Good-bye, Lenin! was named Europe’s best film last year, and we increasingly often observe young people sporting T-shirts or windbreakers with cynical legends like “USSR”; every second Ukrainian believes that a loaf of white bread costs 1.5 rubles, not hryvnias. Does this mean that the Soviet Union is alive? Probably. Anyway, Kyiv’s art exhibit mecca, Andriyivsky Uzviz St., has of late been dampening its expressly national reputation, enthusiastically offering cultural hangovers of the past [Soviet] epoch.
Previously, such merchandise was actively supplied to Kyiv’s Sinny Bazaar. Now one can find only second-hand stuff and cheap household appliances there. Looks as though Sinny’s lack of market demand turned into its exact opposite on Andriyivsky Uzviz, as a good part of the street is occupied by such “cultural goods,” including the square in front of St. Andrew’s Church. Separate vendors are found all the way down the street where it opens on Kontraktova Ploshcha Sq. A shame, considering that the vendors wouldn’t be their if their merchandise weren’t popular. After all, Andriyivsky Uzviz and the whereabouts are historic places, and the street actually boasts a unique and eventful history, with practically every building being history unto itself.
During Kyiv Rus’, Andriyivsky Uzviz was the short cut from Upper (Old) Kyiv to Podil. The rest of the street, reaching from the castle to Kyselivka Hill, was built in the Middle Ages. In 1713, the governor of Kyiv ordered the passage between Zamkova and Andriyivska hills expanded and paved with cobblestone, making Andriyivsky Uzviz available to pedestrians, riders, and horse- and oxen-driven carts. The name Andriyivsky Uzviz dates from the late 1750s, after the Russian empress Elizabeth Petrovna ordered the design of St. Andrew’s Church in 1753 and the construction project was completed under Rastrelli’s able guidance. As a matter of fact, this church is considered the most important historical site on Andriyivsky Uzviz. The church is atop a hill and has its own legend, to the effect that the place had once been part of a sea, and that Saint Andrew the First-called erected a cross there and prophesized the city’s big future, whereupon the sea retreated and some of it hid under the Andriyivska Hora. And when it came time to build the church, a spring opened under the foundation. Hence the absence of a belfry, because water would come rushing back, flooding Kyiv, after the first bell toll.
As for the place name. The Soviets renamed Andriyivsky Uzviz “G.V. Liver St.” and the historical name was reinstated in 1944. Soviet authorities had the notorious habit of altering set Ukrainian traditions and enforcing “new” ones. Andriyivsky Uzviz was no exception. After the Reds seized Kyiv, they banned street sales of craftsmen’s merchandise depicting national Ukrainian symbols, and the same applied to practicing folk traditions in this context. Naturally, such restrictions affected Andriyivsky Uzviz in the first place; folk artifacts were arrested or simply destroyed on the spot; art galleries and exhibition halls were ordered closed, and citizens branded as “nationally conscious” were thrown behind bars. This street became functional again only under Khrushchev’s “thaw” and finally after the proclamation of Ukrainian national independence. The nation-state was reviving lost traditions, and life was breathed into Andriyivsky Uzviz. But for how long?
The new political reality in Ukraine would seem to promise Andriyivsky Uzviz a big future, restoring its historical status as the capital’s true artistic venue. Ukrainians were supposed to trace their long-lost roots there. This held true, but only for a couple of years. Foreign tourists would have a good idea about Ukraine by taking a stroll down Andriyivsky Uzviz, and intellectuals said the street was Ukraine’s Monmartre. All agreed that here was an open-air exhibit demonstrating the Ukrainian spirit and atmosphere dating from the late nineteenth century; that one could always find several free-lancing artists there, be it hot summer or biting winter, because Andriyivsky Uzviz was teeming with art galleries, legendary sites, and people fully aware of their national identity. Granted: all this has happened, yet it is also true that the current situation proves different.
The third millennium sees Andriyivsky Uzviz dominated by moods aimed at reincarnating the old national idea, albeit with a different visage, so that what is supposed to be ideologically valid actually turns out being simply in vogue. Here one can find “rarities” — things that had at one time or another been transformed beyond recognition by Andriyivsky Uzviz. At present, buying matryoshka traditional Russian wooden dolls potraying Soviet leaders appears more fun than marveling at modern Kateryna-Bilokur-style Ukrainian ornaments.
Well, those visiting Andriyivsky Uzviz to buy things other than vyshyvanka hand-embroidered shirts and blouses may well end up purchasing T-shirts portraying Lenin showing the finger — traditionally interpreted here as pointing the way to the shining communist future. You can pay 50-60 hryvnias for a T-shirt and choose between Lenin, Stalin, Mother Russia, Gagarin, hammer and sickle [the Soviet national emblem], KGB functionaries, and other Soviet VIPs. This sort of merchandise proves in market demand, what with the reasonable prices and enthusiastic customers. Moreover, such Soviet-happy customers can buy CDs with Young Pioneers songs, Soviet brass band tunes, even Third Reich marches. Also, one can buy enough military uniform and insignia to dress up like Marshal Zhukov. It is also true that you will never find as many Soviet wartime decorations in any antiquities shop as you can here, on Andriyivsky Uzviz. Second, sporting Cheka/NKVD/KGB and Soviet flight commander’s garrison caps is very likely to be in vogue in the nearest future. Those mourning the Soviet Union more than the loss of their grandmothers are well expected to sport Lenin images on their outer garments and read books titled “Government Awards of the Great Patriotic War” instead of useful handbooks, placing bronze busts of Soviet leaders, rather than whimsically designed vases, on their home shelves, and keeping gramophones (retrieved from pawn shops) in place of modern music centers.
Gentlemen, how do you like such retro prospects? Or should this author address you as comrade workingmen? One is left wondering about what exactly we are trying so hard to accomplish.
