In Soviet Salvage, Catherine Walworth explores how artists on the margins of the Constructivist movement of the 1920s rejected “elitist” media and imagined a new world, knitting together avant-garde art, imperial castoffs, and everyday life. Applying anthropological models borrowed from Claude Lévi-Strauss, Walworth shows that his mythmaker typologies—the “engineer” and “bricoleur”—illustrate, respectively, the canonical Constructivists and artists on the movement’s margins who deployed a wide range of clever make-do tactics. Walworth explores the relationships of Nadezhda Lamanova, Esfir Shub, and others with Constructivists such as Aleksei Gan, Varvara Stepanova, and Aleksandr Rodchenko. Together, the work of these artists reflected the chaotic and often contradictory zeitgeist of the decade from 1918 to 1929 and redefined the concept of mass production. Reappropriated fragments of a former enemy era provided a wide range of play and possibility for these artists, and the resulting propaganda porcelain, film, fashion, and architecture tell a broader story of the unique political and economic pressures felt by their makers. An engaging multidisciplinary study of objects and their makers during the Soviet Union’s early years, this volume highlights a group of artists who hover like free radicals at the border of existing art-historical discussions of Constructivism and deepens our knowledge of Soviet art and material culture.

In Soviet Salvage, Catherine Walworth explores how artists on the margins of the Constructivist movement of the 1920s rejected “elitist” media and imagined a new world, knitting together avant-garde art, imperial castoffs, and everyday life. Applying anthropological models borrowed from Claude Lévi-Strauss, Walworth shows that his mythmaker typologies—the “engineer” and “bricoleur”—illustrate, respectively, the canonical Constructivists and artists on the movement’s margins who deployed a wide range of clever make-do tactics. Walworth explores the relationships of Nadezhda Lamanova, Esfir Shub, and others with Constructivists such as Aleksei Gan, Varvara Stepanova, and Aleksandr Rodchenko. Together, the work of these artists reflected the chaotic and often contradictory zeitgeist of the decade from 1918 to 1929 and redefined the concept of mass production. Reappropriated fragments of a former enemy era provided a wide range of play and possibility for these artists, and the resulting propaganda porcelain, film, fashion, and architecture tell a broader story of the unique political and economic pressures felt by their makers. An engaging multidisciplinary study of objects and their makers during the Soviet Union’s early years, this volume highlights a group of artists who hover like free radicals at the border of existing art-historical discussions of Constructivism and deepens our knowledge of Soviet art and material culture.

Esfir Shub was the only prominent female director of nonfiction film present at the dawning of the Soviet film industry. She was, in fact, the first woman both to write critical texts on cinema and then practically apply these theorisations in her own films. As such, her syncretism of cinema theory and praxis inspired her to ask questions regarding both the nature of nonfiction film, such as the problem of authenticity and reality, and the function of the artist in society; issues which are still relevant in contemporary discussions about the documentary. Accordingly, this book demonstrates Shub's position not only as a significant filmmaker and recognised member of the early Soviet avant-garde but also as a key figure in global cinema history. Shub deserves recognition both as the founder and ardent promoter of the compilation film genre and as a pioneer of the theory and practice of documentary filmmaking.

Leader of the NUMA Special Assignments team, Kurt Austin must work with a former KGB spy to save the United States from a lunatic with a generations-spanning grudge in this novel in the #1 New York Times-bestselling series. Kurt Austin is preparing for an interview while aboard a research vessel in the Black Sea. But his television spot suddenly becomes a rescue mission when the waiting film crew is attacked on a nearby island. With little information on the attackers, and no clue to their true agenda, Austin is forced to turn to an unlikely source: his old KGB Cold War adversary Vladimir Petrov. According to Petrov, the island is actually an old submarine base that’s been commandeered by clever mobster-turned-billionaire-businessman Mikhail Razov. Razov is certain he descends from the great Romanov family and he’s out to reclaim his rightful position as czar of Russia. With a powerful resource called “fire ice”, discovered by his mining company, Razov may just have the ammunition he needs to take over the modern world. To stop him, Austin will have to work with Petrov. And he’ll have to find out fast how much trust he can offer an old nemesis in this thrilling adventure that “goes down like a chilled Stolichnaya martini.” (Kirkus Reviews)

This book presents a chronology of thirty definitions attributed to the word, term, phrase, and concept of “documentary” between the years 1895 and 1959. The book dedicates one chapter to each of the thirty definitions, scrutinizing their idiosyncratic language games from close range while focusing on their historical roots and concealed philosophical sources of inspiration. Dan Geva's principal argument is twofold: first, that each definition is an original ethical premise of documentary; and second, that only the structured assemblage of the entire set of definitions successfully depicts the true ethical nature of documentary insofar as we agree to consider its philosophical history as a reflective object of thought in a perpetual state of being-self-defined: an ethics sui generis.

A concise account of the collapse of the USSR and the turbulant first years of Yeltsin's Russia.