Photographer Evgeny Kondakov, whose works are in the collection of the Moscow House of Photography and other museums, is the author of the book “Russian Sexual Revolution”. This album, a study of sexual life in Russia in the 1990s, consists of photographs that were once published in Stern, The New York Times Magazine, Paris Match and other world magazines. They documented the process of emancipation Russian society: the first erotic publications, the first strip clubs and parties with naked models, the emergence of new social strata and new norms of behavior in society. We asked Evgeny Kondakov to talk about how he remembered the sexual revolution of the 1990s.
In the Soviet Union, erotica existed in isolated places that were inaccessible to many. In the 1990s, it spilled out into the public space - suddenly and instantly. I literally found myself in every underground passage and on every corner. At that time, for example, an erotic magazine could present its next issue on a square in the residential area of Chertanovo.
Many of the photographs in the book The Russian Sexual Revolution were taken by me as part of routine editorial assignments for the Moscow News newspaper, where I was then working. Scenes from the life of prostitutes were filmed right in the center of Moscow - on Lubyanka Square near the FSB building and on Tverskaya. At the opening of one of the first strip clubs in Moscow Dolls in 1994, I also received accreditation from Moscow News. This opening brought together not only journalists, but also famous politicians and deputies who came not alone, but with their wives. The strip club was news in Moscow life - its appearance was interesting to everyone.
In the early 1990s, the first glossy magazines appeared in Russia, which began to publish semi-nude images. There were few photographers, so in the morning you could shoot some kind of demonstration, and in the evening - models for the gloss. Moreover, the girls came to the shooting from the same morning demonstration. In the 1990s, everyone did everything.
The models were students, secretaries and saleswomen who wanted to change their lives and try something new. They tried to get into another world through candid photo sessions - glossy, beautiful. Most often for them it was the first and only shooting in their life. They were not paid any money. Many of them thought that such filming was cool and progressive. In this way they discarded the old principles of morality.
Moreover, among them there were not only ordinary girls, but also famous actresses. For example, Elena Koreneva at that time considered it possible for herself to appear nude for Speed-Info, an absolutely yellow publication. On the day when the issue with Koreneva’s photographs was published, it was scary to go down the subway - everywhere, on every dirty box, this newspaper lay. I don’t know what Koreneva herself felt at that moment, but after the publication an avalanche of abuse hit the actress. By the way, despite the status of a tabloid newspaper, at that time Speed-Info was one of the few publications that had good printing, and therefore respected photographers were happy to publish in it.
In the 1990s, I also collaborated with Andrey magazine, one of the first Russian men's magazines. The magazine “Andrey” was invented by one person - Alexey Weitsler. He was editor-in-chief, photographer and producer. He found models himself, wrote texts and laid out the magazine in his apartment near the Yuzhnaya metro station. We met Weizler at some presentation; there were many of them in the 1990s. I remember one of the first shoots took place against the backdrop of a wall of computers that some commercial company provided to the magazine. Filming took place in primitive studios, in ordinary rooms and basements - wherever necessary. They even filmed it in a real fire department.
When we were shooting a model for “Andrei” on Red Square, we borrowed a spacesuit for shooting from the Museum of Cosmonautics on our word of honor, and my wife’s friend lent me a squirrel fur coat. To film at St. Basil's Cathedral, there was no need to negotiate with any law enforcement agencies or services. They just came and took it off. The huge snowdrift against which the girl is posing in this photo is real, not a decoration. And in the background you can see some hard workers coming from their shift. Although this photograph is staged, it is essentially documentary and very well conveys the spirit of that time.
We worked with Weizler out of friendship - the magazine did not pay fees because there was nothing to pay with. “Andrey” was published irregularly, from time to time - when it was possible to find sponsors for the publication. One day, the caretaker of “Andrey” disappeared from the magazine’s editorial office, taking with him the circulation of one of the issues instead of his salary. Such was the time then.
Can we say that a sexual revolution took place in Russia in the 1990s? In the 1990s, we had a lot of sexual and revolutionary things - in the sense that the processes were explosive. But what was happening in our country was not similar to the sexual revolution that took place a quarter of a century earlier in the West. The Western Sexual Revolution was primarily a movement of women who sought liberation and equality with men. What happened here was primarily aimed at satisfying a new social stratum - men with money who wanted other entertainment. It was for them that erotic magazines and strip clubs were opened, and they were offered sex services.
In the 1990s, Western magazines were very interested in sex life in Russia. Now she doesn't call great interest, because it is closer to average European standards. Although sometimes topics appear that attract attention. For example, I recently filmed a story for Spiegel about strip clubs for women. IN Western Europe they are less common and not as popular as in Russia. This is a successful and profitable business for us. Many Russian women go there regularly and behave like men there.
The erotic boom that occurred in the early 1990s has remained a phenomenon of that time. In the mid-2000s I filmed a project for a German magazine Stern. Once a week they published a regular photo project called “So Loves the World,” which was dedicated to sex life in different countries. In search of subjects for the project, I began to sort through my old photographs and realized that many subjects from the 1990s could no longer be filmed. Erotica and sex have again gone somewhere into specially designated areas - where they probably should be.
Recorded by Denis Boyarinov
The editors would like to thank the Center for Photography. the Lumiere brothers for their assistance in conducting the conversation.
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Material from Wikipedia - free encyclopedia
| Evgeniy Nikolaevich Kondakov | |
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USSR, Russia |
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Evgeniy Nikolaevich Kondakov- Russian neurosurgeon, deputy director for scientific, organizational and methodological work, Doctor of Medical Sciences, Professor. Editor of the journal "Neurosurgery".
Biography
Awards
- State Prize of the Russian Federation, for the series of works “Acute intracranial hemorrhage: study of pathogenesis, development and implementation of new technologies in diagnosis and surgical treatment”
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Tikhon was the most useful and brave man in the party. No one else discovered cases of attack, no one else took him and beat the French; and as a result of this, he was the jester of all the Cossacks and hussars and he himself willingly succumbed to this rank. Now Tikhon was sent by Denisov, at night, to Shamshevo in order to take the tongue. But, either because he was not satisfied with just the Frenchman, or because he slept through the night, during the day he climbed into the bushes, into the very middle of the French and, as Denisov saw from Mount Denisov, was discovered by them.After talking a little more time with the esaul about tomorrow's attack, which now, looking at the proximity of the French, Denisov seemed to have finally decided, he turned his horse and rode back.
“Well, damn, now let’s go dry off,” he said to Petya.
Approaching the forest guardhouse, Denisov stopped, peering into the forest. Through the forest, between the trees, a man in a jacket, bast shoes and a Kazan hat, with a gun over his shoulder and an ax in his belt, walked with long, light steps on long legs, with long, dangling arms. Seeing Denisov, this man hastily threw something into the bush and, taking off his wet hat with its drooping brim, approached the boss. It was Tikhon. His face, pitted with smallpox and wrinkles, with small, narrow eyes, shone with self-satisfied gaiety. He raised his head high and, as if holding back laughter, stared at Denisov.
“Well, where did it fall?” Denisov said.
- Where had you been? “I followed the French,” Tikhon answered boldly and hastily in a hoarse but melodious bass.
- Why did you climb during the day? Cattle! Well, didn't you take it?..
“I took it,” said Tikhon.
- Where is he?
https://www.site/2016-01-17/veteran_fotozhurnalistiki_evgeniy_kondakov_o_raspade_sssr
"We're used to blood"
Veteran photojournalist Evgeny Kondakov talks about the collapse of the USSR, Russian exceptionalism and the Ural criminal wars
A photo exhibition “Tanks Didn’t Take Vilnius,” dedicated to the tragic events in Lithuania twenty-five years ago, opened at the Yeltsin Center in Yekaterinburg. In January 1991, buildings were introduced into the center of the Lithuanian capital Soviet troops to confront citizens who want the republic to secede from the Soviet Union and defend their independence. In this clash, according to various sources, from 14 to 16 people were killed and almost one and a half hundred people were injured. Photojournalist Evgeny Kondakov, who was filming a report for the Moscow News publication, witnessed the January events. An exhibition of his photographs, as well as newspaper pages of the famous weekly with material that raised Moscow to a rally in support of the Baltic states, will last until January 31 in Yekaterinburg. In an interview with the site, Evgeniy Kondakov spoke about why the Lithuanians did not want to have anything to do with the Soviet Union and why he went to Yekaterinburg cemeteries.
“They united the republics in such a way that the end could not be different”
— At the opening of the photo exhibition, you said that on January thirteen, 1991, being in Vilnius, it was already clear to you that this was the last day of the Soviet Union - the collapse was irreversible. Why is this event the last point in the existence of the USSR for you?
“It was clear that the country would no longer be the same: I saw how the people’s mood had changed. The day before they sang - it was more like a festival than a confrontation - people came to the square in support of their parliament and the decision for independence. A few hours later they were responded to by withdrawing columns of tanks. They remained in this square, but with absolutely serious faces. It was clear that they rethought something, made a decision and clearly did not want to have anything to do with those who, instead of conversations, came to them with such “arguments.”
- How did you feel when you realized that Soviet Union disintegrates?
— I grew up in this country - of course, I felt sorry. At the same time, I could not condemn these people. If I were in their place, I think I would have acted in exactly the same way and would not have sought reconciliation.
— Twenty-five years have passed, and the dispute is still relevant: some ardently regret that the Union fell apart, that they lost such a country, others breathe a sigh of relief, believing that this is how freedom came. You can guess what opinion you hold, the question is how do you argue your position?
- In fact, I feel sorry that the Soviet Union collapsed, big country there was, but it seems to be an objective process. This was laid down by the founding fathers, they united the republics, created the country in such a way that the end could not be different.
— In the comments to interviews published in online publications with your photographs of “Bloody Sunday” in Vilnius, readers write about the Lithuanians: “enemies of the people, they supported the destruction of the USSR and with it all that is bright and better.” What do you think is the reason for this position?
“Many of us don’t like to understand history. We are accustomed to the idea that we are a big country, a sixth of the world, and that this is above all. And here we return to how this sixth part was created: the Lithuanians believe that they were forced into the Soviet Union. Then a third of their intelligentsia was shot, many were exiled to Siberia. They did not forget this, since it is a small country, a small population - the number of victims was noticeable. Some believe that they were inevitable, justified by higher interests. In Lithuania they don’t think so and have an absolute right to do so.
— Does documentary photography somehow help to understand the historical process?
— During preparation for the exhibition, I talked with Russian-speaking journalists from Lithuania, then one of the readers noted in the comments that this photographer had no evidence of who was guilty of the death of fourteen people. But I am not an investigator, I have a subjective view. I was there for the first time and, like a machine gun, I was shooting in all directions with my camera. Photography is, in a sense, a document, of course, but rather, it is a document of the atmosphere that was there. It is impossible to understand cause-and-effect relationships with the help of photographs; for this you need volumes on history and archives. In the case of photography, everything is subjective - it depends on the point of view of the person taking the picture.
— If we’re talking not just about photography, but about photojournalism, how can we make sure that the photographs in the publication add up to the most objective story possible?
— Photojournalism is the unity of photography and text; rarely in serious publications does a photograph live on its own; important function, but it still obeys the text. When a photograph, including one published on the pages of a publication, is transferred to an exhibition hall, its function changes slightly; much more now depends on the author of the project. A different platform is being created that can be filled with some content, for example, by inviting experts to the opening of an exhibition, as in our case. And this is a new form of searching for answers to existing questions, in which photography is just a reason to start looking for these answers. After that trip to Vilnius, I did not seriously study the Lithuanian topic, I read, of course, what I came across, read about the partisans who resisted Sovietization from the mid-50s, I remembered that in Yakutia, where I grew up, my parents were friends with people from Lithuanian surnames - then I realized that these were exiled people.
“Europe has become their home”
— In your photographs from Vilnius there is no violence, no blood, no the most tragic part of the events.
— I deliberately did not give close-ups of corpses. There is one photograph in which there is a hand with a bullet, and in the background, blurred, there are two dead people. To be honest, many people think that fourteen dead people- this is nonsense, there’s nothing to talk about: under cars in big city a comparable number of people die. But in this case, the incommensurability of the response to fair demands is important. Indeed, a lot of time has passed, we have become accustomed to blood, now, in order to impress us, hundreds of people must be killed. In Vilnius, I photographed only two or three dead, for me then it was the first blood, after that there were Chechnya, Ossetia, and other places - and I was used to seeing this. But in 1991, the death of fourteen people made an impression not only on me, but also on the country - it was not without reason that Moscow shuddered and tens of thousands of people came out to rallies in support of Lithuania and Latvia.
— The other day, on the anniversary of the events we are talking about, almost no Russian media mentioned the entry of troops into Vilnius, with the exception of Oleg Kashin’s material and Mikhail Shevelev’s column on the Ekho Moskvy website. Perhaps there was someone else and I didn’t find it, but, in any case, why did they choose to forget about it?
“Again, I can refer to comments on the Internet: they wrote that everything has already been said, that there is no need to stir up what is sore, that this is something that you don’t want to remember. Perhaps this is due to the fact that Lithuania chose independence and chose to leave.
- Offense?
“I asked about this when, on the eve of the anniversary, I offered these photographs to a variety of publications: they told me that so many years had already passed, what offense could there be. But it seems to me that there is a large amount of what can be called resentment in this: you decided to go to Europe, so you live there - we don’t want to know anything about you.
— Afterwards you went to film in Vilnius again, at the locations of the events of 1991. They said that people have changed a lot, how?
— It was striking that they were very friendly. I was wary, I thought that they would treat me like a visiting occupier, but there is nothing like that there. People still have warm impressions from past years, and they don’t give them up. However, I did not meet anyone who would like to return to the Soviet Union. Of all the people I talked to, only twenty-year-old guys spoke to me warily at first, afraid of the context in which the photographs would be presented. But, in the end, we got to talking, I asked where they were studying, what they were going to do after: the last question was open to them and they were simply looking through the options - maybe to Ireland for a master’s degree, or to Denmark for some kind of scholarship, or at a computer company here in Vilnius. These were absolutely equivalent options: the feeling that Europe had become home for them.
— For them, perhaps we in Russia have a lot of prejudices about Europe, why do you think?
- We are still a little different, it’s not for nothing that the Lithuanians felt like strangers. I think this is due to our history and decades-long isolation from Europe. I don’t know why these differences are not overcome, maybe this requires special work. Living in Europe is quite a big responsibility, because scholarships and salaries do not fall from the sky, and here, perhaps, many people count on an umbrella from the state, for example, in the form of pensions. Ideological instructions also cultivate an attitude towards the Russian as a superman, the best, the exceptional. This “exceptionalism” contributes to the reluctance to understand one’s real place in the world.
“The finest hour of journalism was associated with many years of information hunger”
— Answering questions about the photo exhibition “Tanks Didn’t Take Vilnius,” you said that it was not only about the events of twenty-five years ago, but also about journalistic work, that it was a monument to the press of that time. What did the press do to deserve this conventional monument?
— In the early nineties and a little earlier, journalism experienced its finest hour. Long years of lack of information have created a kind of pent-up demand for real journalism. The newspapers' circulations, which were huge in modern times, quickly sold out. People were waiting for the release of the same “Moscow News”, and if they did not have time to buy it at the kiosk, they read it at the stands near the editorial office. This finest hour was associated not so much with the quality of that journalism, but with the many years of hunger of the people.
— You started your career as a photojournalist at Moscow News and continue to this day in other publications. During this time, have there been any qualitative changes in the collaboration between the photojournalist and the publication?
— Now there are different times in photojournalism, associated primarily with the transition to digital technology. In newspapers and magazines, circulations have changed dozens of times; now leading magazines, such as Stern, have practically abandoned the creation of their own photo projects. They cannot afford to send a photographer to shoot a report for several weeks - only a few photo correspondents work “under the roof” of the publication. Now the creation of a project is the work of the photographer himself, he is both a producer and an organizer.
— And this finished product is bought by the media. Does demand depend on the topics offered by the photographer?
— We can say that in the nineties everyone did everything: during the day a photographer could shoot a demonstration, in the evening - a girl from an advertising agency, and the next morning - some catalogs in the library. Today's market is more structured and photographers have become highly specialized. And the demand for a particular topic depends on the quality of execution, on the look, on the approach - interesting or uninteresting. I wouldn't say that there is any taboo on topics. The Russian press is not entirely homogeneous. Another thing is that, for example, it was very difficult for me to publish material that had nothing to do with politics, about a businessman from Ingushetia, he invented a method for processing fish skin.
- It cost me so much effort! The main obstacle was that everyone doubted how there could be any business in Ingushetia. I was not able to publish even in Ogonyok, with which I have been collaborating for many years, and they know that I will not propose a dubious topic. They thought that since he was a businessman, it meant that the material had been paid for. But the fact is that he was a very interesting guy who, by the way, having created a working structure in Ingushetia, decided to open a branch in a place where leather is traditionally dealt with - in Istanbul. And relations with Turkey just deteriorated and problems arose, so maybe I’ll return to this topic again.
— Why was this topic important to you that you pushed for publication so much?
— If we talk about the market, I published this photo, which I’m glad about, but I didn’t receive any money for it. I don’t know how they survive at Russian Reporter: they still produce a fairly high-quality publication with very poor financial indicators. Then I simply had nowhere to retreat - I had already filmed this story at my own expense, I went there myself. I heard about this guy from Ingushetia on Far East, when I was there on a business trip - in the place of traditional fish skin processing, where the Nanais have been doing this for centuries. All this became interesting to me, that guy from Ingushetia turned out to be incredibly passionate about his work, which is both curious and photographically beautiful.
"The war continues after death - in the form of a tombstone competition"
— Again, at the opening of the exhibition, you admitted that in the nineties you often came to Yekaterinburg to film a crime story. What exactly were you photographing then?
— The most successful was the series from the local cemeteries - Uralmashevsky and Shirokorechensky. This was done primarily for foreign magazines; the shocking topic was something they had not seen. We came to cemeteries and studied the dates engraved on the tombstones with portraits of the dead young people. We tried to meet their relatives - we asked about how these people died, sometimes we managed to get to the funeral, and it turned out to be a photo series about the lifestyle and manner of death of the criminal public.
— What struck you while working on the project?
“When I first saw these monuments, it seemed to me that they were some kind of aliens, people from another civilization, where they shoot at each other, explode in cars, but it turned out that they are absolutely ordinary guys between whom there is a war. And it continues after death - in the form of a tombstone competition. They are different in style: either one group is trying to show the other that they have not yet been defeated, or they are trying to make it clear to their remaining fighters that, even if something happens, they will not be forgotten.
— Were there really no similar gang wars in Moscow back then, or similar monuments in cemeteries?
— I must say that at that time Yekaterinburg received increased attention from journalists due to the fact that it was the hometown of the president. This is on the one hand, on the other - here it was very clear: one cemetery - one group, another cemetery - another. In other cities, memorials to fallen crime lords were interspersed among other graves, and the confrontation, the tombstone competition, the particular continuation of the war after death was difficult to see. I was interested in this, I visited, for example, Togliatti, where there were also strong criminal wars, many dead and many tombstones in a similar style, but they were lost in the cemetery and did not make such an impression.
— Do you have an explanation why there was such a flourishing of crime in the Urals, in Yekaterinburg?
“I think because there was something to fight for, there was something to divide, something to fight for.” This is an advanced industrial region, there are many enterprises here that were tasty morsels for criminal groups.
— And now, judging by your words, you are interested that Yekaterinburg has changed from a criminal place to a place where exhibitions are possible, including yours.
— Yes, I would also say that these changes are much stronger than in Vilnius. A new generation of people has grown up in Yekaterinburg, smart, thinking, asking questions: while we were mounting the exhibition, people came up to me and asked questions - it turned out to be impromptu discussions. I dream of coming here to the next biennale, you have become famous for this in Moscow.
— What questions were you asked?
— They asked whether Lithuanians regret leaving the country and what they received in return. I answered that they received something clearly not material, there was very little material.
— When you come to Yekaterinburg now, do you visit the places where you filmed in the nineties?
“I'm afraid many of these places no longer exist.” We went to a cafe for dinner, and I asked the waiters if they had heard of the restaurant “Mr. X” or “Mr. M” - there was one in the nineties, I took a photo there, which was published in many places, and I’m afraid that I indicated the name incorrectly, I wanted to get there and clarify. But I think that restaurants have a very short lifespan; most of the places I’ve been to are just some kind of restaurants or nightclubs. For example, at Uralmash there was a club “Abyss”, I don’t know if it exists now, I still remember the meeting place and leisure time of the “Central” - the club in “Cosmos”. Today I even wanted to go to the cemetery, maybe I’ll still have time to do it. Because some of the people I photographed while still alive have also now turned into monuments.