Important: This API is currently in pre-release status and is only available to approved early access participants. The API is under development and might change before being generally released. To become an early access participant, contact your SAP Concur Representative.
Streamline user onboarding with Sign in with Concur – a new feature that allows new users to log on to a partner application using their Concur credentials. Similar to the single sign-on feature provided by Facebook and other social applications, Sign in with Concur reduces the time and effort involved in setting up an account with our partner apps.
For partners
For users
Sign in with Concur solves access and support issues for all of our various types of partner integrations:
Consumer applications
Business travelers use in-policy providers but may not have an existing loyalty account. Gain access to the network of business travelers and expense users of Concur by simplifying their first purchase.
Front office applications
Travel and Expense Policy administrators reduce the company’s cost via volume purchasing through your application or service; reduce your integration and support overhead as well by removing the need to manage individual user accounts associate with those customers.
Back office applications
Automate the process of provisioning users for your application using data from Concur.
Simplify log in and support for users that log in infrequently by leveraging Concur’s authentication.
Select Sign in with Concur from the site login menu
Pick Authentication Option
Single-sign on users can utilize the “Send a link to my email” option.
If the user selects “One-time Link”:
Enter Email address
Confirmation page
Email example
If the user selects “Enter Concur Credentials”:
Complete!
For both authentication flows, once authorized, the account is provisioned and user is logged in
1. Obtain your Application clientID and clientSecret
Before you can integrate Sign in with Concur into your application, you need to register your application with Concur. You can do this by contacting your Partner Enablement Manager or Partner Account Manager. Once you have registered an application, you will receive a clientId
and clientSecret
. The clientId
is a unique UUID4 identifier for your application, and the clientSecret
is your application password. You will be using this credential to obtain tokens either for the application itself, or on behalf of a user.
2. Add the button to your application
The first script adds the Concur style library to your page and the second applies the style to your button.

Clicking this button renders the Sign in with Concur screen which presents two options to the user for signing in: 1) using Concur credentials OR 2) using a link sent via email.
Option 2 is designed for users who do not want to use passwords or those that do not have passwords such as Single Sign On (SSO) users.
3. Handle Authorization Completion
When users choose the email option, an email will be sent to the user that contains the redirect_uri
chosen by the partner in Step 1. If the user selects the username and password option, after accepting the scopes, the user is also sent to the redirect_uri
provided.
There will also be a temporary one-time use code which is appended to this redirect_uri
. For example, if our redirect URI is https://www.hipmunk.com/auth/concur/callback, the code will be returned as:
```
https://www.hipmunk.com/auth/concur/callback?cc=<token>
```
The call to this redirect_uri
will contain a temporary code cc
which should be used to obtain an official oauth2 accesstoken
and refreshtoken
.
The response for a successful call will look like this:
**HTTP/** 1.1200 **OK**
;Content-Type: application/json
Date: date-requested
Content-Length: 3397
Connection: Close
{
"expires_in":"3600",
"scope":"app-scope",
"token_type":"Bearer",
"access_token":"new-access_token",
"refresh_token":"new-refresh_token",
"refresh_expiry":"refresh_token_expiry",
"geolocation":"https://us.api.concursolutions.com"
}
4. Retrieve User Profile information
Once the partner completes the oauth2 flow, they receive an access_token
and refresh_token
. Using the access_token
and within the hour lifetime of the token, the partner has the ability to call SAP Concur APIs. Your application may call the Profile API to obtain user information in order to provision an account in the partner’s application.
TripLink Suppliers see the appendix for more details.
Here’s an example to retrieve profile information for a User in the Production environment using cURL ( Base URIs for other Environments):
curl -k -v -H "Accept: application/json"\
-H "Authorization: Bearer …ypN2lukfWACR-26otN50c0OzY6kgY06RA"\
https://us.api.concursolutions.com/profile/v1/me
The response from the Profile service will be a compact version of the User profile. The schema can be found here.
5. Create user’s account and log user into partner application immediately for a seamless user experience.
Once the user is logged in, your application must determine whether an existing account exists. Your application can do so by pulling user information from the application and SAP Concur profile.
For users connected to SAP Concur through the Concur App Center or otherwise, your application can match the SAP Concur unique user ID.
For users with existing, non-SAP Concur accounts , the unique user information in your application can be matched with information in SAP Concur (e.g. email address).
If the user does not have an existing account , your application must provision a user account. In this case, the partner maintains the user’s profile over time. This is beneficial as it allows the app to post data for the user following the initial session. For example, it allows users make changes to a reservation and receive updates within SAP Concur and/or receive receipts for services charged after delivery such as hotel stays.
In all cases, the user’s token, geolocation and user UUID should be stored. As applications vary in the information required to create a new user record and utilize the service, your application should leverage data from the user profile endpoint where possible.
Once the account is provisioned or matched, the application must:
In all cases, the error description provided by Concur should be displayed to the user.
The following covers special cases that require additional handling.
In the case the user leaves the sign in process or sign in is unsuccessful, the user will be redirected to the following:
Your_Redirect_Uri?
error_code=user_denied
&error_description=The+user+denied+your+request.
Apps should then provide the user with alternative connection methods:
Customers have the option to disable applications for their users. In these cases, the user will be redirected to the following:
Your_Redirect_Uri?
error_code=
&error_description=
In this case, the user will not be able to access your application using Sign in with Concur. The error description should be displayed to the user and the user given alternate sign in methods (e.g. create an account).
This section covers guidelines for specific Sign in with Concur implementations.
Company-wide integrations are unique in that your application will interact with SAP Concur both on a batch level (for example, GET or POST for multiple employees) but also allow individuals to sign in to the service without creating a new account.
When an application supports enterprise integrations, the user’s account should be associated with the company’s information (company UUID) so that the company token can be used to process batch transactions.
In addition, the administrator will need to identify the users which should have access to your application. Given that, the administrator must first add users to your service. An example of the set up and sign in process are documented below.
The below diagram illustrates the initial set up process. To set up the connection, the administrator must identify the users of your service.
Note that, in addition to identifying users of the service, your application may also require that roles/permissions be assigned to individual users to determine access to various features and functionality of your service. Role and permissions assignment are not depicted in the diagram below as the requirements may differ for each client application.
Once added to the service, users must then verify their identity before first sign in. This process uses the One-Time Password Grant to first validate the user is the owner of the email address used to uniquely identify that individual. Once validated, the user may sign in with username and password going forward.
When a user first navigates to your application, you may offer multiple sign in options, including Sign in with Concur. Once signed in, your application must validate that users have completed the one-time verification.
If the user has not completed the one-time verification when visiting your site, the One-Time Password Grant should be initiated on the user’s behalf.
The below illustrates the process for users signing in to your service.
Depending on the products the customer has enabled, integrations and features available with Sign in with Concur vary. The following defines the scopes that are applicable product combinations. Your application must support each of the below potential scope configurations:
* Special Note: For TripLink Suppliers that support the Travel Receipts API, this API does not support Expense only users. It is recommended that e-receipts be posted for these or all users via the Receipts API.
To determine which permissions the user has access to, each time a user signs in *, your application should:
A user can have one or more permissions that will dictate the scopes applicable to that user.
curl -k -v -H "Accept: application/json"\
-H "Authorization: Bearer …ypN2lukfWACR-26otN50c0OzY6kgY06RA"\
https://us.api.concursolutions.com/api/user/v1.0/user
The detailed response can be found here: /api-reference/user/ (snippet below).
| Name | Type | Format | Description |
|---|---|---|---|
| ExpenseUser | string | Whether the user has access to Expense. Format: Y/N. | |
| TripUser | string | Whether the user has access to Travel. Format: Y/N. |
The response will indicate whether the is an Expense or Travel user.
If an expense user only , only the e-receipts scope is applicable and the user will not be eligible for other travel discounts or automated itinerary creation in Concur.
If a travel user, use the token to call the Travel Profile API .
Within this response, is the “HasOpenBooking” parameter; if “true” the user is eligible for TripLink.
If the user has travel only, they will not receive e-receipts.
The user’s permissions can then be used to determine which scopes and APIs are applicable for updates to an existing booking and/or e-receipts.
The following language codes are supported in by Sign in with Concur.
| Code | Name |
|---|---|
| en | English (US) |


PwC Survey
Do you analyze non-functional requirements for your application to get the idea of production user traffic, system response time, transaction rate etc?
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Do you have a streamlined performance baselining process i.e regular load/stress testing of application and analysis of captured performance metrics?
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The Last Samurai
Nathan Algren is an American hired to instruct the Japanese army in the ways of modern warfare, which finds him learning to respect the samurai and the honorable principles that rule them. Pressed to destroy the samurai's way of life in the name of modernization and open trade, Algren decides to become an ultimate warrior himself and to fight for their right to exist.


Documentation for As3 projects
View My GitHub Profile
Here you will find documentation and training documents for use with as3 products.


 What is there today? It could be a new building, a fence preventing access, a different person who lives there, an unexpected renovation, new infrastructure or barren land. What was there before?
Take a moment and consider other sites that you know of which remind you of how your place has changed. Perhaps a chain store that replaced a small business, tall buildings that conceal the wear of time, a new public restroom, surveillance cameras, a wellness clinic or a work of art. What do these other sites have in common with, or differ from, what stands in your place that is no longer there.
If you would like to receive a copy of your writing along with information about this project please fill out the fields below. If not, proceed to the next section.
Name
Review the text below before submitting to be sure it appears as you would like it to. Please read the consent statement below.
End Credits for the Places That Make Us is a participatory art project, initiated by Emilio Martínez Poppe, that invites reflection and collective recording of the ways urban places and our memory of them are layered in our bodies, in language, and in the world around us. This website serves as a platform for aggregating these “credits”. All visitors to the Queens Museum from October 7, 2018 to February 24, 2019 are welcome to participate. The credits will be on display near the entrance to the Panorama of the City of New York until the end of the exhibition after which they will be hosted for public view on the Queens International 2018: Volumes website.
You are invited to evoke and honor a place (or places) that you feel have nurtured a sense of belonging in you and that are no longer there as such. This is to say, this place has been removed, replaced, forgotten, or your relationship to it has changed through distance and time.
These are places that have held us in ways that shaped who we are and how we define community. Places that would remember us when we were not there. Places that are now absent but continue to live in us. How do we carry them onward?
This is one of three kiosks in the museum where you can make an entry in the collective credits. Each kiosk hosts different prompts which facilitate different way of evoking the places that make us. The credits are installed in the North-East corner of the museum and can be viewed from the second floor mezzanine. A site map with accessible routes through the museum can be found below.
Site design by Emilio Martínez Poppe
Web development by Diego Cáceres Cardoza
Special thanks to Wilton Martínez and KT Pe Benito


pymatgen.io.abinit.wrappers module¶
Wrappers for ABINIT main executables
-
class
Mrgscr
(manager=None, executable=None, verbose=0)[source]¶ Bases:
pymatgen.io.abinit.wrappers.ExecWrapper
Parameters: - manager –
TaskManager
object responsible for the submission of the jobs. if manager is None, the default manager is used. - executable – path to the executable.
- verbose – Verbosity level.
- manager –
-
class
Mrggkk
(manager=None, executable=None, verbose=0)[source]¶ Bases:
pymatgen.io.abinit.wrappers.ExecWrapper
Parameters: - manager –
TaskManager
object responsible for the submission of the jobs. if manager is None, the default manager is used. - executable – path to the executable.
- verbose – Verbosity level.
-
merge
(workdir, gswfk_file, dfpt_files, gkk_files, out_gkk, binascii=0)[source]¶ Merge GGK files, return the absolute path of the new database.
Parameters: - gswfk_file – Ground-state WFK filename
- dfpt_files – List of 1WFK files to merge.
- gkk_files – List of GKK files to merge.
- out_gkk – Name of the output GKK file
- binascii – Integer flat. 0 –> binary output, 1 –> ascii formatted output
- manager –
-
class
Mrgddb
(manager=None, executable=None, verbose=0)[source]¶ Bases:
pymatgen.io.abinit.wrappers.ExecWrapper
Parameters: - manager –
TaskManager
object responsible for the submission of the jobs. if manager is None, the default manager is used. - executable – path to the executable.
- verbose – Verbosity level.
- manager –
-
class
Mrgdvdb
(manager=None, executable=None, verbose=0)[source]¶ Bases:
pymatgen.io.abinit.wrappers.ExecWrapper
Parameters: - manager –
TaskManager
object responsible for the submission of the jobs. if manager is None, the default manager is used. - executable – path to the executable.
- verbose – Verbosity level.
- manager –


This inspection reports any instances of JavaScript functions which return a value in some circumstances and return without a value in others. While legal, such code almost certainly represents a programming error
Powered by InspectionJS


Items are a way to add interaction with player to our games. We can put our Items into Scenes y create actions on them.


Class AnswerCallbackQueryMethod.
Use this method to send answers to callback queries sent from inline keyboards. The answer will be displayed to the user as a notification at the top of the chat screen or as an alert. On success, True is returned.
| see | |
|---|---|
| package | Default |
create(string $callbackQueryId, array|null $data = null
) : \TgBotApi\BotApiBase\Method\AnswerCallbackQueryMethod
string
array
null
\TgBotApi\BotApiBase\Exception\BadArgumentException |
|---|
\TgBotApi\BotApiBase\Method\AnswerCallbackQueryMethod
fill(array $data, array $forbidden = array()
)
array
array
\TgBotApi\BotApiBase\Exception\BadArgumentException |
|---|
$cacheTime : \DateTimeInterface | null
Telegram apps will support caching starting in version 3.14. Defaults to 0.
$callbackQueryId : string
$showAlert : boolean | null
Defaults to false.
$text : string | null
$url : string | null
If you have created a Game and accepted the conditions via @Botfather, specify the URL that opens your game – note that this will only work if the query comes from a callback_game button.
Otherwise, you may use links like t.me/your_bot?start=XXXX that open your bot with a parameter.


Meet Samer!
Hello, my name is Samer. I'm your virtual agent bot. you can chat with me about anything!


In his 1923 essay entitled "Survey of New Tendencies in the Art of St. Petersburg," the art historian and critic Nikolai Punin laid out the terms and premises which have subsequently dominated critical writing about the Russian avant-garde. 1 Punin's immediate dilemma was to find a descriptive vocabulary that would span the divide of the 1917 revolution, terminology that could connect the pre- and post-revolutionary avant-gardes. The term "Futurist" was to be rejected, he opined, because of its inherently mythologizing character; so also was the term "leftists" (levye), for "if by that we understand an approximate orientation to revolutionary materialism--this too is a myth." Instead, Punin urged, the core of the avant-garde experience in Russia was to be found elsewhere: its origins were to be firmly located in the evolution of French Cubism, or what he called "roughly speaking, the form of Braque-Picasso," while its subsequent development was to be traced in the adaptations made by Russian avant-garde artists, adaptations which had culminated in what he termed the two different "paths out" (vykhody) of Cubism's narrow concern with mimetic representation, paths which had been blazed by Malevich and Tatlin--yielding the distinctive and mutually antagonistic theories of Suprematism and the Culture of Materials. 2 Punin, in short, had penned a classical modernist treatment of early avant-garde experimentation, and its repercussions can still be felt today.
Like the famous frontispiece that first adorned Alfred Barr's classic study of Cubism and Abstract Art in 1936, a diagrammatic map of modernist art in which every movement stemmed from the parent stock of Cubism, Punin's revisionary account of Russian modernism has become an indelible part of art history, its assumptions taken for granted. 3 To this day it continues to provide the basis for formalist histories of Russian modernism, accounts that reduce the pre-revolutionary avant-garde practices to so many anticipations of either Malevich or Tatlin, and that evaluate the art of the Russian avant-garde, whether identified as Cubist, Futurist, Cubo-Futurist, or Suprematist, in implicit opposition to another term that is often left unmentioned but remains no less potent, "Socialist Realism." Likewise, exhibitions which adhere to Punin's account of early Russian modernism, such as the recent show on "The Great Utopia: the Russian And Soviet Avant-Garde, 1915-1922," recognize the heterogeneity and competitiveness that characterized the visual culture of Russia in the 1920s, yet fail to offer a more critical account of how such apparent diversity thrived. 4 What has been lost sight of might seem obvious, but it is no less important for that. Punin's account of Russian modernism was not a neutral description, but a polemical contribution to recent debate about contemporary art, and while his emphasis on form may have legitimately reflected the concerns of some artists in 1923 (Tatlin's, if not Malevich's), his historical genealogy would have simply mystified others. Indeed, to those who had directly experienced the artistic debates of 1913 and 1914, the terms that Punin discussed--chief among them, "leftists" ((levye) and "avant-garde" (peredovoi)--had typically been paired with epithets such as "rebellious" (buinaia) or "militant youth" (boevaia molodezh'), included in phrases which suggested social dimensions whose resonance simply vanished in Punin's account. To them, as to many scholars today, it may well have seemed that Punin had done little to explain the real continuities in the cultural practices of a generation which, within only a few years, experienced the collapse of the Romanov dynasty and the rise of the Soviet state. 5
To address the kinds of continuity that bind together the pre- and post-revolutionary avant-gardes in Russia, it may be necessary to turn away from the basic dichotomy between form and content which is presupposed by Punin's account, to stop looking, in other words, for evolutionary continuity either in formal developments or in some putatively proto-revolutionary content that would span the period from, say, 1910 to 1923, and instead to consider the sites and staging venues in which debate about art, whether before or after the revolution, took place. For a more critical and probing examination of the reception context that shaped contemporary debate about art in this period may also help us achieve a better understanding of the strange, even bizarre political functions that artworks, and perhaps more importantly, debate about art could assume during the pre-revolutionary years, functions that may also be the most significant point of continuity with the post-revolutionary years. Perhaps nowhere can we better trace some of the distinctive features of that early reception context than in the debate on art which was organized by Mikhail Larionov on 23 March, 1913, a part of his effort to promote the group exhibition of which he was also a part, named "The Target" (Mishen'). For at the center of that debate are not only the two artists whom Malevich and Tatlin acknowledged as their most important precursors, Natal'ia Goncharova and Mikhail Larionov, but also Il'ia Zdanevich, a re who, though still underappreciated, also played a key role in initiating a new program of artist and audience interaction.
It may not be entirely an accident that a series of troubling and troublesome encounters between the avant-garde and its various audiences took place during the years 1912-1913. Certainly the years immediately preceding these, the period that runs from 1907 through the election of the fourth and last Duma in 1912, were ones that witnessed unprecedented political debates, developments that included the real beginnings of an organized workers' movement that was opposed to the Tsarist regime, as well as a seemingly endless series of political fractions now splitting and now realigning with one another at a vertiginous pace. 6 Art movements and groups might almost have been imitating their political counterparts. In late 1911 "the extreme left wing" of the "Jack of Diamonds" group seceded to organize the "Donkey's Tail" exhibition, led by Mikhail Larionov. 7 Larionov, it has been reported, named the show after a mock-presentation perpetrated by an art critic at the 1905 Salon des indépendents; the waggish critic had supposedly created a painting by tying a brush to a donkey's tail, a prank which had inadvertently had a beneficent result, since ultimately it prompted a new and more fruitful dialogue between critics, artists, and the contemporary public. 8 (See 1.) In any case, it would be Larionov who would play a leading role in organizing the critical series of exhibitions and debates that occurred during the period 1912 to 1914, extending from his crucial role in the first "Jack of Diamonds" exhibition and his decision to break with it (spring, 1911) to his organization of "The Donkey's Tail" exhibition (April, 1912), to the mounting of "The Target" exhibition (March, 1913), to his final experiences with the "No. 4" exhibition (March, 1914), the latter so named to signal its place in Larionov's own development. 9 But it is especially in the second and third members of this sequence, the "Donkey's Tail" and "Target" exhibitions, that Larionov first responded to a perceptible shift in artist/audience relations, and, at the same time, further accentuated that shift through a novel strategy of provocation. That strategy, in turn, can help us make better sense of the genuine continuity that binds together pre- and post-revolutionary practice in the Russian avant-garde, continuity that is to be discerned not in an ongoing exploration of the function of flatness within the picture-plane, but in a probing engagement with the conditions of rhetorical and representational empowerment. And that engagement, in its turn, was inseparable from another and newer institutional structure which came to accompany the more traditional exhibition--the public debate.
To assess the achievement of Larionov and the Russian avant-garde, however, requires that we engage in the difficult task of identifying the audience with which he was engaged. It is no easy matter. To specify the social backgrounds and interests of pre-revolutionary Russian audiences for art is a hazardous affair, in large part because nearly all the contemporary descriptions of the public which frequented exhibitions and debates are mediated, written to serve the factional politics of artistic groupings or to meet the demands of a largely partisan press. Yet these genuine limitations in the historical sources are also counterbalanced by the sheer abundance of audience descriptions, which come from critics, artists, and writers, and which, taken together, suggest certain unmistakable shifts in the ways that particular audience constituencies were perceived across time. The indicators of class and gender that crop up in such accounts can give an approximate if inconclusive sense of actual audience make-up, and, just as important, can help us gauge what was at stake for artists in the representation of particular audience sectors.
All the evidence points to a motley constituency. Despite the relatively high cost of admission to exhibitions (prices ranged from fifty kopeks to five rubles), there was plainly a discernible level of worker participation. We know, for example, that a group of workers visited Goncharova's studio in 1913, and that the penny newspaper Moskovskaia kopeika published reviews of avant-garde exhibitions, including an account of the "Target" debate. 10 Students typically purchased tickets at the lowest rate, which supports claims in the contemporary press that they constituted a substantial part of the avant-garde audience.
Women were also a notable presence at exhibitions and the accompanying debates. Their prominence within avant-garde cultural communities was part of a wider demographic shift in the urban population, one often commented on during the first decades of the twentieth century by writers and critics such as Andrei Belyi (Boris Bugaev), who detected a distinct change in the audience to be seen at poetry readings in the wake of the 1905 revolution. The change corresponds to what more recent historians have described as a rejuvenation of the urban population, a vast migration to the metropolis on the part of young people of both sexes, from peasants seeking factory work to the raznochintsy or descendents of government bureaucrats, lawyers, doctors, and lower echelons of the bourgeoisie. 11 Rural and provincial youth were drawn to Moscow and St. Petersburg to advance their education and careers, a trend in which artists themselves also participated. 12 For women and Jewish artists especially, the early years of the twentieth century witnessed a perceptible growth in preparatory channels in the arts which provided alternatives to the traditional Academy, private studios such as Elizaveta Zvantseva's in St. Petersburg, or Fedor Rerberg's and Il'ia Mashkov's in Moscow. 13 But it was the women from the provincial intelligentsia, the damy iz mysliashikh, who especially attracted attention, dominating the lecture halls of 1913 in greater numbers than the young men, often overwhelming the invisible "middle bourgeoisie" who so often seem to constitute the "public" that is disparaged in avant-garde manifestos or parodied in the contemporary press ( 2). 14 Reconred by youth and gender, the new Muscovite audience lost much of its former class specificity, becoming increasingly amorphous and ill-defined, its social status an ambiguous reflection of the avant-garde community itself. To a certain extent, the debates that accompanied exhibitions became an occasion for both groups to engage in a public process of self-definition and self-determination, an occasion that may have been seized upon with especial eagerness by the audience. One anonymous critic, surveying the debates that took place in the spring of 1913, dubbed them "the eternal sphinx, the thousand-eyed monster, the many-headed chaos . . . What is [the public] looking for so diligently, so greedily, and [why do they] fill auditoriums in such great numbers?" 15
It is in the systematic promotion of avant-garde art through organized debates that we encounter a troublesome conjuncture of social reality and public representation. Because the debates proved so popular in 1912 and 1913, they were often dismissed as a form of mass culture. In Russia, as elsewhere in western Europe, such events were viewed by art critics and other supporters of traditional high culture as inferior, commercialized, and self-serving--an unsavory collaboration between audience and sponsor. At times they were represented as "feminine" events, gendered in the sense that has become commonplace through the work of Andreas Huyssen, who has shown how emerging mass media and their new audiences in the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries were assimilated to pejorative constructions of femininity. 16 Yet this process was not purely rhetorical in nature. 17 Laura Engelstein, in her recent study of popular culture in Russia, has demonstrated the degree to which the gendered criticisms of boulevard literature were a response to expanded female readership. 18 And a similar interchange between social reality and rhetorical representation prevailed in the avant-garde debates of 1912-1913 in Moscow. Female spectators reinforced the gains made by women artists (particularly Natal'ia Goncharova) and other public res, such as Nadezhda Dobychina, who owned a prominent art gallery in St. Petersburg, and Klavdiia Mikhailova, who owned another in Moscow. By 1913, the year of the "Target" debate, critics were increasingly prone to depict the cultural events in which women participated as essentially inferior. Artists, in turn, would respond to this double gendering of the debate forum by modifying their self-image and the terms of their engagement with audiences.
If the audience for the exhibitions and debates of 1912-1914 was ambiguous and uncertain in its composition, so too was the social and institutional space in which the debates took place. Though journalists often charged that the debates were highly profitable for artists, their very existence registered a much broader failure on the part of the avant-garde, its inability to establish itself within a secure system of patronage. Free-market mechanisms, at the same time, were plainly inadequate to meet either the growing hunger for art on the part of an expanding public or to cope with the apparent over-production by artists. 19 Neither Moscow nor St. Petersburg could accommodate the increasing demand for exhibitions. Catalogues and manifestos required expensive and, for the most part, unavailable financial backing. The owners of lecture halls, moreover, sometimes imposed class and ethnic restrictions on the artist-lessees who rented them. 20 In effect, the lack of an adequate institutional infrastructure for the arts created a reciprocal need for dialogue that would increasingly be filled by the public debates: they were the only venue that assured artists and audiences relatively direct and unmediated access to one other. For while it is true that the proposed programs were screened by censors and the actual debates evaluated by art critics, the performances themselves remained open to improvisation. 21 And hence it was to be precisely here, in the improvisational dynamics provided by the debate, that the Russian avant-garde would discover its most fruitful forms of social and artistic practice.
The "Jack of Diamonds" debate, which took place on 12 February, 1912, in Moscow in the large auditorium of the Polytechnic Museum (located near the Moscow School of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture), was the first avant-garde debate to generate a significant record of public response. The sequence of lectures and audience reactions was widely reported in the press, even in St. Petersburg. 22 (The impending rift that would divide Larionov and Goncharova from the rest of the group was also given extensive press coverage.) As a result of the "Jack's" success in 1912, debates were deemed so necessary to the public promotion of art that subsequently the openings of most avant-garde exhibitions were scheduled so that they could be synchronized with a debate. 23
Debates orchestrated and provided an outlet for adversarial exchanges between artist and critic, artist and viewer. Typically, an event would open with a series of lectures or propositions expounded by the organizers, to which "opponents" responded, having been solicited earlier by the sponsors or "chair." The audience might interject to support, counter, or redirect speech at any time, and all parties participated responsively. The anonymous critic cited earlier provides a detailed account of these dynamics as they appeared in the debate that was organized for the second "Jack of Diamonds" exhibition on 24 February, 1913.
If one looks closely at the various lectures, and especially at debates, one comes to the inevitable conclusion that all this is nothing more than a shameless and open exploitation of popular entertainment . . .
By the way, the public in the main gets what it is looking for, and more often than not it is looking for scandal.
The author then describes in detail the course of provocation, intitiated by the "newly arrived" (and predominantly female) Moscow audience.
The opponent speaks for ten minutes, fifteen.The public begins to fidget. They feel it is time to finish. A demonstrative cough begins, and continues for a few seconds.
But the lecturer remains unperturbed. After five minutes--an unceasing stamping of feet and shouts of "enough" [are heard].
With this accompaniment the opponent somehow finishes his speech.

And again--the constant cry. "Get out!" "Enough!" "Kick him in the neck!" 24
The account shows that by 1913 the debate was turning into something of a spectacle. But it was also providing audience members with opportunities for active participation, shifting agency away from artists and critics and toward an increasingly demanding audience. During the course of the 1913 season of lectures, viewers were transformed from relatively passive observers into active participants in the conflict between artists and their debating respondents, and between artists and the Tsarist authorities. Only a month later, at the "Target debate," members of the audience would begin to reclaim the prerogative of speech.
Not only were audiences becoming deeply involved in the debates, they were also becoming actively engaged in the issues under discussion. Goncharova's 1912 diary provides a characteristic put-down of the receptivity evinced by the average viewer of art; and yet between the lines one can also see just how assertive viewers were becoming:
In general, music is an art form which the people can understand and which they confuse less with life. In painting, sculpture, and architecture, the public are like savages [dikari] and if they are not savages, then they are very limited philistines [meshchane]. 25
Viewers, in other words, are actively transgressing the traditional boundary between life and art, actively demanding that visual art be an extension of their experience in ordinary life--a view that was also propounded by members of the avant-garde itself, as when Larionov distinguished between one audience that was hopelessly inept and petit-bourgeois (meschane, the same term that was used by Goncharova) and another that constituted his ideal public, one made up of sign painters and the like (maliary). 26
Though both these characterizations tend to skirt, rather than address the dilemma of how to appeal to a socially and politically diverse viewing public, Larionov's statements are clearly calculated to accommodate potential viewers, especially those least prejudiced by traditional concepts of art and beauty. Over and over, his writings seek to persuade audiences that they share a common interest with him in opposing official art, while the contemporary exhibitions that he organizes demonstrate his and Goncharova's view of the heterogeneity of Russian culture as it has entered the twentieth century. 27 As a speaker and impresario, Larionov strives to convince viewers of the necessity of cultural pluralism; while as a painter, Goncharova provides the models for emulation. By 1913 her oeuvre has demonstrated that national identity is no longer reducible to one tradition, ethnicity, or class, as individual paintings refer the viewer now to French and Italian modernism, now to the broadsheet, now to religious icons, now to urban shop signs. Her eclecticism renders Russia's cultural and political disintegration materially apparent to even the least sophisticated of her viewers.
Larionov's intention to reshape the conditions that marked the reception of new art are already discernible in the names that he gave to his exhibitions. Consider the "Jack of Diamonds" exhibition. At its most obvious level, it cited the well-known playing card, and as such it appeared on the society's stationery, posters, and other publications, usage which Gleb Pospelov has traced in detail. 28 But more covertly, it also alluded to the manner in which political prisoners were graphically marked with an inverted square patch that was popularly called "the ace of diamonds" (bubnovyi tuz), so suggesting that the artist was also such an outcast. Since Larionov and his colleagues had in fact been dismissed from the Moscow School in April 1910, they were further using the card/insignia to conflate their transgressions as art students with political offenses to the state. And by adopting an everyday object drawn from the realm of public signs, Larionov hinted at the extent of his desire that debate about contemporary art and aesthetics be a truly public issue. But the tension between public accessibility and artistic invention, or between his adopting an everyday sign and his infusing it with hermetic undertones or significance, would remain unresolved throughout Larionov's subsequent attempts at promoting further debate.
Throughout the period 1911-1914, Larionov sought to reinforce the public dialogue that had been generated by means of the first "Jack of Diamonds" exhibition. But instead of organizing formally as a group and soliciting major critics for reviews, Larionov provided ever more intense and direct public access to new art and its ideas through press interviews, debates, and the publication of manifestos. When the majority of the "Jack of Diamonds" artists voted to form a society in the autumn of 1911, Larionov, Goncharova, and a few others decamped. In a series of press interviews promoting the rival "Donkey's Tail" exhibition, Larionov announced that his future exhibitions would no longer be named in a predictable manner, nor would the exhibitors guarantee the security of a constant platform. Press and public were to be set adrift, deprived of "name recognition." He then went on to damn the ensemble of prejudice, viewing habits, and expectations that deaden communication in the exhibition space, revealing his preoccupation with a subject that was also being taken up by his contemporary Viktor Shklovsky, who viewed "the fossilization of the word" (okamenenie slova) as a precondition for a poetics of estrangement. 29
For the public, the masses, the artists so happily attached to the Jack of Diamonds, still seem strange, even wild. But for us they are finished.They are academic, school-like academics.
Having just seemed young and new, they are already in the past--they are history.If you are struck by their colors, if their drawing surprises you, don't believe them. Remember, this you have already seen, it is familiar to you. [ . . . ]
Already this connection with a single name"Jack of Diamonds" is a betrayal.
One senses a calm, the need for a comfortable corner and a petit-bourgeois [meshchanskii] desire to speculate on the advertising value of the name.
The public knows the "Jack of Diamonds" and will, of course, go to it more readily than to anyother exhibition.
We on the other hand, are free. 30
For Larionov, such freedom was to be achieved by evading as many of the conditions for official legitimation as possible, and his refusal to join the "Jack of Diamonds" society was informed by his awareness of the bureaucratic procedures through which the Tsarist regime managed and controlled the arts. The formal registration of a society (obshchestvo) guaranteed the continued state regulation of the cultural sphere. More insidiously, organizing as a society all but required the complicity of the artist, since every step, from filing a statement of intent (the society's program) and statutes, had to be approved by the city governor's (gradonachal'nik) office. 31 Still, though Larionov might deprive the state of procedural authority in organizing exhibitions, he could not bypass other forms of censorship that came with presenting art to the public: he, like anyone else, was required to submit advance copies of texts to be read at debates to the city governor's office, and all exhibitions had to be reviewed and approved by censors prior to opening. Due to the religious content of some exhibitions, on occasion the Holy Synod became involved on behalf of the state. Goncharova's first retrospective, held in St. Petersburg in March-April 1914, became a test case for avant-garde art, with some twenty-two religious paintings, which had initially passed the typographic censor, formally banned by the Spiritual Censorship Committee of the Holy Synod. Later the ban was removed and the paintings readmitted to the exhibition. 32 Prior to the opening of the "Donkey's Tail" exhibition, paintings with religious subject matter were removed (including those later banned in 1914), and, in addition, the city governor insisted that the name of the exhibition be abbreviated or changed. 33 Thus, as one press reviewer pointed out, the "Donkey's Tail" became known officially as O.Kh. (Oslinyi khvost) "although it will still be understood as the Donkey's Tail." 34 No doubt Larionov was well aware of these limitations when he publicized the exhibition titles that followed. The "Target" was vague enough to escape scrutiny, and as for "No. 4" (the name of Larionov's last group exhibition in Moscow)--who could object to a number? Larionov's tactics gain coherence when we consider them together. By exposing the devices of government censorship he heightened the viewer's sensitivity to police interference and other forms of government control as a precondition for the reception of his art.
In describing his reasons for naming the "Target" exhibition (also in advance of the opening), Larionov again raised the stakes for audience engagement ( 3). In one press interview he asked his audience to recognize their mutual interests: artist and viewer must approach each other on the same level. But this time Larionov qualified the terms of their dialogue based on the prior reception of the "Donkey's Tail," positioning the viewer as an opponent:
This year we have called ourselves the "Target." Last year's name, the "Donkey's Tail," was a provocation to the crowd. The "Target" is also a provocation. It symbolizes the relation of the masses to us. Supercilious laughter and curses fly at us as at a target, and those who can't face us (raise themselves, podniatsia) can't look at our aims through our eyes. 35
The caricature ( 3) both anticipates and illustrates Larionov's statement, and together the two demonstrate the potential for conflict in his public address. For while Larionov's refusal to form a "society" promises chaos as a counterweight to the state bureaucracy, his interview affirms another kind of order. If not in the exhibition space, then in the course of the debate itself, he reinforces his position as speaker and agent who replaces dialogue with monologue. The caricature compresses both moments and roles, Larionov's role at the center of the speech act, and its consequence--the artist as target. The audience appears here as an instrument of oppression, like the unsympathetic critic who hurls abuse at the artist, or the provocateur of factory and street.
To Larionov's apparent surprise, the "Target" debate did indeed fulfill his prophetic announcements. The evening's theme was "The East, Nationality, and the West." Zdanevich was to lecture on Italian Futurism, Aleksandr Shevchenko on "Nationalism versus Western Epigonism," and Larionov on Rayism. 36 During Il'ia Zdanevich's lecture on Futurism, in which he brandished a worn-out, lacquered house-slipper against the backdrop of a projected image of the Venus de Milo (declaring the slipper more beautiful than the statue), members of the audience shouted: "Get the slipper out--to hell with the slipper--Kommivoiadzher!" In the course of the respondent's rebuttal, Larionov approached the podium and cut off the speaker, which produced loud cries, boos, feet-stamping in the audience. Mikhail Bonch-Tomashevskii (playwright and official sponsor of the debate) tried to intervene, but Larionov stopped him as well by gesturing and poking with his umbrella. Finally, reacting to this, the audience attacked Larionov. A crowd climbed up onto the stage to defend the respondent's right to speak. They cursed, threw chairs, glasses, and carafes of water at several of the participants and tore down the projection screen. Terrified, Larionov responded by throwing the podium and chairs back at the audience. Silence fell when the police entered to stop the fracas. But the final word was Goncharova's; as Larionov and the others were led into the back room, she announced to the audience: "You, sirs and madams, are a herd of sheep!" 37
Several press accounts and at least one caricature ( 4) transcribe audience reactions, including these fragments of speech. 38 Most of the details regarding how much destruction occurred are recorded by Zdanevich himself in a long letter to his mother. His impression of the violence, keeping score of who did what to whom, clearly marks a turning point in the audience's orientation to the artist, as he writes still in some shock: "Such passion and abuse I have never before heard or seen. An amazingly stormy thing is the Moscow public." 39
The police closed the debate and filed a protocol on the participants requiring that they appear in civil court for sentencing. Larionov was tried on 17 October, 1913, found guilty, and fined under article 38 for disruption of the peace, assault, and battery--crimes the prosecutor ascribed to "hooliganism." 40 The artist explained in a press interview, as he would claim in civil court, that the audience had started the violence (a student had almost knocked him out). Similarly, Goncharova acknowledged that the "Target" signaled a problem in their mode of public address: she wrote in her artistic credo composed soon after the event that the forum of the debate is now useless and declared, "We must address the streets--the popular masses directly." 41
Records of the event in the press indicate that the artists underestimated the level of hostility toward new art among their public. Perhaps they misread the audience's mood or political sympathies: it is conceivable that students opposed to liberal politics and art had arranged to pack the hall (which seated 1,000), and it was to counteract these activities that Goncharova may have wished to broaden audiences in order to include the more politically diverse street population, but such artist/viewer dynamics were really unsettling for quite different reasons. Here, viewers participated by mimicking the exchange between artist and opponent on stage: they acted on their own authority as speaking subjects to oppose that of the artist-speaker. The debate forum was appealing precisely for this potentially ambiguous outcome. The format provided options for viewers to imagine themselves as both speaker and addressee, depending upon their position and interests. It sensitized viewers to the politics of agency, of subjectivity and recognition of the other as mutually defining and capable of structuring speech itself. 42 The debate had proved more than an ideal medium for interaction; it provided viewers with the possibility of restaging to their advantage the choices made in everyday life. Viewers might oppose state-sanctioned culture by identifying with the artist (as Larionov hoped they would) or if the viewer felt that Larionov had usurped the state's authority (or their own position as speaker) he/she could reclaim speech from the organizer. Whatever the participant's choice, the threat to the state and its interests lay in this debate's reversals of agency.
Larionov may well have redirected the viewer's interests to the immediate concerns of the day rather than to the debate's ostensible themes. But in his press announcement, as in his performance, Larionov orchestrated a condition of spectatorship in which the viewers' interests are identified with his own. He silenced the respondent, Alekseevskii, who in turn refused to let Zdanevich respond to his comments. In reclaiming speech, the audience reproduced Larionov's tactics: the group that jumped on the stage had every intention of forcibly stopping Larionov's activity as chair.
The shift in agency from artist to audience (and closure of speech) was not an isolated occurrence at the "Target" debate. Just a week later, Zdanevich wrote to Larionov to complain of his frustration in advertising his next lecture on Futurism in St. Petersburg. 43 Inside the lecture hall his Futurist debate posters were defaced and torn up repeatedly (like those calling striking workers or the United Nobility to meet). Although the posters were placed behind protective glass, the glass was shattered and the posters removed. As a last resort, the announcements were put behind metal grilles. At both the "Target" debate and Zdanevich's lecture on Futurism, efforts to control the event anticipated and then mimicked the forms of official intervention. But if command of the podium finally precludes dialogue, what does this struggle for self-determination reveal about its cast of participants and their choices?
The pre-revolutionary era typically is not described as totalitarian, yet censorship and political disempowerment under the system known as the Third of June had extreme and specific consequences for culture. 44 With overt forms of political activity possible only at tremendous risk after 1906, cultural events, particularly avant-garde performances, functioned as a parallel discourse of authority and resistance. Following each wave of revolt from 1905 through 1917, members of the intelligentsia emphasized the impact of political oppression and police brutality on all forms of social expression in Russia. Reflecting on the events of 1905 and the subsequent reactionary backlash, Sergei Bulgakov (in Vekhi, Signposts) denounced the role played by the Ministry of the Interior and police in the culture of the student youth, the very classes from which the avant-garde and their audiences emerged: "on the one hand it cripples them by depriving them of the possibility of useful work, while on the other it helps cultivate in them a special spiritual hauteur, a certified heroism, so to speak." 45 Zdanevich's somewhat exaggerated claims resonate with political overtones in light of Bulgakov's argument: he informed his mother that the police had taken his name, adding, "I think they will imprison Larionov." Although Zdanevich thrills to the retelling of his speech and of the audience's response, he anticipates official retribution. To Larionov he writes anxiously about his St. Petersburg lecture on Futurism: "A few students informed the police-superintendent that they will take me to civil court for being in breach of article 135 (you have to sit for five months) for assaulting them in the manifesto to St. Petersburg." 46
These conditions for performance may explain the guardedness of Goncharova's few statements on the debate: when questioned by the prosecutor in court about who caused the violence, for example, she admitted, "I did have to pick up broken glass, but I did not notice anyone throwing anything." 47 If artists sometimes miscalculated the intensity of audience participation, viewers knew exactly what was at stake. By wreaking havoc, they brought in the police who recorded accounts of the incident in a protokol, which would be used to prosecute those responsible for the debacle. In the world of art, at least in part because this was impossible in the world of politics, the audience could act on their moral-ideological commitments and provoke official recourse. Although avant-garde performances may have served a range of rhetorical and representational aims, they had real consequences for audience and artist alike.
The reversals of speech at the "Target" debate pose a problem of the newly "feminized" sphere of popular culture described in the first pages of this essay. How are we to understand feminine subjectivity in the context of events that also repressed speech--the woman in the audience who throws carafes of water at the debate-organizer? It is certainly possible that women emulated the rules of speech that limited their access to it as a way of signaling their participation. 48 But the issue of gender informs my account in yet another respect. Stolypin's Third of June decree also reconfirmed the basis for denying women suffrage. Women were probably the largest disenfranchised group among the urban population even if--depending on ethnic, cultural, and other factors--they experienced very different forms of exclusion. In urban Russia, artistic debates and other cultural events were among the more visible arenas in which women could express their views as a collective group. In 1908 women connected with the suffrage movement argued that participation in a wide range of organizations compensated to some degree for their exclusion from political franchise, though they continued to lobby the Duma for recognition of those rights. 49 The "Target" performance suggests that it, too, was a surrogate for political action, since it reproduced the process of debate in the Duma: artists advanced their cases, then defended themselves against hostile opponents. Conflicts arose as much among members of the audience as between artist and audience, indicating that the debate accommodated various forms of dissent repressed by the state in other public venues. Thus, as prominent participants in avant-garde culture, if still on the margins, women managed to achieve a type of representation and accountability from the artist that was denied them elsewhere. Inasmuch as the debate forum reproduced and made apparent potential reversals in speech, its dynamic was understood as anticipating changes in society on a much broader scale. Critics who disparaged women's participation in the debate forum did so because their new prominence challenged the dominant (subject) position that men occupied in the public sphere, in the world of art as in politics.
By recognizing the presence of women within debate audiences as a function of their absence from official political discourse, we are better able to understand the problematic issue of the (a)political nature of avant-garde art. Larionov's projects did not simply reflect the politics of culture in Russian daily life, nor did they advance a specific political agenda. Instead, the debates and exhibitions he organized made questions of self-representation sensible and necessary to his public--especially for its female constituents. If the interchange between artist and viewer became systematized in the years 1912-1914, the outcome remained unpredictable. But by anticipating the viewer's interests and imagined position within the debate performance, the artist managed to effect change within the public sphere, and this, in turn, suggested to audiences that they might do the same. Avant-garde events succeeded in mobilizing the spectator's subject-position on a range of issues by denaturalizing the implicit hierarchy of speech. In this way, art could be viewed as an analogue or even catalyst to political speech more narrowly defined.
Larionov derived his program for the next season (1913-1914) from the "Target" debate performance. These events were attuned even more directly to the participation of women and went further to challenge the formation of a pejorative view of femininity through reversals of agency and gender roles. During the autumn of 1913 Goncharova, Larionov, and Vladimir Mayakovsky (then an art school student) refashioned their public personae in the image of their (female) audiences by painting their faces and cross-dressing in order to provoke passerbys on the street ( 5). This new viewer-mediated activity extended the dynamic initiated by avant-garde exhibitions, debates, and their public reception. Like the debates, these street performances returned to viewers the message of social instability signaled by their own participation in these events. Face-painting marked both the feminine elite and the disenfranchised, the carnival barker, prostitute, or the vanguard artist, thereby giving prominence to class and gender hierarchies already overturned on the streets and in cafés ( 6). Larionov and Bolshakov made a spectacle of their own marginal social status by sitting with faces painted at the Filipov Café on Tverskoi Boulevard--a locale noteworthy for the absence of members of the intelligentsia, and its preponderance of lackeys, shopkeepers, and prostitutes. 50 Goncharova also inspired caricatures in the press ( 7). Her unusual, sometimes masculine, attire was answered by Larionov's braided hair and his advocacy of chest-revealing men's clothing (he declared "masculine beauty must be exposed"). 51 Displays of class and gender difference exposed those markers of consensus (or conformity) through which individual and group behavior was regulated in late imperial Russia. Each of these events showed artists acting as public spokespersons--as they themselves were defined by the public--to reclaim the prerogative of representation held by police and courts. Seen as a form of speech and model of agency, avant-garde épatisme made the process of self-representation explicit to such a degree that it could be appropriated, reclaimed by their audiences both female and male. It is this model of appropriated authority, drawn from the artist-provocateur of the debate forum and the streets, more than any narrowly defined formal innovation or "way out of Cubism," that led to the extension of avant-garde projects to street and factory following the revolution.
All of which brings us back to Punin. For the kind of reciprocity which Larionov and Goncharova incorporated into their modes of public address adds a new dimension of meaning to avant-garde assertions of autonomy and hence to his discussion of Tatlin and Malevich's work. In the Russia of 1905-1917, the political background to assertions of autonomy overwhelm the potentially self-reflexive conditions of avant-garde practice which we have come to accept as the basis for western modernism in the writings of Charles Baudelaire, Walter Benjamin, and more recently, Peter Bürger. Critical attacks in the press were meant to dissuade viewers from attending avant-garde exhibitions and debates. The physical and ideological strictures imposed on the public presentation of "new" art verged on active suppression; court appearances and fines were a serious disincentive to oppositional art and politics. In a regime where, as one artist put it, "rights are everything," where individual and class rights were defined through estate and civil service ranking, claims for autonomy in art alluded to other expressions of independence (or forms of defiance) to produce the kind of heroism/arrogance based in despair that Bulgakov attributed specifically to the student intelligentsia. 52 Larionov's nameless, statuteless, exhibitions and his proclamation in the press, "We are free," affirms a need for public recognition of his own personal integrity as a corollary to artistic freedom. In his tireless self-promotion, in his art and writings, self-sufficiency of form supports an underlying concern for the relationship of the individual to the official regime. Boundaries between life and art and politics elide in the public response to Zdanevich's St. Petersburg lecture on Futurism. When someone in the crowd demanded to know Larionov's age and Zdanevich responded, "thirty-two," the viewer retorted "and he is still free?"--meaning both out of the asylum, and out of prison (na svobode). 53 This exchange points to extreme moments of provocation, when audience challenges to the artist's/state's authority might disperse or replace it, and equally, their calls to the police might lead to censorship, arrest, and trial. In the spring of 1914, with St. Petersburg periodically crippled by strikes, the city governor apparently had reason to anticipate one or the other scenario, for he refused to allow the usual preniia (debate) to follow Zdanevich's lecture on Futurism.
Likewise, Mayakovsky's public declamations of his lecture "Having Come Myself" (Prishedshii sam), present the "self-sufficient word" as an equivalent for self-identity: like his extended metaphors, the persona/individual "Mayakovsky" is a transgressive re that defies the limits of verse, page, the courts, and prison. Whether dressed as a hooligan or garbed in his silk suit (kofta-fata), whether reciting poetry on the streets or declaiming it in elite cabarets, Mayakovsky mastered Larionov's strategy of public address. A version of his poem "Take This!"(Nate!), which he recited at the opening of the Rozovyi fonar' cabaret, reenacts the "Target" debate's dynamic.  According to Benedikt Livshits, when the poem was recited at the "Evening of Speech-Creators" Mayakovsky horrified the audience by directing each line to individual viewers. 55 By 1913 Mayakovsky had become the most inscrutable of Muscovites: he was a dangerous parody of the youthful, provincial viewers who were his public--and he was their idol, their role model.
The "Target" debate had realized the kind of self-presentation that Mayakovsky, Goncharova, and Larionov would later extend extend into the streets, the relative autonomy of both artist and audience within a repressive political system. And yet, as forms of provocation, such avant-garde activities were profoundly ambiguous: they could furnish occasions for restaging premises of respect and tolerance for the other--or they could lead to verbal abuse and the suppression of speech. Prior to the revolution, the artists' ambivalence accommodated politically polarized and socially diverse audiences. Their goals were primarily tactical, to create the conditions through which an engaged public might comprehend and act on their stake in shaping urban culture. And at least through 1917 their motives were mixed motives, inspired by the utopian hope that easing and expanding access to art would unite artist and audience, or speaker and addressee, but also animated by a more sober, defensive recognition that the lack of patronage and the marginal social status of the artist required them to sidestep the bureaucratization of official culture by addressing a wider public through forums located outside the exhibition halls and commercial galleries. But speaking to audiences often entailed paradoxical consequences: frequently it required that one speak on their behalf, that one define or redefine their plural interests within a singular ideological freamework, one often conditioned by shifts in art group patronage. Obtaining patronage, after the revolution as before it, depended on artists' ability to articulate through their art and performance a viable identity for the Russian public--one that would be instrumental in effecting social and cultural change. Post-revolutionary artists, facing the ongoing absence of moneyed sponsors and continuing the strategies of the prewar period, were even more motivated to constitute a coherent, unified public from diverse audiences--to give the revolution a "voice," as Commissar Lunacharsky famously phrased the initiative. 56
If we are to look for continuities in Muscovite avant-garde culture before and after the revolution, the place to begin is in the Moscow School of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture (post-1918, Svobodnye masterskie) where the legitimacy of leftist fractions was never taken for granted. Throughout the 1920s, artists of the same generation fought a war of space and words to win over viewers and state sponsorship, reproducing the debates and tactics that divided them as students at the Moscow School in 1910-1914. Some of the most hostile challenges to post-revolutionary avant-garde theory and practice came from those who had long opposed the various left fractions. In his 1960s memoirs, Aleksandr Gerasimov revives his grudge against David Burliuk, Mikhail Larionov, and others for their control over the juries of the School's end of year exhibitions where student artists vied for public visibility before the First World War. 57 Similarly, Boris Ioganson's reminiscences of School activities dispute the hegemony of the pre-revolutionary avant-garde by casting its public initiatives as coersive and illegitimate. Repeating pre-revolutionary criticism of the left as "false-artists" he declares their prominence in 1913 illusory, their art, commercially speculative. For most critics, in the studio as in the gallery, genuine authority and mastery was neutralized by the artist's dependence on western models. 58 Hence Larionov, Goncharova, and even David Burliuk (none of whom had any direct impact on the post-revolutionary debates after their emmigration) were invoked as the "false-left" by artists who had to maintain a different post-revolutionary, radical authority. In Moscow these recent emigrés could be denounced as the prosyletizers of the "form Braque-Picasso" in order to expose the "new left" (Rodchenko, Stepanova, Popova, et. al.) as their heirs.
The avant-garde artist's preeminent role was compromised, however, by a reliable corollary of his public address. To speak on behalf of the viewer was to court the that the audience might be provoked to reclaim the prerogative of self-representation, so facilitating the monopoly and rationalization of culturally hegemonic interests, whether defined by state patronage or by that of another elite. This ambiguity defines modernism in Russia, whether during the last years of Tsarism or the period of Stalin's ascent, and we can trace its turns in the promise of access and the dynamics of public performance both before and after 1917. After the revolution avant-garde activities left room for doubt regarding which of these outcomes might result. Lunacharsky acted on the assumption that leftist rhetoric in the visual arts played to and therefore reinforced Bolshevik party interests at a stage when at least a semblance of political plurality was deemed useful. At stake for the artist was control over cultural discourse in the public sphere, in the academy, street, and journals; it is measured by the gradual erosion of institutions such as the Inkhuk and Ginkhuk that the pre-evolutionary avant-garde created after the collapse of the empire. The battle within the Inkhuk in January through March 1921 may have been fought over how one distinguishes "construction" from "composition," but everyone knew that these debates mediated claims to power of a different order. 59 To some degree the participants in these debates were aware that the question of who would be authorized to speak for the public could reduce easily to the question of who would be authorized to speak at all. Surely this is why the solutions of 1920-1921 were extreme ones, requiring artists either to leave the country (as Kandinsky did), or continually to redefine the purpose of art's work as circumstances within Russia changed. In the early 1920s the continuity of avant-garde rhetoric--as much as their practices--became increasingly problematic for Bolshevik leaders as new bureaucracies emerged, and as national-political agendas shifted. Acting on their own authority to direct speech within art institutions, avant-garde artists were censured again for their "impermissible mixing of questions of life with questions of the School as an institution"--Sergei Glagol's characterization of the wrongheadedness of leftist student tactics at the Moscow School in 1910. 60
Avant-garde provocations were tolerated with occasional negative consequences for the artist at least through the October revolution and yet, by 1923, they could not be acknowledged even by Punin. After the civil war a more devious sleight of hand was played out by those who had formerly opposed the "left." Competing groups of artists now denied the avant-garde project its public agitational function in order to support the official view that "autonomy" (understood as personal integrity) had been already achieved by the revolution. 61 "Leftists" were rapdily transformed into "formalists," a bureaucratic coinage that served advocates of empire and autocracy well after the revolution, just as well as it had before. A more nuanced study of shifts in audience constituencies, and into the politics of private versus public life, will continue to break down monolithic views of Stalinist "totalitarian" culture and provide further links with the late imperial period. 62 So too, further research into the rhetoric of post-revolutionary avant-garde statements and projects will elucidate the extent to which the dynamics forged by Larionov were maintained. But the "Target" debate and its aftermath indicate how, as patron, the state (or Stalin) gained the space to manoeuver and, like the artist, to speak for the audience. 63 Retracing this process, it is not hard to see how, in the 1930s as in the 1910s, the artist again became the target.
Jane A. Sharp is completing a book manuscript on Natalia Goncharova and her circle that focuses on the question of orientalism in Russian avant-garde art before 1914. In 1992 she co-curated The Great Utopia: The Russian and Soviet Avant-Garde, 1915-1932, for the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York. She currently teaches twentieth century art at the University of Maryland.
1. Nikolai Punin, "Obzor noveishikh techenii v iskusstve Peterburga," Russkoe iskusstvo, no. 1 : 17. An earlier version of this essay was read at the panel "Totalitarian Cultures and Their Audiences," chaired by Karen Fiss and Karen Kettering, College Art Association, New York City, February 1997, and published in the Biuletyn Historii Sztuki, Polska Akademia Nauk (Autumn 1998). The text has benefited from the comments of both chairs, Jeffrey Brooks, George Hersey, and Neil McWilliam. The research was funded by the Social Science Research Council. All translations are my own unless otherwise noted. Only previously unpublished archival material is given in the original Russian, in footnotes.
2. Punin also published an earlier version of his essay which makes even clearer the focus on abstract styles evidenced in the 1923 publication. See Nikola Punin, "Vykhody iz kubizma," in Vasilii Rakitin, ed., O Tatline (Moscow: Luteraturnoe agentstvo "R.A.," 1994), 42-52. Punin's subheadings show the linkage that he discerns between Cubism and Malevich and Tatlin:
1. Signs of Cubism (Priznaki kubizma)
2. Utilitarian attitudes (Utilitarnost')
3. Style (Stil')
4. Picasso's way out (Vykhod Pikasso)
5. Tatlin's way out (Vykhod Tatlina)
6. Malevich's way out (Vykhod Malevicha).
Punin formulated this concept, which implies both an appropriation of Cubist form and transgression of the limits of Cubism's logic, as a means of promoting acceptance of Tatlin's work in Tatlin (protiv kubizma) (St. Petersburg: Gosizdat, 1921). It is in the 1923 essay that Punin generates a broader historical paradigm from these earlier observations.
3. Alfred H. Barr Jr., "Frontispiece," Cubism and Abstract Art, Exhibition Catalogue (New York: The Museum of Modern Art, 1936). The cover of the catalogue's second edition (New York: Museum of Modern Art, 1986) is illustrated with a reproduction of Malevich's 1915 Suprematist Composition: Red Square and Black Square from the Museum of Modern Art's own collection, as if to affirm my collocation of Punin's history with Barr's famous diagram.
4. The Great Utopia: The Russian and Soviet Avant-Garde, 1915-1932 The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, The Schirn Kunsthalle, The State Tretiakov Gallery, The State Russian Museum, and The Ministry of Culture of the Russian Federation (Frankfurt, Amsterdam, New York, Moscow, St. Petersburg, 1992-93), Exhibition Catalogue (New York: the Guggenheim Museum, 1992).
5. Scholars have addressed this question from different positions: Yve-Alain Bois, for example, argues for a shift in ideological orientation read from the work of art in "El Lissitzky: Radical Reversibility," Art in America 76.4 (April 1988): 161-81, whereas Paul Wood has focussed on the political context for the artist's work and the art historiographical tradition, "The Politics of the Avant-Garde," The Great Utopia: The Russian and Soviet Avant-Garde, 1915-1932, 1-24.
6. Recent scholarship has pinpointed the Lena goldmine massacre (April, 1912), rather than the rebellion of 1905, as marking the beginnings of a radicalized workers' opposition movement, see Victoria E. Bonnell, Roots of Rebellion: Workers, Politics, and Organizations in St. Petersburg and Moscow, 1900-1914 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1983), 390-408. The fragmentation of political discourse in the period is most apparent in 1913-14 when the Octobrist fraction (which controled the third and fourth Dumas) split into left, center, and right groups, each voting with other blocks: see Michael Brainerd, "The Octobrists and the Gentry in the Russian Social Crisis of 1913-1914," The Russian Review 38 : 160-79.
7. Sergei Mamontov, "Bubnovyi valet," Russkoe slovo, 15 December 1910, 6. Mamontove here refers to the artists who organized or particpated in a succession of exhibitions, beginning with the "Golden Fleece" in 1908 and culminating in the announcement of the "Donkey's Tail." Alexandre Benois used the term "extreme left wing" (krainyi levyi flang) to refer to the same generation and groups of artists in his review of the "O.10" exhibition (St. Petersburg, 1915-16)., "Posledniaia futuristicheskaia vystavka," Rech, 9 January 1916, 3.
8. "Vystavka 'O. Kh.'," Stolichnaia mol'va, no. 160 (3 January 1911), 3; "V. Kruiskii," (Viktor Petrovich Iving), "Oslinyi khvost'," Sirius, no. 4 (18 September 1911). An account of the incident in English is given by Anthony Parton, Mikhail Larionov and the Russian Avant-Garde (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 39.
9. Larionov outlined the succession of exhibitions in the preface to the Target catalogue (Moscow 1913), 4. He claimed the first "Jack of Diamonds" exhibition as his first independently organized show, followed by the "Donkey's Tail" (his second), and "Target" (his third). In the catalogue preface to "No. 4"(Moscow, 1914) he further explains: "The 'No. 4' exhibition is the fourth in a cycle of successive exhibitions organized by artists not united by anything except their youth, their aims to move ahead, their resolution of primarily painterly problems, and their temporarily identical frame of mood, feelings, and thought."
10. On the workers' visit, see M. L. Kleinbort, Rabochii klass i kul'tura. v. II, Iskusstvo (Moscow: VTsSPS, 1925), 128-29. For a typical review in a penny newspaper, see M. R. Mech', "Ego-skandalisty," Moskovskaia kopeika, no.13/38 (25 March 1913), 4. The Petersburg Gazeta kopeika also published an account of the censorship of Goncharova's 1914 retrospective, held at Nadezhda Dobychina's Art Bureau in March-April of that year, Gazeta kopeika, no. 2036 (17 March 1914).
11. Andrei Belyi, [Boris Bugaev] Mezhdu dvukh revoliutsii (Leningrad, 1934; second edition Chicago: Russian Language Specialties, 1966), 193. For statistics on immigration to Moscow see: Joseph Bradley, Muzhik and Muscovite: Urbanization in Late Imperial Russia (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1985), 134-35.
12. Most of the artists we associate with the "avant-garde," including Mikhail Larionov, Vladimir Maiakovsky, Ilia Zdanevich, David Burliuk, and Il'ia Mashkov came from the provinces or the borders of the empire to study in Moscow and St. Petersburg. Among the most prominent natives to the major cities were Robert Falk and Natalia Goncharova who, though raised in the Tula and Kaluga provinces, had close ties with Moscow. For generations one branch of the family maintained a home there and when she moved to Moscow to enter school she was able to live in the house built by her architect father on Trekhprudnyi pereulok.
13. In 1896 only 34 of the Academy's 388 students were women according to the Brokgauz-Efron entsikopedicheskii slovar Rossii (St. Petersburg, 1898; reprint, Leningrad, 1991), 396, this percentage appears to have decreased over the course of the next decade: the St. Petersburg newspaper, Rech', 8 November 1911, 7 gives the following statistics for 1911: women constituted only 7.7 percent of those enrolled at the Academy (29 out of 375), Jews numbered 34 or 9 percent. In Goncharova's year of entry to the Moscow School , she was one of 7 women in a class of 137.
14. 'Ser Referi,' "O lektsiiakh i disputakh," Almanakh verbnago bazara: Moskovskii sezon (Moscow: A. A. Levenson, 1913), 13-15; aside from the strong presence of the provincial female student population, he emphasizes the presence of women from the intelligentsia over men: "It is difficult to identify the rest of the public: there are not that many young men at the lectures. Neither are there many "middle class" people, the complacent bourgeois, the well-intentioned man. It is the woman of the intelligentsia who attends in significant numbers." (Trudno opredelit' ostal'nuiu publiku: ne tak uzh' mnogo byvaet na lektsiiakh muzhkoi molodezhi. Ne slishkom 'srednie' liudi, uravnoveshennye burzhua, blagonamerennye muzhhia. B znachitel'nom kolichestve--damy iz mysliashchikh), 16.
15. Ser Referi, "O lektsiiakh i disputakh," 14.
16. Andreas Huyssen, After the Great Divide: Modernism, Mass Culture, Postmodernism (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), 49. Under the term "mass-cultural media," Huyssen includes (as I do also): "serialized feuilleton novels, popular and family magazines, the stuff of lending libraries, fictional bestsellers and the like." I also regard the debate in Russia as a mass-cultural medium. Such forms are distinct in their production and consumption from "residual forms of older popular or folk cultures." In my view, the term "working class culture" is too diffuse to identify solely with one or the other category.
17. For an approach to gender that differs from Huyssen's in its focus on women's participation in "high" culture, see Maude Lavin, Cut with the Kitchen Knife: the Weimar Photomontages of Hannah Höch (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993). Monographic studies such as Lavin's can help to alter the story of canonical modernism. Before the publication of her book, Höch was marginalized on the periphery of the canon; now she regularly receives the confirmation of prestige that only museums can confer, as in the recent retrospective of her work, The Photomontages of Hannah Höch, Exhibition Catalogue (Minneapolis: Walker Art Center, 1996).
18. Laura Engelstein, The Keys to Happiness: Sex and the Search for Modernity in Fin de Siècle Russia (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992), 359-420.
19. The obstacles to securing patronage for new art have been discussed by John Norman, "Pavel Tret'iakov and Merchant Art Patronage, 1850-1900," Between Tsar and People: Educated Society and the Quest for Public Identity in Late Imperial Russia, eds., Edith W. Clowes, Samuel D. Kassow, and James L. West (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 93-107; and by John E. Bowlt, "The Moscow Art Market," in the same volume, 108-28. It is clear from press reviews and the numerous statements by Larionov, and Burliuk, among others, that avant-garde art and spectacle was not directed towards the extremely wealthy "elite," however we define audiences at these exhibitions and debates. Aside from the merchants, I. A. and A. V. Morozov, and N. P. Riabushinskii, both Larionov and Goncharova's work appealed primarily to the artistic intelligentsia: Eli Eganbiuri (Il'ia Zdanevich), "Spisok proizvedenii," Nataliia Goncharova. Mikhail Larionov (Moscow: Ts. A. Munster, 1913).
20. In a letter dated 3 March 1910 to Alexandre Benois, David Burliuk complains that he does not have "the opportunity to protest in the press (in front of everyone, as you have been able to do)--but I still want to inform you of my opinion." ( [. . . ] no ne imeia vozmozhnosti protestovat' pechatno, (pred vsemi--kak to sdelali Vy)--Ia vse zhe khochu soobshchit' Vam moe mnenie.) State Russian Museum, Manuscript division, 137/766, pp. 1-4.
21. Entrance to independent exhibitions was limited either by the high entry fees, or by outright restrictions; there is documentation to support the exclusion of Jews on occasion: part of Larionov's deal in borrowing money to finance the publication of the "Donkey's Tail" catalogue involved an agreement "to allow Jews into the exhibition."  Mikhail Ledant'iu, letter to his mother, 14 April 1912, RGALI, 792/1/4, pp. 47-51.
22. Lopatin-Shuiskii, "Moskva: khudozhestvennyui disput," Protiv techeniia, no. 22 (18 February 1912), 3.
23. The Jack of Diamonds and Union of Youth set the precedent for Larionov's "Target" debate; both groups organized debates to coincide with exhibitions or publications. For the latter see Jeremy Howard, The Union of Youth: An Artists Society of the Russian Avant-Garde (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1992), 156-67. The "Jack of Diamonds" debates, first organized in February 1912, are described in detail by Benedikt Livshits in Polutoraglazyi strelets (Leningrad: Izdatel'stvo Pisatelei v Leningrade, 1933), 70-93.
24. Ser Referi, "O lektsiiakh i disputakh," 13, 17. Similar accounts in Moscow newspapers suggest that the debate recorded here was the second one organized by the Jack of Diamonds in February (and chaired by Petr Konchalovskii); Ivan Aksenov lectured on contemporary art (O sovremennom iskusstve), David Burliuk on "new art in Russia and the art critic's attitude towards it" (Novoe iskusstvo v Rossii i otnoshenie k nemu khudozhestvennoi kritiki), while the Futurist with the spoon would be Vladimir Mayakovsky: "Disput Bubnovyi valet," Stolichnaia molva, no. 293 (25 February 1913), 4; "U Bubnovago valeta," Moskovskaia gazeta, no. 239 (25 February 1913), 3.
25. Diary entry 8 January 1912, quoted by E. B. Ovsiannikova, "Iz istorii odnoi illiustratsii," Panorama iskusstva, 11 (Moscow 1988), 248-50.
26. Allusions to audiences both real and desired are found in several manifestos including "Pochemu my raskrashivaemsia," Argus (December 1913), 114-18, and "Luchisty i budushchniki: manifest," Oslinyi khvost i Mishen' (Moscow: Ts. A. Munster, 1913), 9-48.
27. The "Target" exhibition included Cubo-Futurist, Rayist, and Neoprimitivist work by Larionov and Goncharova, as well as children's drawings, and signboards painted by the "2nd collective of sign painters."
28. Gleb G. Pospelov, "O valetakh bubnovykh i valetakh chervonykh," Panorama iskusstva, 1 (Moscow, 1978), 127, 132-33. The image of the card appeared on the society's stationary and was used to advertise debates and exhibitions, such as the one held in Moscow, 7 February to 7 March, 1913; however, a Jack of Diamonds poster advertising the first exhibition (10 December, 1910, to 11 January, 1911), and the invitation, both with the image of a bushel of wheat, reveal that the "Jack" insignia was not the only one used initially (Private Collection, Moscow). The stamp used by the society simply contained the name "Obshchestvo khudozhnikov, Bubnovyi valet;" RGALI, 660/1/1418, p. 6.
29. "'Nobility' in art. The word-image and its fossilization. The struggle against the fossilization of the word. Glass armor on the old words. The "dryness" of old art. Derivative and arbitrary words. Futurism returns to the word-image its ancient glitter." ("Blagorodstvo" v iskusstve. Slovo-obraz i ego okamenenie. Bor'ba s okameneniem slova. Stekliannaia bronia na starykh slovakh. "Sukhostoi" starago iskusstva. Slova proizvodnyia i proizvol'nyia. Futurizm vozvrashchaetsia slovu-obrazy ego drevnee sverkanie. [signed] Viktor Shklovskii.) Lecture notes, "Mesto futurizma v istorii iazyka," State Russian Museum, Manuscript division, 121/13, p. 1.
30. "Cherri," "Ssora Khvostov s Valetami," Golos Moskvy, no. 285 (11 December 1911), 5.
31. A number of the Union of Youth Debate abstracts (referaty) sent for approval to the city-governor's office for approval are located in the State Russian Museum, Manuscript Division, 121/13.
32. See Jane Ashton Sharp, "Primitivism, 'Neoprimitivism,' and the Art of Natal'ia Goncharova, 1907-1914" (Ph.D. Thesis, Yale University, 1992), 384-98. The censor's copy of her catalogue is reproduced in Experiment, No. 1, 1995, 165-66, indicating that the typographic censor first approved a number of paintings with religious subject matter excluding only the Evangelists , and the Coronation of the Virgin .
33. Varsanofii Parkin, "Oslinyi khvost i mishen'," Oslinyi khvost i Mishen' (Moscow: Ts. A. Munster, 1913), 58-60.
34. Anonymous [Viktor Petrovich Iving], "V khudozhestvennom mire," Zhivoe slovo, no. 34 (24 October 1911).
35. F. M. "Luchisty (V masterskoi Larionova i Goncharovoi)," Moskovskaia gazeta, no. 231 (7 January 1913), 2.
36. The topics are listed in a draft-letter from Zdanevich to his mother, 20 March 1913: "1) Futurism (Futurizm), 2) Rayism (Luchizm), 3) Nationalism against subservience to the West (Natsionalizm protiv zapadnichestva), 4) Against the European theater (Protiv Evropeiskogo teatra) 5) Music and rhythm and the theater of the future (Muzyka i ritm i teatr budushchego) 6) Futurism and Rayism in the dynamic theater (Futurizm i Luchizm v dinamicheskom teatre)." Russian Museum Manuscript Division, 177/14, p. 16.
37. "Sovremennyi i bashmak i Venera (disput Misheni)," Golos Moskvy, no. 70 (24 March 1913), 5.
38. "Sovremennyi bashmak i Venera (disput Misheni)," Golos Moskvy, no. 70 (24 March 1913), 5; "Oni ne khoteli skandala (Ob"iasnenie ustroiteli disputa Misheni)," Moskovskaia gazeta, no. 243 (25 March 1913), 6.
39. "Takoi iarosti i takikh rugatel'stv Ia nikogda ne slyshal i ne videl. Udivitel'no burnaia veshch' moskovskaia publika." Il'ia Zdanevich, in a draft-letter to his mother, dated 26 March 1913; State Russian Museum, Manuscript Division, 177/14, pp. 18-21.
40. "Futuristy na sude," Golos Moskvy, no. 240 (18 October 1913), 5. For the wider debate over hooliganism in pre-revolutionary Russia, see Joan Neuberger, "Stories of the Street: Hooliganism in the St. Petersburg Popular Press," Slavic Review 48.2 (Summer 1989): 177-94.
41. "Vystupleniia na disputakh, doklady i vse v etom rode Ia otvergaiu kak otzhivshie priemy-nuzhno apellirovat' neposredstvenno k ulitse--k narodnoi masse voobshche." Natalia Goncharova, "Tvorcheskoe kredo," (signed, undated manuscript, RGALI, fond 740/1/4, p. 2). Zdanevich had argued this point a year before in a public lecture in St. Petersburg. His correspondence now shows that street-walking, and plans to adjoin small exhibitions to movie theaters, were new strategies developed by this group in 1913 to reach an audience beyond the debate forum. It is in this context that we must understand Larionov's interest in opening a Futurist theater, and the filming of "Drama in Futurist Cabaret No. 13," which first screened in January, 1914.
42. This process of self-identification may be seen as reversing the condition of myth as "depoliticized speech," and "speech stolen" advanced by Roland Barthes in his influential essay "Myth Today." Roland Barthes, Mythologies, trans. Annette Lavers (New York: Hill & Wang, 1972), 125-32, 142-45.
43. "V Tenishevskom zale gde budet doklad afishu sryvali bez kontsa, pomestili pod steklom--stekli razbili, teper' visit za reshetkoi." I. Zdanevich in a draft-letter to Larionov, 4 April 1913, State Russian Museum, Manuscript Division, 177/14, p. 26.
44. Named for the day on which (in 1907) Prime Minister Stolypin dissolved the second and most representative Duma, the System of the Third of June produced a new electoral law designed to exclude large constituencies, primarily urban workers and landless peasants; new restrictions on the right to meet and freedom of expression were also introduced during Stolypin's ministry.
45. Sergei Bulgakov, "Heroism and Ascetism," Vekhi (Landmarks) trans. and eds., Marshall S. Shatz and Judith E. Zimmerman (Armonk, NY, and London: M. E. Sharpe, 1991), 27. For a detailed study of the symposium, and the controversy that followed see Jeffrey Brooks, "Vekhi and the Vekhi Dispute," Survey 19.1 (Winter 1973): 21-50. Brooks's Ph.D. dissertation is still the best overview of the cultural impact of the Third of June System, focusing on the liberal intelligentsia: "Liberalism, Literature, and the Idea of Culture in Russia, 1905-1914" (Ph. D. Thesis, Stanford University, 1971).
46.  Il'ia Zdanevich, draft-letter to Larionov dated 8 April 1913, State Russian Museum, Manuscript division, 177/14, 28. The lecture was given that night, and did not result in any trouble.
47. "Futuristy na sude," 5
48. See Catriona Kelly's interpretation of female spectatorship at "Petrushka": "A Stick with Two Ends, or, Misogyny in Popular Culture: A Case Study of the Puppet Text 'Petrushka,'" in Sexuality and the Body in Russian Culture, eds. Jane T. Costlow, Stephanie Sandler, and Judith Vowles (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1993), 73-96.
49. Accounts of the impact of the 1907 dissolution of the second Duma emphasize the ground lost in advancing women's suffrage while noting the rapid expansion of organizations formed to compensate for the backsliding: Soiuz zhenshchin, no. 1 (January 1908): 1-2.
50. "The Moscow intelligentsia, artists, writers, journalists, painters, lawyers never frequent the Filippov. To appear at Filippov's is in bad taste." The anonymous writer underscores the presence of the trade classes and of prostitutes: "Moskovskie kafe," Golos Moskvy, no. 49 (28 February 1913), 6.
51. "Raskrashennye moskvichi," Moskovskaia gazeta, no. 273 (15 September 1913), 5.
52. V. Ob-skii. [Vladimir Obolenskii], "Razgrom moskovskoi shkoly zhivopisi i vaianiia," Utro Rossii, no. 115 (6 April 1910), 5. 10. For a recent historical study of the shifts in the soslovie (estate) system in Russia, with a summary and reading of its misrepresentation as a class system in the Soviet Union and the West, see Gregory L. Freeze, "The Soslovie (Estate) Paradigm and Russian Social History," The American Historical Review 91.1 (February 1986): 11-36.
53. "'Skol'ko let Larionovu' krichat 'Tridtsat' dva' 'eshche na svobode' [. . . ]"I. Zdanevich, draft-letter to Larionov, 8 April 1913, State Russian Museum, Manuscript Division, 177/14, 28.
54. Mayakovsky (as transcribed by the reporter): "Posle kabare tolpa poneset svoi zhirnye tela po temnomy pereulku/Vy budete toptat' menia griaznymi kaloshami v moiu grud'!" "Skandal v Rozovom fonare," Rul', no. 431 (21 October 1913), 5.
55. Benedikt Livshits, "Pervyi vecher rechetvortsev," Polutoraglazyi strelets, 173-74.
56. Lunacharsky drew a distinction between agitation and propaganda by emphasizing the role art played: agitation "excites the feelings of the audience and readers and has a direct influence on their will." He describes the successes of Leftist rhetoric in terms of the artist's ability to persuade viewers of their common agenda. Further in the essay he connects this goal of communication with the development of the collective will of the masses to "unite everything in a common act." By 1918 art has already become "the expression of national ideas and feelings--ideas and feelings that are Revolutionary and Communist." Anatolii Lunacharsky, "Revolution and Art" (Revoliutsiia i iskusstvo, 1920) trans. and ed. John E. Bowlt, Russian Art of the Avant-Garde 1902-1934 (New York: Viking Press, 1976), 191-92.
57. The jury battles were connected to widespread debate over the influx of western ideas and modernist painting styles into the Moscow School, advocated by Larionov, Aleksandr Kuprin, and others who, in 1910, following their expulsion from the School, united to organize the first Jack of Diamonds exhibition. "Iz vospominaniia A. M. Gerasimova," Konstantin Korovin: zhizn' i tvorchestvo. Pis'ma, dokumenty, vospominaniia, ed. N. I. Moleva (Moscow: Izdatel'stro Akademii Khudozhestv SSSR, 1963), 394-402. Gerasimov's relationship with the "leftists" is discussed in greater detail by Matthew Cullerne Bown, "Aleksandr Gerasimov," Art of the Soviets: Painting, Sculpture and Architecture in a One-Party State, 1917-1992, ed. Matthew Cullerne Bown and Brandon Taylor (Manchester and New York: Manchester University Press, 1993), 122-23.
58. Boris Ioganson, "Korni zla," Iskusstvo, no. 2 (March-April 1948), 7-8.
59. On the debates organized within the Inkhuk (Institut khudozhestvennoi kul'tury), see Christina Lodder, Russian Constructivism (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1983), 78-94. If the debates represent a defining moment for Constructivism, Hubertus Gassner argues that the formation of the Inkhuk itself did not represent the apex of avant-garde activities but rather the final decline following a series of administrative and public relations defeats; it was the "vanguard artist's last refuge." Hubertus Gassner, "The Constructivists: Modernism on the Way to Modernization," The Great Utopia, 315.
60. S. Glagol, "K intsidentu v uchilishche zhivopisi vaianiia i zodchestvo," Stolichnaia molva, 12 April 1910, 2; italics are mine (JS). Here the author attempts to distinguish the politically engaged generation who left the Imperial Academy in 1863 from the rebellion against institutional authority launched by the generation of 1910 in Moscow.
61. Valentin Songaillo, author of a panegyric on the three hundredth anniversary of Romanov rule, published in the same year a blistering critique of Goncharova's work that interprets her treatment of form as insurrectionist, O vystavke kartin Natalii Goncharovoi (Moscow: V. M. sablin, 1913).
62. I am indebted to a number of scholars' writings as I raise this question within the Russian-Soviet context, including David Crowley's lecture at the February 1997 CAA panel, "Pozorny czy autentczyny?: Distinctions in the Production and Consumption of Culture in Stalinist Poland."
63. Boris Groys, The Total Art of Stalinism: Avant-Garde, Aesthetic Dictatorship, and Beyond, trans. Charles Rougle (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992). That Stalin finally usurps authorship of the avant-garde project seems acceptable to me, although the avant-garde's system of aesthetics was not as coherent as Groys makes it out to be. In reducing a heterogeneous pre-revolutionary avant-garde to the goals and creative visions of Malevich/Tatlin/Rodchenko, Groys misrepresents its complexity and contradictions. Stalin's sleight of hand is better understood as a function of the cultural politics of the 1920s that Groys describes rather than as a quality or program that inheres to the pre-revolutionary avant-garde itself. For another insightful study into the shift in authorship (Stalin replacing the artist) that occurs in the early 1930s see Margarita Tupitsyn, "Szenarien der Autorenschaft," in Gustav Klucis: Retrospektive, Hubertus Gassner and Roland Nachtigäller, eds., Exhibition Catalogue, Museum Fredericianum (Stuttgart: Gerd Hatje, 1991), 261-77.