The Russian invasion of Ukraine continues, and examining Russian culture is still a minefield since Russia launched its February 2022 Special Military Operation. Concerts featuring the music of famous Russian composers came under fire.[1] Ballet tours were shuttered.[2] Russian art and cultural exhibitions were questioned, postponed, or canceled.[3] Russian food and drink came under scrutiny, with bar owners dumping bottles of vodka into storm drains for social media.[4] Competing images of stalwart Russians supporting Putin and the Russian occupation saturated Russian state media over the last year. But there is dissent in modern Russia, as should be expected given the rich history of dissent among Russian artists who historically challenged oppression and the ruthless activities of authoritarian regimes.[5] These Russian artists and artworks deserve consideration by national security and defense professionals to understand an adversary’s political and social undercurrents.

One such Russian who provides an ideal case study at this moment in history is Vasily Vereshchagin, an artist whose works were so jarring and raw that even German Field Marshall Helmuth von Moltke the Elder barred his soldiers from viewing Vereshchagin’s Berlin exhibition in 1890, out of frustration and concern that Vereshchagin’s monumental Apotheosis of War might instill confusion in the newly unified German military.[6] Today, Vershchagin’s work offers insight into the complexities of Russian military culture, highlighting a long history of friction between political expectations of victory and the realities of violent warfare in distant lands. Vereshchagin’s art protests war and promotes peace through accurate and brutal depictions on canvas, whether we choose to look or not.

The Apotheosis of War, the famous painting of piled skulls on a barren field and notorious confuser of German generals, was painted in the aftermath of the 1868 siege of Samarkand, one of countless bloody battles during the two-year long  Russian campaign to occupy the region of Bukhara in Central Asia. Based on accounts of an ancient Mongol army piling the skulls of its vanquished enemies outside of conquered cities as a warning against resistance to Mongol occupation, history repeated with the equally violent Russian occupation. Tongue-in-cheek, Vereshchagin dedicated his painting "to all great conquerors, past, present and to come.”[7] Today, the Tretyakov Gallery in Moscow displays Apotheosis, and it is the cover art for countless military strategy and history textbooks, sometimes ironically and sometimes not. Apotheosis is a  reminder to military and political leaders that violent actions in foreign lands rarely result in a peaceful occupation.

Vereshchagin’s unconventional approach to political critique mirrors his unconventional life. Born in a family of minor nobles in October of 1842, Vasily Vasilyevich Vereshchagin was groomed for military service at a young age, attending the Tsarskoe Selo military academy and entering the Sea Cadet Corps like many aristocratic Russian sons. Despite the outward incongruence of a military life and an artistic nature, young Vereshchagin sketched and painted throughout his initial military apprenticeship. Once complete, he enrolled in the Imperial Academy of Fine Arts to refine his talents.[8] By his own admission, he was unmoored and restless.[9] Military obligations and art school complete, he joined the Russian diplomatic corps in his twenties, looking for an opportunity to travel and paint. Vereshchagin was posted throughout Central Asia, and his artistic skills matured.[10] It was there that the young painter first experienced the military operations that influenced his battle art for years to come. Detailing his thoughts and experiences in travel journals that would later be published as his memoirs, Vereshchagin compared the Russian Imperial occupations throughout Central Asia to similar Western European military presences around the world. “Until we set ourselves deliberately and systematically to colonize the country, Russian Turkestan, I am convinced, will be Russian in name only,” he noted, continuing with, “Our position in Turkestan is like that of the French in Algeria; the only way to prevent the people from constantly rising against us it to colonize the country.”[11] He also observed abuses against local people and their beliefs by Imperial Russian soldiers and occupiers, detailing the outward disdain of Central Asian people toward their oppressors.

Traveling with the Russian diplomatic corps between Turkestan, Siberia, and western Europe throughout the latter half of the 1860s, Vereshchagin painted detailed works of Central Asian life. Also keen to expose the harsh realities of foreign occupation, some of his artwork countered Imperial Russia’s image of military prowess and inherent nobility. Russian violence and atrocities during the 1868 Siege of Samarkand would inspire Apotheosis, Vereshchagin’s most famous work. Flush with paintings and sketches by the end of his diplomatic tour, Vereshchagin’s Turkestan Series became a solo exhibition in the 1873 London Crystal Palace art show.[12] The exhibition showcased a blend of regional landscapes, local people in daily life, and controversial scenes of Russian occupation and oppression. When the exhibition traveled to Russia the next year, military and political elite were immediately critical. Not only would Apotheosis of War be denied exhibition in his homeland during the 1874 St. Petersburg show, but so would another controversial piece: Left Behind, a jarring image of a dying soldier deserted by his fellow soldiers.[13] Despite his artistic talent and the stark honesty of his artwork, Russian censorship prevailed. To escape the controversy, Vereshchagin was back on the road and painting his way through the Himalayas, India, and Tibet by the end of the year.

Two years later, Vereshchagin returned to Russia and the growing regional instability that was edging toward open conflict in the Caucasus and Balkans. He requested to join the Russian Army staff as a volunteer, bound for campaigns against Turkish forces in Plevna, Shipka, and other battles throughout the Tundzha Valley region, which runs through modern-day Bulgaria along the Edirne River and empties into modern Turkey.  As both a staff officer and artist, Vereshchagin drafted sketches during the war for paintings that became some of the most definitively critical images of the war and Imperial Russian Army. In his memoirs, Vereshchagin wrote, "[a]s soon as the war was finished I returned to my studio, and began to transfer my impressions to canvas—impressions of battles, wounds, disease, and all sorts of misery, the inevitable attendants of every war. The result was such that people would not believe me; they said that I lied, that my pictures were the work of my imagination.”[14] With all of his recent experiences and sketches in hand, the Russian artist would paint some of the most subversive protest art of the century.

Vereshchagin’s protest and bleak artistic depiction of Russian military operations was not unfounded. A stagnation and rot within the aristocratic ranks of the imperial officer corps had been brewing for decades and would not change even in the wake of the Balkan and Caucasus campaigns.[15]

[E]verything related to the health of the troops … [was] completely to the integrity of the brigadier-generals, who in turns related on the colonels of the regiments; and the result was that in reality there was no control whatever… [following reports from a doctor about missing supplies]… The officer in command of the division acted in extremely patriarchal fashion, for he questioned the colonel of the regiment, and in consequence removed the doctor from his post, ascribing his damaging statement to his personal dislike of the colonel.[16]

His critical stance on the care of soldiers, wounded, and prisoners became more pointed with the loss of two siblings during the campaign.[17] The roots of institutional incompetence and lethargy were systemic throughout the later half of the nineteenth century, even in the wake of vast military reforms sponsored by Dmitrii Miliutin, the Minister of War from 1861 to 1881.[18] Drinking, gambling, and graft were entrenched, and social stratification prioritized honor and noblesse over efficiency and effectiveness, particularly in the officer ranks.[19] Training conscripted troops focused almost exclusively on drill and ceremony and eschewed maneuver-focused adaption.[20]  Mired in the red tape of a regimental economic system that left procurement of supplies up to the infantry regiments themselves, company bookkeeping and expenditures documentation undermined formation even further.[21] “The behavior of senior officers—factionalism, cliquishness and a notorious inability to coordinate operations—may be interpreted as a logical outgrowth of their experiences as junior officers and commanders of regiments (when, as proprietaries of estates, they had no need for and gain no experience in coordination).”[22] In success or defeat, the Russian military steadily permitted a culture of willful negligence and Vereshchagin witnessed it all.

Two paintings from this era provide a unique platform to examine both Vereshchagin’s skill with oil and canvas and his talent for political critique. A Resting Place for Prisoners and The Road of War Prisoners both depict events following the Imperial coalition’s victory at the Battle of Plevna in the winter of 1877. In Resting Place, a snowstorm pushes up waves of snow across the center of the canvas. Between wispy drifts, glimpses of Turkish prisoners and their Russian captors on horseback appear. The hoofs of a dead horse and the wheels of a broken carriage protrude from a snowdrift in the foreground. A line of squatting prisoners, exposed to the elements, is visible in the distance. The Road of the War Prisoners depicts the same storm’s aftermath. Blue skies have replaced the stormy darkness. Contrasting sharply with the white snow and pale blue sky, black crows perch atop telegraph wires and wander between lifeless bodies left on either side of the road. Vereshchagin painted both pieces at the height of the European Impressionist movement, as painters experimented with visible brushstrokes to evoke shifting light and shadow and to reflect the human experience of nature. As an artist that could paint both striking detail and ephemeral sunlight in the same artwork, Vereshchagin’s paintings from the Russo-Turkish War highlight his talent for blending both Realism and Impressionism to create striking, shocking artworks. Both paintings—part of the collection of the Brooklyn Museum curated to be viewed together—provide a complete statement on actions and consequences.[23]

From a cursory glimpse, the Russo-Turkish War appears to be a victory for Imperial Russia and its coalition over the Ottoman Empire. Like leaning toward a painting for a closer look, a deeper examination of the conflict, however,  reveals more details on the war’s impact on Kurdish, Bulgarian, Armenian, and countless other peoples. The campaigns exacerbated regional violence towards Armenian and Jewish communities throughout the Caucasus and Balkans. British observers recounted atrocities and ethnic cleansing by both Russian and Ottoman forces.[24] Violence in the wake of a victory is, sadly, not uncommon, but the voracity of the Russian troops left an indelible mark on Vereshchagin, echoing in his portrayals of soldiers, prisoners, and civilians impacted by the warring factions.[25] His work was decidedly antiwar, portraying death with a level of clarity that was unwelcome to the Russian aristocracy.[26] In fact, both A Resting Place for Prisoners and The Road of War Prisoners were offered originally for acquisition to the czar’s private collection and rejected, despite Vereshchagin’s commissioning as an imperial war painter. With no prospect for purchase in his homeland, he sold both canvases to New York collectors in 1891.[27]

There is no shortage of war, and no shortage of anti-war art, in the world. In countries where authoritarian regimes ruthlessly sensor artists, social media has continued to smuggle art and messages out to the wider world. Throughout history, certain anti-war artists or political protesters have enjoyed a rare kind of privilege stemming from relationships with the very same political leaders they depict. Vasily Vereshchagin was one of these rare individuals. As an aristocrat, he was protected. As an artist, he walked a fine line by honestly portraying the Imperial Russian military as unethical and unprofessional. Vereshchagin recognized this and sought new paths and places to share his views through art.

I already knew from the stories told by other members of my profession what disagreeable treatment artists are exposed to in some regions, especially on the part of the preservers of order, and how they are generally taken for revolutionists and agitators… I said to myself more than once that it would be well to curtail my visits to my native plains, and to go to some country which, with fewer endearing associations, offered greater liberty of action.[28] 

Vereshchagin died on April 13, 1904, aboard the Russian battleship Petropavlovsk when it struck sea-mines near Port Arthur. He was 61 and still painting battlefields. His last work, a picture of Admiral Stepan Makarov presiding over a war council, was recovered from the wreck almost undamaged. His artistic efforts to promote peace through an honest representation of war lives on today, whether we chose to boycott it or accept it. Examining Russian art may seem challenging for the foreseeable future, but it is imperative that defense and national strategy professionals seek out dissenting voices and amplify them. Anti-Putin artists have emerged from both the Ukrainian and Russian art worlds, all facing the same threat of political persecution if caught. Over the last two decades, 78-year old Russian pensioner and former art teacher, Yelena Osipova, has been protesting Putin and holding up her artworks in public spaces around St. Petersburg. Others remain anonymous. The underground artist simply known as Koin began painting and sharing graphic depictions of Russian political leaders on social media when opposition leader Alexei Navalny was arrested in 2021. Since then, their series of portraits of Russia’s politicians and elites as grotesque vampires and monsters has also been shared across social media. Pressure from the international art community can provide a measure of protection, ensuring that dissenting artists do not simply disappear, but that is only if an artist is well-known and recognized. Looking at historic Russian anti-war art can provide an excellent start to examine today’s artists, and the works of Vasily Vereshchagin could be that point of departure. After all, if it is shocking enough to make Moltke the Elder clutch his medals, maybe we should all take a peek before it is too late.

Nikki Dean is a seemingly perpetual graduate student with the University of Kansas and is a recently retired U.S. Army Aviation officer. Her research focuses on art looting, illicit markets, curation, and collections management in war. She tweets into the void from @doctrinatrix_C2 and Instagrams randomly @doctrinatrix. The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not reflect those of the University of Kansas, U.S. Army, the Department of Defense, or the U.S. Government.

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Header Image: Suppression of the Indian Revolt by the English (Vasily Vereshchagin/Wikmedia)

Notes:

[1] Matthew Weaver, “Cardiff Philharmonic removes Tchaikovsky performance over Ukraine conflict,” The Guardian, March 09, 2022, https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2022/mar/09/cardiff-philharmonic-orchestra-removes-tchaikovsky-over-ukraine-conflict?CMP=Share_iOSApp_Other.

[2] Emma Pinedo, “Madrid’s Opera House cancels Russian’s Bolshoi ballet show after Ukraine invasion,” Reuters, March 04, 2022, https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/madrids-opera-house-cancels-russias-bolshoi-ballet-show-after-ukraine-invasion-2022-03-04/.

[3] Sophia Kishkovsky, “London’s Saatchi Gallery cancels Russian-organised show of Ukrainian art social media backlash,” The Art Newspaper, August 17, 2022, https://www.theartnewspaper.com/2022/08/17/londons-saatchi-gallery-cancels-russian-organised-show-of-ukrainian-art-after-social-media-storm.

[4] Yahoo Entertainment (@yahooentertainment), original video content from Evel Pie. “#Vegas bar protests Russian invasion by allowing customers to purchase $300 bottles of Russian-produced #vodka to dump out,” TikTok, February 28, 2022, https://www.tiktok.com/@yahooentertainment/video/7069823352277601582?lang=en.

[5] “Russian Art & Soviet Nonconformist Art,” accessed June 10, 2023, Zimmerli Art Museum of Rutgers University, https://zimmerli.rutgers.edu/collections/russian-art-soviet-nonconformist-art.

[6] David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, “Vasilij V. Vereshchagin’s Canvases of Central Asian Conquest,” Chaier d’Asie central 17/18, (2009), 182, https://core.ac.uk/download/pdf/224150223.pdf.

[7] Clayton Schuster, “The Apotheosis of War,” Sartle, accessed June 10, 2023, https://www.sartle.com/artwork/the-apotheosis-of-war-vasily-vereshchagin. Originally noted and discussed by Russian biographer, Fedor I. Bulgakov in 1905 in his work V.V. Vereshchagin i ego proizvedenija [V.V. Vereshchagin and his Works].

[8] van der Oye, 186.

[9] van der Oye, 187.

[10] Vassili Verestchagin, Soldier-Painter-Traveler, Autobiographical Sketches, Volume I,

translated from German and French by FH Peters (London, UK: Richard Bentley & Son: 1887), 99-103.

[11] Ibid, 144-145.

[12] van der Oye, 182. The show itself was discussed in the April 7, 1873 London Times article, “Central Asia at the Crystal Palace.”

[13] van der Oye, “Vasilij V. Vereshchagin’s Canvases of Central Asian Conquest,” 202.

[14] Vassili Verestchagin, Soldier-Painter-Traveler, Autobiographical Sketches, Volume II,

translated from German and French by FH Peters (London, UK: Richard Bentley & Son: 1887), 275.

[15] Maureen P. O’Connor, The Vision of Soldiers: Britain, France, Germany, and the United States Observe the Russo-Turkish War, War in History 4, no. 3 (July 1997), 267-271.

[16] Verestchagin, Soldier-Painter-Traveler, Autobiographical Sketches, Volume II, 137.

[17] Ibid, 210-220.

[18] John Bushnell, “The Tsarist Officer Corps, 1881-1914: Customs, Duties, Inefficiency,” The American Historical Review 86, no. 4 (October 1981), 754 – 755.

[19] Ibid, 754.

[20] Ibid, 764.

[21] O’Connor, “The Vision of Soldiers,” 267-276.

[22] Bushnell, 773-774.

[23] “A Resting Place of Prisoners” and “The Road of War Prisoners,” European Art, Collection Menu, Brooklyn Museum, accessed June 10, 2023, https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/4630.

[24] O’Connor, “The Vision of Soldiers,” 279-280, 288.

[25] Verestchagin, Soldier-Painter-Traveler, Autobiographical Sketches, Volume II, 187, 275.

[26] Verestchagin, Soldier-Painter-Traveler, Autobiographical Sketches, Volume II, 275.

[27] “A Resting Place of Prisoners” and “The Road of War Prisoners,” European Art, Collection Menu, Brooklyn Museum, accessed June 10, 2023, https://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/objects/4630.

[28] Verestchagin, Soldier-Painter-Traveler, Autobiographical Sketches, Volume II, 330.