The first thing I think of when I think of Soviet design are the magnificent posters showing muscular men with bared bodies and sturdy women in wide skirts harvesting immense fields of grain, or enthusiastically operating heavy machinery in huge factory halls. So the first question that the Moscow Design Museum asks in its press release is right on target: why do we know so little about design from the Soviet Union? From Saturday 26 September to Sunday 14 February, the organisers hope to showcase our failing knowledge in the Rotterdam Art Hall catching up.
This is done under the confident title Red Wealth, Soviet Design 1950-1980 - why the exhibition stops in 1980 is not clear to me; after all, the Soviet Union did not fall apart until 1991. The press release itself asks and answers a lot of questions. The fact that most of us do not get eureka images on our minds when we think of design from the SSSR is partly because the term came into vogue only after the 1980s, and partly because designers were not allowed to run their own studios and thus remained anonymous.
OK, next question: what are the hallmarks of Soviet design? Well, precision and ugly looks, we can infer from their own answer. Because the Soviets were engaged in a fierce race with the West in technology and weapons, the main emphasis of design was on solidity and functionality. See, for example, the hideous but undoubtedly indestructible sewing machine.
What are we going to see at the Kunsthal? Well roars the press release, it concerns "iconic pieces of Soviet lifestyle", not only from the Design Museum, but also from private collections. All aspects of life in the former salvation state will be covered, from everyday life to culture, from sports to public events, from packaging materials to furniture and from household items to unique VNIITE projects. VNIITTE what? Ah, it turns out to be an abbreviation for a state body founded in 1962 that was dedicated to researching 'technical aesthetics'.
Follows a list of typical Soviet products. Take the Zenit camera, indeed, it is somewhat well-known here in the country. And the Lada, well, the Lada. My former Amsterdam neighbour 'Uncle Joop' indeed drove one of those typical square cars - which, by the way, I always thought were made in Poland. But I don't recall ever meeting a proud owner of a watch of the Slava, Polyot or Raketa brand. The Zil fridge has also completely escaped my attention. And so it goes on for six more daunting pages.
Just as well the exhibition lasts six months, because it is obvious to me: one miserable visit to the Kunsthal will never undo my ignorance. That will be a compulsory trip to Rotjeknor this weekend....