(THIS ARTICLE IS MACHINE TRANSLATED by Google from Norwegian)
The reactions around these figures show what forces can arise when the artwork is combined with different forms of the phenomenon called iconoclasm, or image crushing, as it can be called in good Norwegian.
Threatened goddess. Both German Der Spiegel and American The New Yorker used various representations of the famous Statue of Liberty in New York in February. Der Spiegels front uses Cuban Edel Rodriguez's illustration of an abstract Donald Trump (with orange face, blonde mane and black suit) holding a bloody knife in one hand and lifting the Statue of Liberty's severed head with the other. The New Yorker used illustrator John W. Tomac's image Liberty's Flameout, where the Statue of Liberty holds an extinguished torch against a dark sky and only gloomy, gray smoke is left by the flame of hope.
Both images depict an attack on the monument, something that in art history is referred to as "iconoclasm" or "image smashing" – but these attacks are fictitious. The statue stands statelessly untouched on its island. In both cases, the shamelessness of the recognizable silhouette represents an attack on everything the monument represents: the United States, freedom, democracy. There is no doubt who is behind the oath in either case: President Donald Trump is the real iconoclast.
Gold calf Netanyahu. On the morning of December 6, 2016, a gilded statue of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, also known as Bibi, appeared on Rabin Square in TelAviv. It had not been long before this afternoon before it was already gone. The artist Itay Zalait had traveled during the night, without permission from the authorities King Bibi – a four and a half meter high and very little flattering portrayal of the prime minister on a white pedestal. The passers-by stopped, eventually forming a pretty close congregation, and, according to the artist, divided into two camps: those who genuinely appreciated the "tribute" to the prime minister, and those who wanted to tear down the statue. Within a short time, the police pasted an admonition on the pedestal stating that the work had to be removed, while the Minister of Culture posted a message on Facebook, citing the work as a hateful statement against the prime minister. Zalait encouraged the crowd to topple the statue instead of removing it himself, which the spectators did. Then the artist carried the fallen King Bibi away.
The city management removed Felix and placed the statue in a park by the Moscow River, lying face down. It was quickly joined by other statues.
Everything happened in a matter of hours. The event can perhaps best be summarized as a "rapid iconoclastic cycle". Countless monuments of heads of state have suffered the same fate throughout history, but not in such a short time. In this case, there were also several iconoclastic elements in play. First, the placement of a golden figure in a public place in Israel inevitably invokes the most famous case of iconoclasm in history: Moses and the golden calf. Second, Zalait attacked Netanyahu's public figure, his image, by portraying him as a gilded head of state. Both the prime minister's self-image and the people's perception of their elected leader are embossed. By cleverly playing on and exposing his work to iconoclastic forces – from Old Testament image bans to contemporary image manipulation – Itay Zalaits King Bibi extra impact.
The bloody Dzerzhinsky. In 1917, Felix Dzerzhinsky was appointed by Lenin as the first head of the newly established intelligence agency Cheka (the forerunner of the KGB). The purpose of the body was to purge away everything and everyone who was considered enemies of the revolution. The numbers of people killed during Dzerzhinsky's Cheka are disputed, but the number of families affected was high enough for a statue of the man to become a hated symbol of the repression and violence perpetrated by the Soviet state. The six-meter-high statue, made by Soviet sculptor Yevgeny Vuchetich, originally stood in front of the KGB headquarters in Moscow, depicting a straight-backed Felix Dzerzhinsky in dark, dark bronze; confident in his authority as the sole administrator of death sentences.
Following the failed coup attempt against Gorbachev in August 1991, the eleven-ton statue was tried in vain by civilians overthrown. The city management removed Felix and placed the statue in a park by the Moscow River, lying face down. It was quickly joined by other statues that had also been toppled in a wave of anti-communist iconoclasm.. The park was given the informal name "The Park of the Fallen Monuments", and is today called Muzeon Park. It was for The fate of the Dzerzhinsky statue to remain lying on the ground with insults such as "butcher" and "fascist" inscribed. Soon it was turned around, later erected, and the pedestal that had remained on Lubyanka Square was taken to the park so that Felix could stand on it again. Muzeon Park has today completely restored the monument, and the humiliating condition from 1991 is a thing of the past. The statue today shines in all its obscure horror, and the only thing missing for full redress is a return to the Lubyanka
place.
Despite the fact that the statues are dumb and lifeless objects, they now speak loudly about their contemporaries.
Monster and hero. The history of the Dzerzhinsky statue is closely linked to Russia's recent history. It was built when the Soviet Union was still strong, collapsed when communism collapsed, lay fallow as Russia approached the West and gradually rose while Putin gained an increasingly strong grip on power. Putin, who himself is proud of his background from the KGB, is a big supporter of the Cheka leader. In line with the president's desire to cultivate a Russian form of nationalism, the blood is washed away from the legacy of one of his heroes as well as the secret police he was behind. "Iron-Felix" is less and less referred to as a monster in Putin's Russia, and more as a Russian hero and strong leader.
If the statue of Dzerzhinsky one day in the near future again towers over Lubyanka Square, it will no longer be just a statue, but also a complex field of gravity where national history and propaganda are linked with iconoclasm, political revision and despotism. Unlike the Statue of Liberty, which is an allegory, and the gold statue of Netanyahu, which was never intended as a permanent work, the Dzerzhinsky statue is a very tangible monument to a person with a concrete legacy.
The three examples of iconoclastic actions have in common that they are closely linked to controversial political figures in their respective countries. Despite the fact that the statues are dumb and lifeless objects, they now speak loudly about their contemporaries.
Josefsen is an art historian and freelance writer.
