Reevaluating Nonconformism: The Latvian Case

Over the past two years, as biographical entries of Latvian artists—most of whom worked during the Soviet era—have been prepared for the Zimmerli Art Museum’s website of the Norton and Nancy Dodge Collection of Nonconformist Art from the Soviet Union, it has been fascinating for me to reacquaint myself with the twists and turns of these artists’ lives, sometimes finding out completely new information in the process. However, during this time I also noticed that most of these artists would not fit into the framework of nonconformism. Therefore, in this essay I would like to use the opportunity to critically reassess the myths and entrenched assumptions that have shaped the discourse surrounding nonconformist art in Latvia. Firstly, I briefly interrogate the conceptual foundations of the term nonconformism, asking how the concept has been defined and operationalized within art-historical scholarship. Secondly, I aim to evaluate the extent to which the continued application of the term to Latvian (and, more broadly, Baltic) art remains analytically valid and historically justified in contemporary research contexts. As a case study, I have selected artistic practices of two very well-known Latvian artists, Džemma Skulme and Ojārs Ābols, both represented in the Dodge Collection. An additional reasoning for this choice, and one that has provided a rich material on the artist’s life, is the exhibition Ojārs Ābols: Man’s Absurd Projects on Earth (curated by Elita Ansone), taking place at the National Art Museum in Riga from January 10 to May 10, 2026.

State socialist cultural policy has long been historicized through a binary framework: official ideology versus self-organized resistance. [1] Until recently, a dominant interpretative framework—largely formed within Western scholarship—posited nonconformism as a coherent and generalizable phenomenon applicable to the republics of the former Soviet Union. Within this paradigm, the term nonconformism was employed to designate artistic practices that, to varying degrees, positioned themselves in opposition to Soviet ideology and its institutional constraints. Consequently, artists who expressed resistance—whether explicit or implicit—and who produced works situated in tension with Soviet authoritarian structures were retrospectively subsumed under the category of nonconformism, irrespective of whether such works were publicly exhibited or remained within private or semiprivate spheres. Closely related terminological designations, including “underground artists,” “unofficial artists,” and “dissidents,” [2] have frequently been used interchangeably, further consolidating a broadly oppositional reading of artistic production under Soviet rule.

The attention toward underground art, as it is explained by Lithuanian scholar Skaidra Trilupaityte, emerged during what was already the Cold War era, which went hand in hand with a one-dimensional understanding of cultural life in the USSR. Trilupaityte points out that “this life has often been described using dichotomous and polarized opposition between official and unofficial tendencies, so that unofficial or semi-official art was generally interpreted as born out of defiance to totalitarian ideology. The political and moral interpretation of the whole Soviet system thus influenced the way we looked at art.” [3] However, since 1990s, revisionist approaches have moved away from these reductive categorizations by foregrounding the complexity and heterogeneity of Soviet artistic practices. [4] Such studies emphasize the necessity of examining the specific sociopolitical, institutional, and cultural policy frameworks that shaped artistic activity in each Soviet republic. In the case of the Baltic countries, particular attention must be paid to their distinct historical trajectories and comparatively differentiated cultural status within the Soviet system. [5] The development of artistic life in these republics did not mirror Moscow or Saint Petersburg, so these regions require a more critically differentiated analysis, especially with regard to the label “nonconformist” art.

I aim to align with the revisionist perspective, considering how these seemingly separate spheres—official and unofficial—functioned as interwoven elements in a broader artistic ecosystem.

I aim to challenge the perspective of nonconformism through a brief analysis of the artistic practices of Džemma Skulme (1925–2019) and Ojārs Ābols (1922–1983). These artists represent a particularly revealing case that demonstrates the complexity and ambiguity of artistic practice under communist rule. Their work and professional trajectories resist easy categorization within the framework of nonconformism. Nevertheless, for a long time, their practices—especially that of Skulme—were presented to Western audiences as examples of nonconformist artistic production. An interview with Skulme, for example, is included in the book Soviet Dissident Artists: Interviews after Perestroika. [6] Another important study, an essay by Latvian American scholar Mark Allen Svede, analyzes their work in Art of the Baltics: The Struggle for Freedom of Artistic Expression under the Soviets, 1945–1991. [7] Until now, the presentation of Baltic art to international audiences has avoided complex historic issues. Trilupaityte points out that “in some articles, ignoring analysis of institutional realities allowed a typical outworn presentation of the totalitarian past in the Baltic States, as if it constituted a homogenous structure. This disguised possible alternative perspectives and revealed the same unresolved dilemma between the authenticity of art and representational politics, thus reflecting a continuing tension between the local and the Russian situation.” [8]

Džemma Skulme and Ojārs Ābols emerged from markedly different social and familial backgrounds. Ābols originated from a working-class family in which social-democratic ideas played a significant role. A formative experience during his youth was his active participation in the construction of the Soviet socialist system, particularly its institutional apparatus, which significantly shaped his worldview and ideological convictions. [9] These early experiences resonated throughout his later career, especially when he became one of the leading figures in the Artists’ Union of the Latvian SSR, where he served as a member of the board and headed the painting section. Ābols was a passionate art theorist who saw art as integral part of the sociopolitical landscape.

Skulme, by contrast, came from a comparatively privileged background. She was born into a well-known family of artists that had already attained considerable recognition and influence within the Latvian art world prior to the Soviet occupation. Her father, Otto Skulme (1889–1967), was a prominent modernist artist and an influential cultural figure who held leading positions in several Latvian cultural institutions. Following the Soviet occupation of Latvia, he adapted his artistic practice to the aesthetics of socialist realism and continued to hold important administrative roles within the Soviet cultural system. Among other positions, he served as rector of the State Academy of Art of the Latvian SSR (1940–41 and 1944–61) and as chair of the board of the Latvian Artists’ Union (hereinafter the Artists’ Union) from 1951 to 1953. Skulme’s mother, Marta Skulme (1890–1962), was a recognized modernist sculptor, widely known for her laconic representations of the female figure in Latvian sculpture. The cultural capital and professional networks associated with Skulme’s family background played a significant role in shaping her own career trajectory. In 1960, Džemma Skulme became a member of the board of the Artists’ Union, and from 1982 to 1992, she served as its chair. In addition to her artistic career, she also held several political positions: in 1984, she became a deputy of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR, and from 1989 to 1991, she was a representative of the Popular Front of Latvia in the Congress of People’s Deputies of the USSR.

Skulme and Ābols first met at a ball held by the Art Academy of Latvia in Riga in 1949. [10] Shortly after the beginning of their relationship in the early 1950s, they continued their studies in Leningrad (now Saint Petersburg), where both were admitted to the Repin Leningrad Institute of Painting, Sculpture and Architecture. There the two married. Until the late 1950s, the artistic expression of both Skulme and Ābols was largely aligned with the principles of socialist realism. This orientation began to change in the second half of the 1950s, when the process of de-Stalinization under Nikita Khrushchev initiated significant political and cultural shifts within the Soviet Union.

In 1956, Skulme and Ābols, together with other cultural representatives from the USSR, were given the opportunity to embark on an extended journey across Europe aboard the cruise ship Pobeda [Victory]. This trip allowed them to encounter and experience aspects of the Western world that were otherwise largely inaccessible to Soviet citizens. Photographs from the journey show the couple posing in front of major cultural landmarks, including the Eiffel Tower in Paris and the Parthenon in Athens, among many other well-known European monuments. [11] Participation in trips of this kind was restricted to a small and carefully selected group. The period following the trip marked a notable shift in the artistic development of both artists. After their return, they gradually moved away from the aesthetics of socialist realism and began to explore tendencies of Western art. The journey is often described as having opened their eyes, allowing them to recognize both the limitations and the increasingly outdated character of socialist realism in comparison with developments in Western artistic practice. Both Skulme and Ābols started to experiment in their individual artistic practices. Skulme’s brushwork became broader and more expressive, and she increasingly focused on the female figure as her central motif, often incorporating references to the work of other artists, whereas Ābols turned to the visual language of European modernists such as Paul Cézanne and Pablo Picasso. Over time, Ābols’s work developed a growing engagement with geological and earth-related themes, which by the late 1960s gradually evolved toward a more abstract visual language.

The broader political climate of de-Stalinization created certain opportunities for cultural change, particularly during its early phase, before the Manege exhibition of 1962, which fostered a relatively more liberal atmosphere and encouraged the possibility of a more flexible interpretation of socialist realism. Yet another factor may also have played a role. Opportunities to travel abroad during the Soviet period were often accompanied by expectations of cooperation with state security institutions. In his memoirs, Imants Lešinskis—a Latvian KGB officer who later became a double agent for the CIA—mentions Skulme and Ābols as individuals who “did the real work.” [12] According to his account, such cooperation could take different forms, including that of covert KGB agents (ņeglasnyj agent) and informants (osvedomitel’). In this context, Ābols is described as belonging to the highest “servant” category within this hierarchy of collaboration. [13]

Skulme and Ābols managed to travel a lot. It has been noted that they saw most of Europe’s notable art museums and, together with the representatives of Artists’ Union of USSR, visited the prestigious art schools in Europe. [14] A significant visit was the Venice Biennale in 1976, after which Ābols developed the idea for Daba.Vide.Cilvēks [Nature.Environment.Man], an exhibition that became a breaking point in Latvian art world in 1980s.

The memory of Skulme occupies a particularly prominent position in Latvia. Her personality and artistic legacy have been widely celebrated, and numerous exhibitions have been dedicated to her work and influence, which cannot be said about her husband, Ābols, who had not even one solo show during his lifetime, and neither after his death until now. Within the Latvian art world, Skulme has long held an exceptional status. Much of the narrative surrounding her legacy has been constructed through her own voice, emphasizing particular milestones and aspects of her life that she considered significant, while downplaying events and circumstances that might have complicated her public image. [15] As she remarked in one interview, “I always did as I pleased.” [16] Throughout her life, Skulme demonstrated a remarkable capacity for self-promotion and benefited from substantial opportunities and resources, including the support of her family, professional networks in the Soviet Union and abroad, and connections within the local art community. Art historian Kļaviņš, for example, writes that “there is no doubt that fate decided that Skulme should begin her work during a time of hopelessly depressing external forces,” [17] a formulation that implicitly frames her as an exceptional figure, almost suggesting that she was chosen by forces beyond her control. In Latvian art-historical narratives, she is often portrayed—alongside other artists—as a figure who resisted the Soviet regime. Over time, this interpretation has been reinforced by the dominant discourse of nonconformism. At the same time, local art historians have generally refrained from examining Skulme’s artistic production in relation to her political position and the privileged circumstances she enjoyed.

By treating the artistic and political spheres as separate, they perpetuate a long-standing myth that art exists independently of political conditions. Such an approach also contributes to the romanticization of nonconformism as the primary interpretative framework through which artistic experiences and the development of artistic practices in the Soviet Union are understood.

Several attempts have been made to introduce alternative terminology that might more accurately describe the Baltic artists’ work that was created during the Soviet era. There have been a few attempts to use different terminology that would describe the work of artists from the Baltics more accurately, for example, “semi nonconformists,” proposed by Lithuanian art critic Alfonsas Andriuškevičius, who has aimed to describe “conscious divergence between artistic form and content.” [18] However, Trilupaityte argues that this term is not entirely accurate, because “the same variety of artifacts that Andriuškevičius discussed as examples of Lithuanian nonconformism could, under different circumstances, also be renamed as conformist.” [19] The cases of Džemma Skulme and Ojārs Ābols illustrate the complexity of such categorizing. Their artistic careers, practices, and theoretical reflections should not be considered separately from their involvement in shaping Latvian cultural policy. In their artistic production, both artists could at times appear almost nonconformist—particularly in their visual language, their willingness to experiment, and their engagement with modernist legacy adapted to the Soviet life. At the same time, their positions within local cultural politics complicate this interpretation and call for a more critical assessment of their artistic development as inseparable from their political engagement. This ambivalent position is crucial for the analysis of artistic production in Soviet Latvia. It challenges the binary frameworks that have long dominated art-historical scholarship. Recognizing such complexities allows for a more nuanced understanding of the relationship between artistic experimentation, institutional power, and political participation within the Soviet cultural system.

Maija Rudovska