Space of Identiy (E-Journal, York University Toronto)

Bodnar, Eva

English

Pictures Worth the Proverbial Thousand Words: Multifaceted Loyalties As Expressed in Cartographic Mapping of Hungary, 1790-1848

Barykina, Natalia

Architecture and Spatial Practices in Post-Communist Minsk: Urban Space under Authoritarian Control

Saffle, Michael

Yang, Hon-Lun

Privatization and Potemkinization: Composite Identity Spaces in Contemporary Beijing

Editors, The

Introduction to the special issue

Ingram, Susan

Reisenleitner, Markus

The Identity-Producing Spaces of Hong Kong: Reflections on Ackbar Abbas’s City of Disappearance

Filipowicz, Marcin

Anti-Hero? The Concept of Masculinity in Czech Literature of the Nineteenth Century

Lu, Pan

The Remaking of Shanghai Local Spaces

Untiks, Inga

Frankie Goes to VilniusINGA UNTIKSREPLACING PUBLIC ARTAfter Lithuania had declared independence from the Soviet Union,the city-space of Vilnius was altered by the removal of numerousbusts and statues of Lenin, Marx and regional disciples, presented inthe Socialist Realist style, that had stood beside the effigies of long-dead Lithuanian poets, artists and heroes. The empty plinths left bytheir departure appeared as a supremely public expression of the un-certain future of the new Lithuanian republic. Throughout the early1990s in Riga, the capital city of Latvia, the public image of the city be-came a hotly contested topic of debate in the mass media who presen-ted the tensions as an example of the increasingly strained relationsbetween the new nationalist government, newly developed interestgroups and public opinion, all of which desired an imposing influ-ence over the future of the recently independent republic. InLithuania, however, these concerns were played out in the local ima-gination in a less political fashion as the boundaries between civic ac-tion and artistic concerns have traditionally been of a more fluidnature. While their Latvian and Estonian neighbors were endlesslydebating the issue of the ‘definitive’ image that would represent thefuture of the newly independent nations, in Lithuania a group ofartists in Vilnius created a symbol, almost accidentally, that wouldnot only provide a definitive statement of the uncertain future ofLithuania but one that would distinctively declare the end the end ofcommunism and demonstrate their newly found freedom: a bust ofthe American folk-rock musician, Frank Zappa.The choice of Zappa is perhaps not as absurd as it would appear atfirst glance, despite the fact that Zappa never once crossed the bor-ders into any of the three small Baltic nations before his death in 1993.When placed in the context of the cultural climate of late socialism,Zappa, as an anti-establishment figure who gained notoriety duringthe 1960s civil movements in America, had become a cult figurethroughout much of Eastern and Central Europe. The history and in-fluence of American rock music in late socialist culture and the earlyyears of independence is well-documented and figures directly in theimagination of many artists during the transitional period of the late1980s and early 1990s.[1] The apotheosis of American commoditiesand culture was rampant in the Baltics as well as the rest of post-so-cialist Europe, and cultural freedom and expression became an im-portant indicator of social change. But as is typical of this phenomen-on throughout post-socialist Europe, the appropriated images, ac-tions, attitudes and lifestyles that had been transported from a verydifferent social and historical culture often intersected bizarrely withlocal culture.In the cultural climate of the late 1980s, irony and kitsch were of-ten employed in response to the widespread propaganda of a decay-ing communist regime with its overtly serious and political publicdisplays, the desire for non-traditional symbols and public statementscontinued therefore making the eccentric Zappa an appealing, if hu-morous representation of the current generation. A copper bust of theAmerican legend was erected in 1993, the year of Zappa’s death, andstands on a 4.2 meter high steel plinth in a peaceful park in the centerof Vilnius a mere block away from one of the city’s busiest shoppingdistricts. Zappa’s image, taken from the latter years of his life, carriesa somber tone, as the pony-tailed figure presents an overtly seriousexpression, not fully unlike those depicted by the past leaders of so-cialism who had adorned the streets of Vilnius. In what follows I ex-plore the official and untold stories of this statue as well as the signi-ficance of its location.TESTING THE LIMITS: THE OFFICIAL STORYIn 1993, artist and photographer Saulius Paukstys, thirty-seven yearsold at the time, was president of the Lithuanian branch of the FrankZappa Fan Club. After some discussion with other members of thegroup, he presented to the Vilnius city council a proposal for the erec-tion of a statue of Frank Zappa outside the Vilnius Academy of Artthat was supported by over three hundred signatures of artists,writers and even a few of the younger members of the Lithuanianparliament. Support for this unusual project was particularly strongamong the creative professionals living in the nearby bohemian dis-trict of Uzupis, which had long carried a reputation for its absurdactions.Government officials dealing with the request were naturallytaken aback at first by this seemingly absurd proposal, yet after somepersuasion, the necessary paperwork was passed with the sole clausebeing that all funding for the project was to be independently84 spacesofidentity 8.2 (2008)raised.[2] However, despite official approval, the project ran into sev-eral other snags as the conservative and bureaucratic city administra-tion, which included a significant number of teachers from the VilniusAcademy of Art, was outraged at the possibility of Frank Zappa ad-orning the entrance to their institution. The nature of this outrageranged from the fear of corrupting the innocent minds of students at-tending the institution, to the threat of bringing public shame uponthe school that would result in a loss of much-needed funding.Rumors quickly began to circulate throughout Vilnius with the in-tent of preventing the erection of the statue. Early claims stated thatZappa had been a homosexual and was therefore an inappropriatechoice to represent the city and the institution. These were followedby allegations that communists were behind the commissioning of thestatue, which was reinforced in the public imagination by Zappa’sleftist lyrics and the fact that the artist donating the bust had workedas a sculptor in the Soviet regime. As a result of the opposition fromthe art academy and other conservative power-players, new siteswere proposed and subsequently rejected. One was thought to be tooclose to a statue of a respected Lithuanian nationalist writer, wherethe company of Zappa was considered disrespectful. Another locationnot far from the Catholic Cathedral was also deemed unsuitable asPope John II had recently visited Lithuania and the presence of Zappawas thought to potentially aggravate the increasing influence of theCatholic Church in Lithuania. In the end, a leafy park near a studenthospital was agreed upon as the most suitable choice.The unveiling ceremony organized by the Frank Zappa Fan Clubwas an event that Zappa himself would have undoubtedly enjoyed.Speeches and toasts were given to Zappa and Konstantinas Bogdanas,the seventy year-old sculptor who created the piece, accompanied byunusual renditions of Frank Zappa songs performed by a militaryband. Czech President Vaclav Havel was invited to the ceremony, anda local radio station broadcast the event live, followed by an extendedZappa-only program which included inspirational snippets fromZappa’s personal writings and philosophy – translated into Lithuani-an, of course.For many the Zappa project symbolized a chance for Lithuania todistance itself from Russia while publicly declaring its place inWestern culture and politics, a fact that to some extent explains thewidespread public support. In the popular media, the erection of theZappa statue was seen to be a confrontation with the fledgling demo-cratic movement in Lithuania – a testing of the true limits of censor-ship and freedom of speech. However, these lofty aspirations werespacesofidentity 8.2 (2008) 85only a later development of a project which had begun quiteaccidentally.THE UNTOLD STORYIn the early 1990s, a dedicated group of Zappa fans gathered regu-larly in the Uzupis area of Vilnius to swap Frank Zappa records anddiscuss the American culture that had been so determinedly sup-pressed under communist rule. The recent collapse of the SovietUnion opened the doors to previously inaccessible aspects of Americ-an culture, including Frank Zappa albums, which had been greatlycoveted during the late socialist period. At the time, Zappa himselfwas all but unknown in the hearts and minds of Lithuania’s three mil-lion citizens, but thanks to the actions of the artists of the Frank ZappaFan Club, he quickly became a central symbol of Lithuanianindependence.Together with other artists, Paukstys created two bogus Zappa ex-hibitions at one of the numerous new art galleries in the rapidlygentrifying Uzupis area. The first exhibition featured letters pur-portedly written by Zappa himself to his Lithuanian admirers, andwidespread public reaction and support for the exhibition, in partsupported by the current vogue in American culture, inspired asecond exhibition. “Memorial Objects of Frank Zappa” followed, dis-playing such bric-a-brac as clocks, knives, pens and items of clothingclaimed to have been previously owned by Zappa. In truth, none ofthe items featured had ever travelled further than Paukstys’sapartment.These ‘fictional’ (some now say ‘experimental’) exhibitions were amassive hit with the Lithuanian public, far more so than other con-temporary art displays. When questioned by local journalists abouthow the exhibitions came about, Paukstys fabricated a widely pub-lished story about his fictional brush with Zappa while on vacation inCalifornia. However a few years later, those involved with the organ-ization of the exhibitions came clean, admitting that none of them hadever met Zappa, let alone been granted a private interview or re-ceived articles for the exhibitions. Vytautas Kernagis, a respectedLithuanian musician involved with the projects, explains how thisphenomenon could have possibly taken hold of the city:We never saw Zappa, but nobody ever saw God, and they still go to church.Lithuania is a nation of mythology, legends and fairytales. Everything ismystified. People believe really quickly, and one of the myths is that inde-pendence is good for everyone, with no exceptions. That’s why, in such anenvironment, the Zappa seeds were so successfully planted.[3]86 spacesofidentity 8.2 (2008)The euphoria and optimism which followed the almost unthinkablecollapse of the Soviet Union led many to believe that just about any-thing was possible. As a sense of disillusionment took root after theearly uncertain transitional period, and after decades of lies and ma-nipulations, people just wanted to believe. The sense of uncritical op-timism that characterized much of the Lithuanian mentality duringthis time cleared a path for potential manipulation. The experience ofthe Zappa exhibitions proved the case for the necessity of critical ana-lysis and public discussion that many artists felt to be lacking in thementality of the early 1990s and spurred on a second wave of civil ac-tion in the form of an independence movement in the decaying Vilni-us neighborhood of Uzupis.ZAPPA – PATRON SAINT OF UZUPISFor hundreds of years, Uzupis had been the relatively isolated homeof mostly Russian and Jewish residents who had remained cut offfrom the Old Town until two bridges were built over the river in thesixteenth century. The natural beauty of the area and proximity to thecenter of town allowed Uzupis to develop as a desirable neighbor-hood for wealthy craftsmen and even some nobility. By the end of thetwo World Wars, however, the area had lost much of its acquiredwealth and respectability as most of its population disappearedthrough emigration or extermination. The area was populated againsoon after the war by poor laborers, under whose watch the neighbor-hood fell into neglect and decay. Until recently, the area was con-sidered to be the most criminal part of the city, which contrastedstarkly with the relative progress of the surrounding new Soviet-styleareas.The loosening of restrictions on movement, which occurred dur-ing the late socialist period in Lithuania, resulted in a small exodusfrom the tall Soviet apartment-blocks to Uzupis of artists, writers andother creative professionals in search of cheap property and adequatespacing for their endeavors. The slow process of gentrifying the areaand the artistic life of this small enclave in the center of Vilnius ad-equately depicts the early grassroots efforts of a community in themiddle of socio-political transition. Since 1991, countless galleries,cafes and studios have been built and renovated to the highest stand-ards, only to be quickly abandoned due to the difficult economic cir-cumstances plaguing the country and the lack of government supportin administrative matters such as permits and taxation.The eccentric population and the emerging spirit of the times cre-ated a distinctive community atmosphere, which is often compared tospacesofidentity 8.2 (2008) 87the Montmartre commune in Paris in the early 1800s – except withFrank Zappa as its patron saint. Despite local efforts, the area sufferedcontinual neglect by the city council in such basic matters as adequateelectricity and waste disposal, inspiring local artists to take civil ac-tion. As Paukstys states, “The spirit of Zappa made us see that inde-pendence from Moscow was not enough and persuaded us to declareindependence from the rest of Vilnius.” On April 1st, 1993, the UzupioRepublika, the Independent Republic of Uzupis, was established.Today, the Republic of Uzupis is officially independent one day ayear: April Fool’s Day. Yet throughout the year the dedicated Uzupi-an council continues their work. There is a president, Romas Lileikis,a prime minister, a Ministry of Foreign Affairs, a functioning customsoffice, an embassy in Moscow and a local currency that occasionallycirculates. As well, they have an official Uzupian Coat of Arms, fourofficial flags (one for each season) and their own slogan, “Don’t win.Don’t defend. Don’t give up,” echoing the spirit of some early Fluxusprojects which have found a significant degree of popularity in theneighborhood and the nation. For those who dare violate the unusualconstitution of Uzupis, which claims such bizarre articles as “A manhas the right to live near the river, and the river has the right to flownear a man,” there is an army of seventeen to defend its existence.There is even an extensive calendar of holidays and traditions, a fewof which coincide with Lithuanian national holidays and some ofwhich are absurdly Uzupian.Citizenship to the Uzupian republic is not merely limited to its7,000 residents but also includes those who share its spirit and tradi-tions no matter where in the world they live. Thus far, there are sev-enty ambassadors to Uzupis who have taken up the ritual of beingpresented with a hat and a whistle, including Jonas Mekas, theLithuanian film director who lives in New York City, Arturas Zuokas,a former mayor of Vilnius, and the Dalai Lama. The area was given afurther boost of notoriety after the first documentary film aboutUzupis Ten Minutes Before the Flight of Icarus, directed by Uzupis res-ident Arunas Matelis, was shown at film festivals around the worldand caught the interest of Werner Herzog.The optimism of the area and its community spirit is in stark con-trast with much of the rest of post-socialist Vilnius, which is oftenplagued by disillusionment and apathy. As President Lileikisexplains,We’re trying to energize a community by asserting our independence. It’svery different from the independence gained in ’91, but we’re trying to88 spacesofidentity 8.2 (2008)foster the same community spirit so that people can make things happen forthemselves. That’s a trait they lost through seventy years of oppression.[4]The vision for Uzupis was to create a dynamic community atmo-sphere that was at once socially and politically critical, while retaininga sense of creativity and absurdity. Yet its existence also indicates animportant social phenomenon of artists leading the way towards al-ternative modes of thinking and existence. The desire for change inUzupis, as well as the Frank Zappa statue, were taken to the most ba-sic grassroots level in order to circumvent the sluggish changes in thenewly independent government and institutions. In a city where art isundoubtedly political, these projects signify the potential of artisticaction to directly affect social and political change.NOTES[1]See Diena and Latvijas Atkarigas Laikrakstis throughout 1991 for further details ofthis debate.[2]According to an interview with Paukstys in a Lithuanian newspaper, city gov-ernment officials queried the relevance of Frank Zappa to Lithuania. After athird party convinced an official that Zappa had 'Jewish features' (during atime where appropriate treatment of Jewish history was important to thepublic image of Lithuania), city officials gave their consent.[3]Vytautas Kernagis in interview with Kate Connolly in Rolling Stone magazine,March 29, 2002.[4]Romas Lileikis in interview with Kate Connolly in Rolling Stone magazine,March 29, 2002.spacesofidentity 8.2 (2008) 89

Frankie Goes to Vilnius

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