and which was discovered by Petrograd factory workers!)

Skiles asks who is financing the project, and Los says the Soviet Republic is. Skiles offers to pay Los in advance for his travel notes — six articles of 200 lines each at ten dollars per line. Los accepts payment.

Still from Aelita (1924)

Still from Aelita (1924)

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