Happy Day, 1995. Oil on canvas, 400 x 600 cm.

Harvest Celebration, 1995. Oil on canvas, 200 x 450 cm.

On Plainair, 1995. Oil on canvas, 240 x 200 cm.

Summer, 1996. Oil on canvas, 145 x 180 cm.

At The Factory, 1995. Oil on canvas, 300 x 400 cm.

Million Red Roses, 1996. Oil on canvas, 300 x 200 cm.

White Russians

text © Cedar Lewisohn , 2001

What do you think about when you masturbate? I think about curvaceous blondes in white leather cowgirl hats and lithesome brunettes, slender legs in the air, skirts pulled up above their waistlines, exposing moist and succulent pussies ready to welcome daddy home. My fantasies are lush and intense sun drenched glimpses of verdant landscapes housed by soft naked female bodies that jive and stir in fields awash with countless varities of tiny exotic flowers that cousin the gentle thrusts of sexual abandon. As I indulge in these salacious flights of asceticism, scantly clad demimondes happily ride the backs of smiling Crocodiles, providing a perfectly harmonious backdrop of titillating raw power to the dirty epic unfolding in my head. Childish angels fly about the pale blue sky sprinkling down pink and white roses. that further ignite the fire in my staff. This blissful
rapture is backed by the speedy hum of buzzing fireflies and noisy squawking parrots. A couple of la Dolce Vita chicks surrounded by ripe Olive trees and overgrown foliage, play joyfully with each others pert nipples in an indecent Sunday afternoon sojourn while a brute but docile Rottweiler stares forever into the distance, oblivious to the sweet lesbo dream sequence to which he now forms an integral part. That's right, when I have a wank I think about the paintings of Vladimir Dubosarky and Alexsander Vingradov.

In case you don't know, the artisans to which I refer are a Moscow born duo whose Socialist Realist pornography is currently taking the international artworld by storm. V and D started working as a team in 1994, mixing their highly academic painting skills with all the peculiarities and blurred realties gained from growing up behind the iron curtain. The seeds of there radical aesthetic set in when the Great Russian teddy bear fell to its knees after the collapse of Communism. During the perestroika years, swift westernisation took a foothold and the smalch starved Ruski mindset began to be swamped in junk information overload, just like the rest of us. This cultural influx was reflected in the grand scale and grander screens of debauched decadence of Dubossarsky and Vinogradov's first collaborative exhibition "Ordered Pictures". In the show they presented "Some of our influences by many beautiful artists. The best favourites are Picasso and Warhol. We've painted them once with each other and both in Moscow, where they have never been and will never be. "Picasso in Moscow" was the first picture, which we painted together and "Warhol in Moscow will be ready in three days".

It's these schizophrenic contradictions in the work that make the emotions we feel when looking both confusing and intriguing. What is the relationship between a smiling naked girl under a waterfall and a wolf with a fish in its gob? These types of sentimental images are familiar, but when fed to us in the wrong order there's not a clear or correct response. Such confusion of interpretation is similar to the way paintings by Magrite or Salvador Dali operate collaging contradictory visual stimuli. But, the defence is D and V's contradictions are plausible constructs. Everyone understands how porn images work and everyone understands how wildlife photos work. So it's not a far leap into the porno-wildlife void for our collective imaginations to
suspend disbelief long enough to engage with the exaggerated scenario's in the paintings. There's also less of a time barrier to contend with in the Russians paintings compared to the Surrealists of the early part of the last century. A man in a bower hat is weird in today's context in the same way as a melting Elephant because its out of time and out of place. But Arnie sitting in a field smoking a Marlboro with half of his arm blown to fuck seems pretty normal. So, by using familiar motifs that are still current D and V capitalize on all the prepaid knowledge audiences bring with them to the pictures. The media saturated juxtapositions initially seem kitsch and revolting which ultimately means they’re destined to be extremely tasteful, if
art history is anything to go by. The fact these guys have grow up in Red exile (where Hollywood hero's such as Arnie still have a sense of magical mystery), only adds to the exquisitely queer equation.

Below the childlike wonder in the works apparent naiveté there is also a brutally humorous reverence of the western subjects depicted. So sincere its almost sneering. Vlady replies to this assertion between swigs of neat Gzhelka Vodka which he necks from the bottle "We like many Hollywood actors, but the leader of our project is " Iron Arnie". Austrian guy with big muscles, who crossed the ocean to subjugate America. We've painted him 7 times and every time it was met with great interest from the public. Why? Ask the millions of people, whose hearts were won by him." Arnie is a favourite figure of ridicule in the work not only because he is such a camp and easy target but also because there’s something universalabout his bulging body and its barbaric quest for dumb goodness. This portrayal of stupidity, so innocent it make's your skin crawl, seems integral to the ethics at work in D and V's paintings, if ethics can operate among such exaggeration.

The layers of fiction used (Pornography is fiction, chocolate box nature scenes are fiction), create a dense web of possibilities which is deceivingly rewarding and so captivating. Its not so much a case of the artists biting the hand that feeds them, but more an example stroking your patrons mit so feverishly that his arm goes numb. This populist formalism is heightened with each loving brush stroke as it's expediently applied to canvas. With the aid of an army of assistants D and V can knock out a Masterpiece a week, and with current high demand for there paintings they need to. So it seems Vladimir Dubosarky and Alexander Vinogradov are all set to join the exclusive jetset of top notch Russian exports that have bettered our world, they'll be up there with Maxim Gorky, Valentina Tereshkova and White Russians. Just don't forget the Kleenex.

© Cedar Lewison 2001