Vladimir KULIC - An Avantgarde Architecture For An Avant-Garde Socialism Yugoslavia at EXPO 1958 - 2012 PDF

An Avant-Garde Architecture for an Avant-Garde Socialism: Yugoslavia at EXPO '58
Author(s): Vladimir Kulić

Source: Journal of Contemporary History, Vol. 47, No. 1, Special Issue: Sites of
Convergence — The USSR and Communist Eastern Europe at International Fairs Abroad and
at Home (JANUARY 2012), pp. 161-184
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DOI: 10.1177/0022009411422367
Avant-Garde Socialism: jch.sagepub.com
®SAGE
Yugoslavia at EXPO '58
Vladimir Kulic
Florida Atlantic University, USA
Abstract
The Pavilion of Yugoslavia at EXPO '58 in Brussels was an attempt to internationally

showcase the specific brand of socialism developed in that country since its break from
the Soviet bloc ten years prior. That goal was best achieved through the pavilion buil
ing, an inspired piece of modern architecture designed by the Croatian architect
Vjenceslav Richter, which attracted much positive attention. In most other respects,
the presentation was a relative disappointment, failing to engage the visitors in an
attractive and well-rounded experience. This article provides an analysis of the con
ceptualization, development, and reception of the pavilion based on the abundant mat
rial from the Archive of Yugoslavia in Belgrade. It argues that Richter's avant-garde
design resonated with the self-proclaimed avant-garde status of Yugoslav socialism,
but that its complex connotations, when seen through the lens of the Cold War
were reduced to a mere index of Yugoslavia's break from the Soviet bloc.
Keywords
architecture, avant-garde, Cold War, EXPO '58, pavilion, self-management
On September 10, 1958, only five weeks before the closing of the 1958 Universa
and International Exposition in Brussels, a small exhibition opened at the top floor
of the Pavilion of Yugoslavia. Forty-five dolls dressed in traditional folk attire
from all parts of Yugoslavia, surrounded by the images of the country's most
beautiful natural landscapes, went on display to considerable attention from th
journalists from the local media. The response to the dolls' intricate costumes an
smiling faces was overwhelmingly positive: almost every major Belgian paper an
Corresponding author:
Vladimir Kulic, College for Design and Social Inquiry, FAU/BCC Higher Education Complex, 111 East Las Olas
Boulevard, Fort Lauderdale, FL 33301, USA.
Email: vladakulic@gmail.com
162 Journal of Contemporary History 47(1)
Figure I. The Pavilion of Yugoslavia at EXPO 58, Brussels, 1958
both existing television channels covered the show, praisin

folk art.1 The pavilion's hosts estimated that the result
numbers of visitors by at least 10 per cent, thus achiev
improve a mediocre attendance.
The problem with this apparent success, however, wa
desperate last-minute attempt at generating popular a
negated the central conceptual goal of Yugoslavia's pre
cast the country as completely oriented towards a mode
overall concept suffered from a lack of clear focus and pop
this one goal was consistently and successfully pursued
pavilion - from the elegant blue suits of the hosts to
emanated an unpretentious but pervasive modern appe
this orchestration was the pavilion building itself: an ar
it was universally praised by the cultural elite visiting EXP
for Yugoslav architecture that would reverberate for
Designed by the Croatian architect, interior designer, artis
1 The hero of the story was the dolls' creator, an otherwise anonymou
Dusanka Bulajic, who landed multiple interviews with the Belgian pre
Kulic 163
Vjenceslav Richter, the building retains a minor cult status among Belgian archi
tects to this day, its memory still living thanks to the fact that it was one of the few
EXPO pavilions that survived the closing of the show and was reconstructed as a
school at another location outside Brussels.2
Despite their contrasting messages, however, the ultra-modern pavilion building
and the sentimental traditionalism of the dolls both centered the successes of
Yugoslav presence in Brussels in the sphere of culture, rather than the more obvi
ous fields of political propaganda or commercial marketing, as was the case with
many other countries. The central political message - to present Yugoslavia's
experiment in constructing a 'humane', decentralized socialism - remained buried
in dry displays that visitors often overlooked. Instead, elements of that message
were far more successfully delivered when sublimated through cultural products,
most notably the pavilion building itself.3 As I will argue in this article, the pavil
ion's architecture, and its careful synergy with the artworks displayed inside and
around it, virtually embodied Yugoslavia's new and reformed version of socialism,
effectively surpassing any more explicit political statements shown inside. And yet,
the success of these messages was a matter of contingency, rather than of a delib
erate program: just as the exhibition of dolls came out of a last-minute attempt to
boost visits, the architectural success of the pavilion was the unpredictable product
of an inspired design and not of a clear strategy of national propaganda.
Indeed, the Yugoslav presence in Brussels was as much riddled with practical
problems, inexperience, and missed opportunities, as it was blessed with enlight
ened visions and efficient decisions. This perhaps should not be surprising: just as
Yugoslavia itself was in a constant political flux during the 1950s, the concept of its
presentation in Brussels constantly changed over the four years during which it was
created. The unusual wealth of information about the conceptualization, construc
tion, and reception of that presentation - amounting to 27 boxes of various doc
uments kept at the Archive of Yugoslavia in Belgrade - allows for an unusually
detailed analysis of the development. In this article, I will examine that material to
reveal the intended and unintended meanings attached to the pavilion, which
emerged from the intertwined contexts of the Cold War, Yugoslavia's internal
politics, and modernism's own history. Ultimately, both the Pavilion and the paint
ings and sculptures exhibited inside and around it testified to a continued politici
zation of culture, despite the fact that the aesthetic division of the Cold War world,
which confronted modernism and Socialist Realism as irreconcilable signifiers of
the two opposing political systems, began waning precisely at the Brussels show.
2 The building was sold to a Belgian contractor named Waternickx and reconstructed as the St. Paulus
College in the city of Wevelgem, Belgium.
3 Several of the Pavilion's hosts reported that the section on State and Social Organization, conceived
as the central part of the exhibition, was the least visited part of the pavilion; for example, see the report
of B. Mirkovic, the host who worked in this section; Arhiv Jugoslavije, (hereafter AJ), Fond 56,
Fascikla 6.
As the catalogue of the national pavilion and all the official reports proudly stated,
Yugoslavia was one of the first countries to accept the invitation from the Belgian
government to participate at EXPO, in November 1954.4 What particularly
appealed to the Yugoslavs was the 'humanist concept proclaimed by the organizers
of the Exhibition', which resonated with the shift in Yugoslavia's own politics that
had occurred after the 1948 break with the Soviet bloc: away from a bureaucratized
Stalinist system and towards a more decentralized governing that placed greater
emphasis on the well-being of the individual.5 A direct result of this new orientation
was the introduction of 'workers' self-management' in 1950, which - at least in
theory - removed the management of economic resources from the domain of the
state and placed it directly in the hands of workers. Another result of 1948 was a
limited - but nevertheless significant - release of party control over cultural produc
tion. As the head of the Agitprop, Milovan Dilas (later the most famous Yugoslav
dissident), realized in 1949, 'trying to change people's minds through decrees' made
no sense; instead of being run by administration, culture would be better served
through democratic confrontation of opinions.6 The result was a quick demise of
Socialist Realism and the flourishing of high modernism, as well as the more radical
artistic practices, both of which, arguably, reached their apex in Brussels.
EXPO's global perspective that stressed cooperation and tolerance, rather than
competition, also resonated with Yugoslavia's current policies, particularly the
emergent foreign relations based on national independence, tolerance between
rival ideological systems, and a belief that each country should be allowed to
follow its 'own road to socialism,' independent of Soviet patronage. By the time
the exhibition opened, this policy was already being further formulated into the
ideology of non-alignment; but it is important to mention that during the devel
opment of the pavilion this policy was still very much in flux. In 1954, when it
accepted the invitation to exhibit in Brussels, the Yugoslav government still seri
ously considered entering a Balkan Pact with Turkey and Greece, both capitalist
countries and members of NATO.7 By 1958, however, Tito had thwarted such
hopes by reestablishing contacts with the USSR - signified by Khrushchev's con
ciliatory visit to Belgrade in 1956 - and by setting the ground for the Non-Aligned
Movement together with Gamal Abdul Nasser of Egypt and Jawaharlal Nehru of
India. Moreover, by 1958, another so-called 'second confrontation' with the
Soviets occurred over the Yugoslav advocacy of independent roads to socialism,
thus further stressing the country's independent position.
4 'Materijal za Zlatnu knjigu belgijskog Komesarijata', AJ, Fond 56, Fascikla 21.
5 'Tekstovi za katalog Medunarodne izlozbe u Brislu 1958. godine', AJ, Fond 56, Fascikla 21.
6 Quoted in L. Dimic, Agitprop kultura (Belgrade, 1988), 242.
7 The West even hoped to fully integrate Yugoslavia into NATO, as well as into the Organization for
European Economic Cooperation. On the Balkan Pact with Greece and Turkey, see: D. Bekic, 'The
Balkan Pact: the Still-Born of the Cold War', in:. Jugoslavia v hladni vojni/Yugoslavia in the Cold War,
by J. Fischer, A. Gabric, L.J. Gibianskii, E.S. Klein, and R.W. Preussen (eds) (Ljubljana and Toronto,
2004), 125-42.
Kulic 165
Figure 2. Vjenceslav Richter: The winning design at the second round of the competition for
the Pavilion of Yugoslavia at EXPO 58, 1956.
The archival material leaves it somewhat uncertain as to how the Commissariat

General of the Yugoslav Pavilion was assembled and who exactly came up with the
exhibition's initial concept. Some members, such as the ambassador to Belgium,
the President of the federal Committee for Foreign Trade, or the Secretary of the
Committee for Cultural Connections with Foreign Countries, seem like obvious
choices; but important executive roles were also assigned to two prominent cultural
figures without direct political appointments (although both very much in line with
the political establishment): Branislav Kojic, a well-known modernist architect in

the pre-war period and current professor at the University of Belgrade, and Otto
Bihalji-Merin, a prolific author and art-critic.8 It was probably thanks to them that
cultural products - art and architecture - played the disproportionately successful
role in the Yugoslav presentation in Brussels. Particularly significant in this respect
was Bihalji-Merin, a striking personality and intellectual of European repute, who
used his international contacts to relentlessly promote Yugoslav art. A Belgrade
born cultural activist and life-long leftist, before the Second World War, he had
been closely involved with the circles of the European avant-garde, including
Wassily Kandinsky, Paul Klee, and Thomas Mann, as well as left-wing intellectuals
such as Gyorgy Lukacs.9 Thanks to his many international connections, Bihalji
Merin found his way into the International Committee of Experts responsible for
curating the exhibition Fifty Years of Modern Art, shown during EXPO at the
Palace of Art in Brussels, alongside such famous critics as Herbert Read and
Jean Cassou. As a member of the Committee, he lobbied for the inclusion of
Yugoslav artists in the show and managed to secure a disproportionately large
national representation.10
If modernist culture had strong and capable advocates, it represented only one
segment of the future Brussels pavilion, whose overall concept was not so firmly
defined. From the very start, four sections were envisioned: state and social organi
zation; culture, science, art, and education; economy; and natural beauties. The
section on state and social organization obviously emerged as the most important:
it was clear that Yugoslavia could not compete with the technological achievements
of the more developed countries, but self-management and the emergent non-align
ment seemed like original and attractive contributions to postwar human develop
ment.11 This choice seemed obvious even to the outsiders: as Bihalji-Merin reported,
Emile Langui, the Commissar of the exhibition Fifty Years of Modern Art and a
leftist intellectual sympathetic with the Yugoslav cause, advised the Yugoslavs to
focus precisely on 'projecting what is characteristic for your country and for social
ism ... a hope in the possibility of a transformation of human thought.'12
Eventually, some reduction was necessary and the pavilion ended up with four
'galleries:' of State and Social Organization, Contemporary Art, Economy, and
Tourism. This transformation reflected two significant pragmatic realizations that
8 'Materijal za Zlatnu knjigu belgijskog Komesarijata".

9 For a biography of Otto Bihalji-Merin, see: J. Denegri, 'In memoriam: Oto Bihalji Merin (1904
1993). Oto Bihalji Merin kao pisac o modernoj umetnosti i likovni kriticar', Projekarl (Novi Sad,
Serbia), 3 (July 1994), 2-8; also: S. Lazarevic, "Ectcth'ikh h iio.ihih'ikh >KMa h Oto h>n\ajtn
Mepmm," Kopanu (Kragujevac, Serbia) 21, 11-12 (1986), 729-32.
10 Yugoslavia was represented by five paintings, including two by the naive artist Ivan Generalic. On
the exhibition, see: E. Langui, (ed.), Fifty Years of Modem Art (New York, 1959).
11 In one of the many meetings of the Preparatory Board, Bihalji-Merin explicitly made such a
statement; see: 'Stenografske beleske konsultativnog sastanka po pitanju programa ucesca FNRJ u
medunarodnoj palati umetnosti na briselskoj izlozbi 1958', 29 October, 1956, AJ, Fond 56, Fascikla 5.
12 Quoted by Bihalji-Merin in ibid.
Kulic 167
apparently dawned on the Commissariat members during the development process.

The first was that, despite its proclaimed idealistic goals and non-commercial pur
pose, the EXPO was still a business opportunity and that other countries were about
to take it without reservations. The section on the economy was thus used to adver
tise the country as a major source of coloured metals and water power. The change of
the section on 'natural beauties' to a 'Gallery of Tourism' was also a clear attempt to
promote Yugoslavia as a tourist destination in the West, which it indeed was fast
becoming having opened its borders for foreign visitors earlier in the decade.13 The
second transformation - reducing the section on 'culture, science, art, and education'
to a 'Gallery of Contemporary Art' - was most likely a result of previous politically
beneficial experiences with international art shows, in which modernist artworks
quickly emerged as potent visual signifiers of the country's distinction from the
Soviet bloc.14 Since the early 1950s, Yugoslav modernist art and architecture were
consistently interpreted in the West as symptoms of'Tito's break with Russia' and of
a renewed freedom of expression, which further indicated greater civic liberties than
in the countries behind the 'Iron Curtain.'15 And while the clear aesthetic distinctions
between the East and the West were obviously on their way to extinction in Brussels,
the stereotypes from the early Cold War period persisted during and long after the
show, allowing Yugoslavia to continue reaping benefits from its presumed aesthetic
difference from the Soviet bloc.
Unlike the gallery of art, which was clearly outlined in consultations with the
country's leading artists, critics, and curators, the pavilion's chief section - the
gallery of state and social organization - suffered from a long and tedious
'design by committee' process. Leading politicians and legal experts were con
sulted. Multiple script-writers were employed. At one point, two parallel teams,
one in Belgrade and another in Zagreb, competed at conceptualizing this part of
the show. In the end, the section comprised a little bit of everything: history,
emphasizing the long struggle for national liberation of all Yugoslav peoples, espe
cially during the Second World War; political and economic decentralization, with
an accent on self-management in industrial enterprises and local governance; for
eign policy and international cooperation; cultural life; science; social security;
education; cooperatives in agriculture, etc.16 The exhibition provided important
evidence of the political self-perception at one of the key moments in the history
13 Explicit claims that tourism should be promoted in Brussels reappear in the minutes of various
meetings; see: AJ, Fond 56, Fascikla 5, 6.
14 Besides Kojic and Bihalji-Merin, the Arts Council in charge of the Brussels pavilion included a
roster of prominent modernists, including the Croatian architect Drago Ibler.
15 This was a politically beneficial message both for the Yugoslavs, eager to assert their independence
from the Soviets, and for their creditors and donors in Western governments (especially in the United
States), whose pragmatic support of a communist country amidst the raging 'red scare' required a
convincing explanation to their own constituents. For more on this topic, see V. Kulic '"East?"
"West?" Or Both? Foreign Perceptions of Architecture in Socialist Yugoslavia', The Journal of
Architecture, 14, 1, (Spring 2009), 87-105.
16 'Jugoslovenski komesarijat za izlozbu u Brislu: stenografske beleske sastanka Komisije', 10
February, 1958, AJ, Fond 56, Fascikla 5.
of socialist Yugoslavia; but to say that it was unfocused, especially in competition

with EXPO's abundant popular attractions, would be an understatement.
The problem of where to display was just as complicated as the question of what to
show. Like many other countries, Yugoslavia asked for a considerably larger plot
than the Belgian hosts had at their disposal, but the site finally allotted allowed
only for one of the smaller pavilions at the show. The question of the position,
however, proved highly sensitive. The site that the hosts first offered was next to the
Spanish pavilion, rousing an immediate protest from the Yugoslav side, which
refused any association with Francisco Franco's regime. In search of a replace
ment, Kojic and Bihalji-Merin had an eye on one of the central plots, but they
could not compete with a large and powerful delegation from the Vatican, which
eventually acquired the plot for itself.17 Yugoslavia thus ended up at a somewhat
secluded section of EXPO, hidden behind a small forest between the pavilions of
Portugal and Switzerland, next to the UK and not far from Germany. It was thus
in the company of other European countries, but away from its immediate geo
graphic neighbors of the Communist bloc, which were grouped around the USSR.
This in itself was a subtle political statement. On the one hand, the site offered a
beautiful backdrop of a natural landscape with a forest behind the pavilion. On the
other, the official reports at the end of the exhibition blamed this position, away
from the main traffic routes, for comparatively low numbers of visitors.
After the site was secured, an open architectural competition for the design of
the pavilion was organized in the spring of 1956. Reflecting the significance of the
occasion, the jury included some of the most prominent Yugoslav architects.18 But
despite the prestigious occasion, the quality and the number of entries submitted to
the two rounds of the competition was surprisingly low.19 A clear exception was the
winning design by Vjenceslav Richter, who proposed a striking structure suspended
from a gigantic central pillar, thus reducing the building's footprint to a single
point. Apart from the spectacular structural system, however, the proposal also
had high spatial and functional qualities, particularly the well-connected exhibition
spaces that cascaded smoothly from level to level, as well as an open ground floor
that significantly increased the total available area.
17 'Stenografske beleske: diskusija o Medunarodnoj izlozbi u Briselu', 24 September 1956; AJ, Fond
56, Fascikla 5.
18 The jury included Drago Ibler from Zagreb and Milorad Pantovic from Belgrade; see: 'Zapisnik
rada komisije za konkurs idejnih projekata Jugoslovenskog paviljona Medunarodne izlozbe u Briselu
1958', 31 May, 1956; AJ, Fond 56, Fascikla 5.
19 There were only 16 submitted entries in the first round of the competition. The winner in this round
was a team of young architects from Belgrade, which proposed a pavilion in the shape of a hyperbolic
paraboloid, a staple of the 1950s structural imagination; the future winner Richter came only second;
ibid. Immediately after, the Commissariat organized another, limited, competition, to which it invited
prominent practitioners from all parts of the country, as well as the awardees from the first round.
Judging from the photographs of models, submitted entries were not much more inspired than those in
the first round. A clear exception was the winning design by Vjenceslav Richter, which now featured a
much more spectacular solution than his original proposal.
Kulic 169
In Richter, the story of the Pavilion of Yugoslavia got its final and most impor
tant protagonist, one that proved to be a perfect match for the project, both for his
considerable professional experience in exhibition design and for his political devo
tion to the Yugoslav socialist project. 20 Politically active in leftist circles since his
youth, and a participant in the Partisan resistance during the war, Richter had a
solid political reputation, which allowed him to hone his design skills in a series of
small but important commissions for various exhibition pavilions. This, in turn,
allowed him to travel to the West well before it was possible for ordinary Yugoslavs
and thus to acquire first-hand information on the latest foreign architecture.21
Richter was committed to an avant-garde view of art and architecture as instru
ments of social and political change, influenced by Constructivism, the Bauhaus,
and other progressive movements from the interwar period.22 Consequently, as a
co-founder and chief ideologue of EXAT 51 (Eksperimentalni atelier -
Experimental Studio), Yugoslavia's first postwar independent artistic group
based in Zagreb, he argued for a synthesis of visual arts in the creation of totally
designed environments based on abstraction and continuous experimentation.23
The resonance of this return to the original revolutionary art in the broader polit
ical context was powerful, echoing the precisely contemporaneous formulation of
self-management as a return to 'authentic Marxism-Leninism;' but it did not go
without considerable reaction from conservative circles, for whom abstraction was
still too controversial. For Richter himself, however, this realignment of artistic
and political avant-gardes was no coincidence, since he saw his artistic activities as
part of his political commitment and considered socialism as a precondition for a
'general transformation of our image of the world.'24
Richter's original project for Brussels, which proposed to suspend the whole
building from an enormous central cable-stayed mast, inevitably evoked
Constructivism and its penchant for suspended structures, most famously exempli
fied in Ivan Leonidov's project for the Lenin Library in Moscow (1927), or Hannes
Meyer's Petersschule in Basel (1926). In this context, the central mast may be inter
preted as the chief signifier of the project's avant-garde lineage and, by extension, of
20 Born in 1917, Richter studied architecture at the University of Zagreb under professor Zdenko
Strizic, an eminent modernist and former student of Hans Poelzig in Dresden. For a biography, see: M.
Susovski (ed.), Richter (Zagreb, 2003).
21 These included the fairs in Stockholm (1949), Vienna (1949), Hannover (1950), Paris (1950) and
Chicago (1950).
22 During a trip to Chicago in 1950, for example, while working on a Yugoslav pavilion there, Richter
made a point of paying multiple visits to Laszlo Moholy-Nagy's Institute of Design at the Illinois
Institute of Technology, a successor to the 'New Bauhaus' that Moholy-Nagy had founded upon his
arrival in the United States in 1937. Susovski, op. cit. 17.
23 On EXAT, see: Jesa Denegri and Zelimir Koscevic, EXAT 51: 1951-1956 (Zagreb, 1979).
24 In Richter's view, artists were supposed to be the leaders in the construction of socialism, rather
than to merely follow, or retreat from, the realities of social life. This position is perhaps best exem
plified by his 1964 book Sinturbanizam, which explicitly stated the connection between socialism and
continuity in the design of human environments, from the smallest scale of individual objects to the
largest scale of the city; see: V. Richter, Sinturbanizam (Zagreb, 1964).
Figure 3. The Pavilion of Yugoslavia at EXPO 58, entry plaza.
the avant-garde status of Yugoslav socialism represented by

the concept also resonated with the contemporaneous la
exhibitions, particularly the 'Skylon,' a gigantic cable-staye
Festival of Britain in London in 1951 (of which Richter
From the very start, however, the suspension concept eme
contention. Structural engineers from the 'Buro Dako
company responsible for the construction of the pavilio
deflections and the settling of the single footing rende
The Commissariat, therefore, required the project to
rested on conventional columns. But Richter had a ver
with this alteration; in his insistence on keeping the mast,
hiring a structural engineer to prove the viability of the pr
some of Yugoslavia's leading politicians expressed their
Mosa Pijade, former President of the Federal Assembl
25 Richter hired engineers Draganic and Springer to estimate the su

claimed to be capable of calculating and building it within the requir
increase in the expenses. See Richter's letter to the Commissariat, 1
Fascikla 1.
Kulic 171
very enthusiastic about Richter's solution; Edvard Kardelj, the 'architect' of self
management, thought it was too extravagant and hoped for something 'quieter.'26
There is no proof, however, that either of their opinions mattered in the final deci
sion, which seems to have been made purely on technical grounds.27
Eventually, the pavilion was built on 12 conventional steel columns, albeit thin
enough to still allow for an unobstructed, open ground floor. Instead of a central
mast, Richter succeeded in constructing a daring sculpture in front of the pavilion,
a light obelisk consisting of six tensile arches that functioned as a visual marker.
But for the rest of his life, he held a grudge against Bihalji-Merin, whom he held
responsible (as the sources suggest, mistakenly) for the omission of the mast, illus
trating how important it was for him. The removal of the mast, therefore, also
meant the removal of some of the pavilion's avant-garde connotations, and, by
extension, the reduction of its social and political subtext, which was, arguably, in
consonance with the country's recently proclaimed ideology.
Even without the mast, however, the pavilion was a small masterpiece and a full
realization of Richter's ideas about the synthesis of visual arts. Raised on cruciform
steel columns, the building's weightless interlocking volumes appeared to float
above a luxurious plaza interspersed with rectangular water pools, creating a
dynamic cascade of flowing spaces with no barriers between the exterior and inte
rior. Rectangular cut-outs in floor slabs contributed to the sense of lightness and
openness and strengthened the vertical integration of spaces. Part of the building's
success lay in the fact that, compared to the overcrowded commercialism of much
of the EXPO, it seemed like an embodiment of good taste. Rather than a fair
pavilion, it resembled an elegant, sparsely furnished art gallery, in which every
exhibit yielded to a dominating Mondrianesque aesthetic of black and white
three-dimensional grids interspersed with occasional splashes of color. Indeed,
although other artists were hired to design the interiors and the exhibition, it
was ultimately Richter that eventually took full aesthetic control of all displays,
creating a powerful Gesamtkunstwerk in the service of state representation. A par
allel with Ludwig Mies van der Rohe's famed 1929 Pavilion of Germany in
Barcelona, one of the iconic buildings of modern architecture and itself a modernist
Gesamtkunstwerk, comes to mind here. In either case, it was the building's open,
free-flowing space, more than anything exhibited inside it, that couched powerful
political messages: of a modern, peaceful, and democratic Weimar Germany,
instead of the conservative war-mongering Wilhelmine Empire; and of a reformed,
26 Letter from Vojo Pekic to 'comrade Bata' (probably Mihailo Bata Javorski, the Ambassador of
Yugoslavia to Belgium) of 5 October, 1956, AJ, Fond 56, Fascikla 1.
27 Official reports repeatedly state that the reasons for the elimination of the mast were structural:
estimated 100 cm displacements under the impact of strong winds, gradual sinking of the foundations,
and a lack of time to resolve these problems. See, among other documents: 'Izvestaj pripremnog odbora
za Opstu medunarodnu izlozbu u Brislu', 16. The same report also expressed regret that the mast
concept could not be realized, stating that it would have been an 'exceptionally attractive accent at
the exhibition, which would have had a positive impact on numbers of visitors to our pavilion'; ibid.
open, and modern Yugoslav socialism, liberated from Stalinist oppression. In this
context, one wonders if Richter's use of cruciform columns - similar to those in
Barcelona - represented a pure coincidence or, perhaps, a deliberate homage to
Mies's legendary pavilion.
As a side-effect - intended or not - the building also advertised certain branches
of Yugoslav economy. Richter paved the ground-level plaza with 12 different kinds
of polished marble in various colors, ranging from a bright white to black, includ
ing shades of pink, red, and terracotta; the ceilings in the interior were similarly
clad in a mosaic of different kinds of wood. As the pavilion's hosts reported, a
number of foreign businessmen showed interest in the marbles and subsequently
established contacts with Yugoslav sellers. Since the materials came from virtually
all parts of the country, they also may have made a reference to 'brotherhood and
unity,' the core dogma of Yugoslav federalism, but I found no evidence that this
interpretation was deliberately intended.
An important quality of Richter's architectural solution was that it gave clear spatial
articulation to the exhibition's four parts. The split-level layout allocated a clearly
defined space to each of the four 'galleries,' while maintaining easy circulation and
visual connections between them. The main entry to the pavilion led across the
marble-paved plaza, past the souvenir booth, and then either half a floor downstairs,
to the sunken Gallery of Economy, or half a floor upstairs, to the Gallery of State
and Social Organization. From the latter, another half-level up, one accessed the
Gallery of Art directly above the entry plaza, and from there the final Gallery of
Tourism. This organization - the economy firmly anchored to the ground, the rest
floating above it - made the Marxist tropes of 'social basis' and 'superstructure'
materially tangible, which did not go unnoticed.28 There were no doors anywhere
along the path through the pavilion: the ground levels were completely open and
could be accessed from the street at no fewer than eight points. (This, of course,
caused problems with control and security, enabling the theft of one of the smaller
sculptures from the Gallery of Art.) The top levels, while enclosed, were soaked in
light thanks to ample glazing and crescent-shaped skylights.
Perched above the entry, the glazed Gallery of Art enjoyed a very prominent
position, with paintings and pieces of applied art clearly visible from the access
road. This view was particularly spectacular at night, when the whole pavilion
glowed like a large lantern. The artistic theme continued on the ground levels,
which were just as lavishly decorated with sculptures, relieves, and murals, artfully
combined with water pools, colorful marble paving, and islands of greenery to
create an atmosphere of restrained opulence and grace. In such settings, even the
few exhibited pieces of industrial machinery looked like objects of art. Indeed,
the overall impression was one of rigorous aesthetic coordination of every part
of the pavilion, including such utilitarian elements as oversized drainage pipes,
28 'Izvestaj o nekim problemima i iskustvima naseg istupanja na Izlozbi u Brislu", AJ, Fond 56,
Fascikla 6.
Kulic 173
Figure 4. The Pavilion of Yugoslavia at EXPO 58, the Gallery of Art.
which stood freely at a distance from the building like pieces of abstract art.
Despite its overall austerity, a subtle air of playfulness permeated the design,
from the complex changes in levels and the colourful mosaics of marble paving
and wooden ceilings, to the geometric patterns of recessed lighting and the graphic
design of various exhibition panels.
The tone, however, somewhat changed as one entered the Gallery of State and
Social Organization. Although politically the most important and the largest in
size, this part of the exhibition lacked the visual appeal of the rest of the pavilion.
This is not to say that it received less attention than the other three galleries; on the
contrary, much effort was invested in making the exhibits distinctive and person
able. Moreover, Richter made sure that the design of each panel was as attractive
as possible, applying various graphic tricks to rescue them from looking too dry.
But the problem was not in the skills of the designer, but in the very concept: apart
from a few medieval manuscripts (displayed, ostensibly, to illustrate Yugoslavia's

long history of civilization and thus to counteract the stereotype of uncivilized
backwaters, a long-standing complex inherited from the past), all other exhibits
were two-dimensional panels with slogans and statistics, and no amount of inven
tive design was sufficient to transform them into a more engaging experience. To
make it worse, the text, which contained numerous grammatical and typographical
errors, was written only in French and English, while completely omitting Flemish,
the language of the larger of the two Belgian ethnicities. (In protest, Flemish
nationalists at one point defaced parts of the exhibition with stickers.)29 It was
no wonder, then, that few visitors were ready to spend their time deciphering the
tasteful but dry black-and-white boards: in the end, what should have been the
most important section of the pavilion remained the least attended, many visitors
simply walking past it or missing some of its key components.
Part of the problem was that the Gallery of State and Social Organization
attempted to achieve too much, ultimately lacking a clear focus. A few dominant
themes nevertheless emerged, occupying prominent spots on the floor. One was the
historical struggle for national independence and its extension through
Yugoslavia's independent foreign policy. Several panels were devoted to these
themes, particularly focusing on the material from the Second World War. The
country's efforts at modernization and overcoming the underdevelopment also
received considerable attention, but their elaboration through statistics and dia
grams remained rather uninspired. Probably the most extensive were attempts to
present the reformed, decentralized, and democratic nature of Yugoslav socialism,
stressing its participatory character and care for the well-being of everyone. These
displays were among the most gripping, revealing that much effort was invested in
putting a 'human face' to abstract political concepts, featuring photographs of real
people as they participated in self-management at work and in the community. One
of the prominently displayed panels showed a large portrait of a presumably typical
worker, a certain Antun Frntic from Zagreb, and listed his positions as a member
of the Workers' Council at his factory, a delegate at the Council of Producers in his
municipality, and a delegate at the Council of Producers of the Federal People's
Assembly. (His photo, by the way, caused much confusion among the visitors,
because many mistook him for Tito.) As the Belgian paper Le Soir concluded
from this display, Frntic's 'energetic and smiling face' revealed a citizen who is
'more experienced in management than some old capitalist.'30 Slogans, such as 'In
my own hands,' 'Where I live, there I take part in government,' and 'Where I work,
there I am in charge,' made sure that the visitors did not miss the message.
Richter's design trickery was particularly inspired on panels that threatened to
be the least attractive: those showing explicit political slogans. Through their care
ful placement, usually fully integrated with the pavilion's architecture, through
29 Ibid.
30 Le Soir of 14 May, 1958, as reported by TANJUG on 28 June, 1958; AJ, Fond 56, Fascik
Kulic 175
inspired selection of accompanying imagery that circumvented any overt ideolog

ical symbols, and through the use of modern typography, these panels recast polit
ical slogans into highly aestheticized poetic messages, eschewing the off-putting
sense of overt propaganda. An example was a long vertical panel displayed
within the void of the main staircase, which read 'The Yugoslav peoples fought
for freedom and social justice for centuries.' Set against the backdrop of seagulls
flying freely in the sky, this message probably rang true to most Western visitors,
who were still patently aware that Yugoslavia successfully escaped Soviet domina
tion. Moreover, the conspicuous selection of the image, which alluded to an unlim
ited individual freedom and looked nothing like the stereotypical socialist
propaganda, only further strengthened the distinction from the Soviet pavilion.
Similar poetic imagery was employed on the panel that carried one of the most
significant political messages of the show, the concluding sentence of the new
Program of the League of Communists of Yugoslavia. Adopted simultaneously
with the opening of EXPO, the Program proclaimed a return to the original 'rev
olutionary creative sprit of Marxism.'31 Alluding to Marx's 'ruthless criticism of
everything existing,' it ended with an emphatic statement of anti-dogmatism, shun
ning the ossified, quasi-religious role that Communist parties played in the Soviet
bloc: 'Nothing that has been created so far should be so sacred that it cannot be
overcome, that it cannot be replaced with something more progressive, more lib
erated, and more humane.'32 Set against a large photograph of an infinite seascape,
this sentence was prominently featured on a free-standing panel in the middle of the
Gallery, reinforcing the rhetoric of unbound liberty and cementing the Yugoslav
claims to authentic Marxism.
The theme of liberation - national, cultural, and class - tied the exhibit into a
coherent narrative for those willing to spend the time deciphering it. The story went
something like this: despite their ancient cultures, Yugoslav peoples were for cen
turies oppressed by foreigners. After suffering great losses, they finally achieved
their liberty, which now allows them to build socialism to the benefit of each
individual. But in order to do so, they must first overcome backwardness, induced
by the centuries of foreign occupation, and are now making great strides in mod
ernization. The socialism they are building is not based on a dogma imposed from
the outside, but an experimental system unbound by any preconceived notions and
open to improvement. Yugoslav peoples believe that everyone should have the
right to develop in similar freedom and on their own terms, and are friendly and
open to cooperation, as long as it is on equal grounds.
This narrative provided a context for the remaining three galleries. The Gallery
of Economy on the ground floor testified to the successful modernizing efforts of
the socialist society, providing a symbolic basis for all other achievements.
31 Program Saveza komunista Jugoslavije usvojen na sedmom kongresu Saveza Komunista Jugoslavije
22-26. aprila 1958 (Belgrade, 1972).
32 Ibid.
The Gallery of Art illustrated the recent great strides in the development of a free,
modern culture. The Gallery of Tourism cast the country as a hospitable, attractive
destination. All three, however, provided a considerably more engaging experience
than the Gallery of State and Social Organization, while at the same time serving
parallel, more pragmatic purposes. The Gallery of Economy at the ground level
thus advertised coloured metals as one of the country's strongest export articles,
showing mineral specimens in attractive display cases. If the accent on the produc
tion of raw materials seemed a bit colonial, a few industrial products, including a
cinema projector and several pieces of electronic equipment, hinted at Yugoslavia's
developing technological prowess (also stressing the peaceful use of nuclear power,
the perennial Cold War theme). Conspicuously absent, however, were any con
sumer products. In light of the country's recent reorientation to the development of
consumer industries, it seems rather puzzling that the show did not take a chance to
stress that fact, all the more so because Yugoslav industrial design was undergoing
a veritable renaissance in the late 1950s.33 A possible explanation was that the
Commissariat took to heart EXPO's proclaimed goal of avoiding commercial com
petition, even though the development of a socialist consumer industry and culture
was as much a political point as a commercial opportunity.34
Through a rigorous selection of the best modernist pieces, the Gallery of Art
advertised not only the flourishing of the national culture, but also the liberation
from the constraints of Socialist Realism, still a potent message to make, even
though Socialist Realism had already been officially abolished in the Soviet bloc
since Stalin's death. Back home in Yugoslavia, realistic representation and heroic
pathos were still alive and well - although demoted from the officially sanctioned
dominant position - but in Brussels they were carefully avoided. Instead, the dis
played artworks, including those at the show Fifty Years of Modem Art, covered a
range of poetic and thematic approaches, ranging from a mainstream modernism
to the recently discovered 'naive' art, a genre that had long fascinated
modernist critics and whose Yugoslav version was now relentlessly promoted by
Bihalji-Merin.35 The bulk belonged to a 'moderate' modernism, which focused on
exploring its own aesthetic autonomy, enabled by the recently acquired artistic
freedom. Years later, some Yugoslav critics would name this art 'Socialist
Aestheticism' to imply that it virtually replaced Socialist Realism as an 'official'
33 The hotbeds of this design renaissance were Slovenia and Croatia. See: J. Galjer, Design of the
Fifties in Croatia: From Utopia to Reality/Dizajn pedesetih u Hrvatskoj: Od utopije do stvarnosti (Zagreb,
2003).
34 Ultimately, the only consumer item worth mentioning shown in the pavilion was the iconic ply
wood chair 'Rex', designed by the Slovenian architect Niko Kralj, which was used in the auditorium of
the projection room.
35 The selection included the socially engaged paintings by Krsto Hegedusic and the dark existentialist
canvases by Gabriel Stupica, on the one hand, to Miodrag Protic's figurative modernism in the tradition
of Paris School, on the other.
Kulic 177
Figure S. The Pavilion of Yugoslavia at EXPO 58, the bronze sculpture 'The Bull' by Vojin
Bakic.
state art, while renouncing the socially transformative ambitions of the avant
garde.36 The paradox of this selection was that it completely excluded the artists
from Richter's own circle around EXAT 51 (which, by the time EXPO opened, had
already reached its peak and dissolved). Obviously, EXAT's radical abstraction,
while no longer as divisive as it had been at the beginning of the decade, was not yet
sufficiently accepted to be shown as stand-alone art and could only be mediated
through the more utilitarian architecture or design.37
Finally, the Gallery of Tourism at the top floor indicated that, despite the ide
alistic proclamations, commercial interests could not be ignored. The exhibition
included artefacts aimed at culturally minded tourists, including pieces of tradi
tional folk garb, replicas of medieval frescoes from Serbian and Macedonian mon
asteries, and, most impressively, a full-size copy of a golden medieval sarcophagus
from the Dalmatian city of Sibenik. Despite the fact that the black and white
rendition of the large-scale photos of natural landscapes and historical cities
36 On the original concept of Socialist Aestheticism in literature, see: S. Lukic, Savremena jugoslo
venska lileratura (1945-65) (Belgrade, 1968). For its application in visual arts, see: J. Denegri, Pedesete:
Teme srpske umetnosti (Novi Sad, Serbia), 104-110; and 'Kontroverze oko socijalistickog estetizma',
Sveske (Pancevo, Serbia), 45-6 (March 1999), 135^40.
37 Nevertheless, Richter recruited his EXAT colleague Ivan Picelj to assist him with the interior
design.
somewhat diminished their effect, the pavilion's hosts repeatedly reported that this
was still the best visited section of the show. Ultimately, however, it was a victim of
its own success, since the interest it generated could not be satisfied: Yugoslavia
had no tourist office in Belgium, there were no tourist agents present at the pavilion
to book trips, and any attempts by interested visitors to contact hotels and agencies
in Yugoslavia remained hopelessly unanswered.38 It was only three months into the
show that the Tourist Association finally sent a representative to Brussels, by which
time the season was already reaching its end.39
In the often spotty archives of former Yugoslavia, the material about the Brussels
pavilion is one of the rare instances of great abundance, especially regarding the
reception. Besides the preserved visitors' books and exhaustive press clippings, this
material includes numerous reports, from the day-to-day accounts by the pavilion's
hosts, to those by the members of the Commissariat. It is these reports that offer
the most detailed picture of the reception, revealing both the exhibition's strengths
and its numerous problems. They also reveal how the perception of the exhibition
was filtered through visitors' preconceptions and biases, both positive and negative
and often decidedly political.
If there is one point about which all the reports agree, it is that the pavilion was an
architectural success.40 That success is particularly significant in the broader context of
EXPO, which architectural historians remember with mixed emotions. The exhibition
marked modernism's worldwide victory, including its revival in the socialist world.
But this was now a modernism that showed signs of compromise of its once lofty
principles for the sake of extra-architectural motivations and purposes: overt com
mercialism or political propaganda. (However different in their ideological messages,
the gargantuan pavilions of the two superpowers were strangely similar in their impe
rial, classicized monumentality.) The Belgian section was especially reviled for its
abundance of brightly-colored 'space-age' ornament that became known as the
Expo Style or the Atomic Style.41 It was in this context that Richter's design emerged
as one of the few achievements hailed for their architectural quality, alongside, for
example, Le Corbusier's poeme electronique built for Phillips, Egon Eiermann and Sep
Rufs Pavilion of West Germany, or Sverre Fehn's Pavilion of Norway.
Indeed, as a building, the pavilion was an unqualified success with the architec
tural and cultural elite. The prestigious British journal Architectural Review ranked
it among the 'six outstanding pavilions' at the whole exposition; for the French
38 See, for example, the report by the host B. Mirkovic; AJ, Fond 56, Fascikla 6.
39 Op. cit., 'Izvestaj o nekim problemima i iskustvima naseg istupanja na Izlozbi u Brislu'.
40 For an in-depth overview of the architecture of EXPO 58 in Brussels, see: R. Devos and M. De
Kooning (eds.), L'Architecture moderne a I'Expo 58. 'Pour un monde plus humain', (Brussels, 2006).
41 See: R. Devos, 'Smaltz, googie and honky-tonk? Belgian architects at Expo 58 and the Atomic
Style' available at: https://archive.ugent.be/retrieve/1829/def+devos_JDS8.pdf, retrieved October 10,
2008.
Kulic 179
daily L 'Express, it fared even better, among the top four.42 Gurus of modernism,
such as Alfred Barr Jr. of the Museum of Modern Art in New York and Jean
Cassou of the Paris Museum of Contemporary Art, praised the building, as well as
the art show displayed inside. Students of architecture flocked to see and study it.43
Belgian press described the pavilion as a 'palace in steel, glass, wood, and marble
whose elegance lies in its restraint.'44 Many visitors and journalists commented
that, in the visual noise of EXPO, it offered a welcome point of calm and
repose.45 One journalist particularly highlighted the building's photographic
appeal, noting how it attracted amateur-photographers always in search of good
shots.46 This positive reception, however, frequently revealed stereotypical views of
Yugoslavia, manifested in a perpetual surprise that a socialist and Balkan country
was able to produce such a modern and sophisticated structure. Many visitors
wanted to know about the architect and were surprised to hear that he was not
educated in Germany or the United States, but in Zagreb. As one of the hosts put
it, 'People were surprised that we build such modern and beautiful architecture.
Many even asked if we were allowed to build in such a way in the country, too, and
emphasized the difference between our and Russian architecture.'47
The overwhelmingly positive reception of the pavilion building was in itself a
political message that further strengthened the already existing views of Yugoslav
modern art as a symptom of the country's break from the Soviet orbit. Starting from
such a frame of mind, it was not much of a leap to interpret other qualities of the
building in political terms, too. The completely open ground floor and the fact that
there were no doors were understood as analogous to Yugoslavia's open borders and
its emergent international policy of 'peaceful active coexistence.'48 Modesty and
restraint were seen as manifestations of a focus on human values instead of mega
lomaniac representation.49 Even the pavilion's position, away from other socialist
countries, was seen as a political statement. As Le Soir proclaimed, 'Yugoslavia did
in Brussels as it does in its international relations. Parting ways with the Soviet
42 Architectural Review, for example, ranked Richter's Pavilion among the 'six outstanding pavilions'
at the EXPO; see: 'Six Outstanding Pavilions: Jugoslavia', Architectural Review, 124, no. 739 (August
1958), 116-8.
43 The hosts of the pavilion reported that numerous architects and architecture students came to see
the pavilion for its architectural reputation; see: 'Izvestaji domacina paviljona', n.p., AJ, Fond 56,
Fascikla 6.
44 'Premiere manifestation au pavilion yougoslave', Le Peuple (Brussels), February 4, 1958.
45 See 'Knjiga utisaka', AJ, Fond 56, Fascikla 26.
46 Belgian Le Peuple wrote in an article entitled 'A Miracle of Elegance and Good Taste': 'No one gets
upset here. One can peacefully stroll or sit down, watching how photographers walk around. For it
seems that lovers of good photography scheduled a meeting at the Yugoslav pavilion, which proves its
complete architectural success'. Partial translation of the original text in: 'Izvestaj TANJUG-u', 10 May,
1958, AJ, Fond 56, Fascikla 26.
47 Report by the host Mirjana Brujic, AJ, Fond 56, Fascikla 6.
48 Richter himself doubted architecture's ability to capture the character of a nation, even though he
eventually acknowledged that his pavilion expressed Yugoslavia's 'optimism and openness'. See:
Vjenceslav Richter, 'Osvrt na arhitektonske rezultate izlozbe u Bruxellesu 1958.', Arhitektura
(Zagreb) XII, 1-6 (1958), 56-62.
49 These were all comments of foreign visitors; see: Izvestaji domacina paviljona, n.p., AJ, Fond 56,
Fascikla 6.
sector... it chose its place next to Portugal, Switzerland, and Great Britain. Next to
its inoffensive friends'.50 The fact, however, that the position of the pavilion was not
chosen in order to stress 'parting ways with the Soviet sector', but merely as a result
of availability, illustrates to what degree the existing political notions predetermined
the perception. Western left-wing media, such as the Belgian Communist paper
Drapeau Rougue and the British New Statesman, were naturally sympathetic with
the political messages of Yugoslav exhibition. But some centrist papers were too; to
quote again Le Soir's reporter, this time commenting on the exhibition of the polit
ical system: 'It's a miracle that all of that could have been lethally boring and aggres
sive - but it's not. Who knows what Mediterranean grace corrects that dogmatism,
grace combined with sincerity... It's clear, it's determined. Like Tito'.51
Conversely, political presumptions could also lead to negative perception, as
was the case with the relatively infrequent members of Yugoslav anticommunist
emigration. The sharpest politically motivated criticism came from Soviet visitors,
which was no surprise in light of Yugoslavia's recent renewed rift with the USSR. It
was the new Program of the League of Communists (also prominently displayed at
the Gallery of State and Social Organization) that had caused this rift by stressing
the possibility of independent paths to socialism. The Yugo-Soviet relations, which
had only thawed two years before, now became frosty again, which was clearly
revealed in the comments from the Soviet visitors. The most tendentious among
them aimed directly at the obvious lack of ideological signs in the pavilion, ques
tioning whether Yugoslavia was still a socialist country at all. Others focused on
the aesthetics; as one of the hosts summarized, 'In most cases, Russian visitors were
dissatisfied... 'It's empty, where are the machines?' In the Gallery of Art, they
regularly asked, 'Is this kind of art close to the people?' 'What was this supposed
to say?', etc. Several times they asked what Bakic's 'Bull' [a large semi-abstract
bronze exhibited outside] was supposed to represent: a pig, a hippopotamus, or an
inflated bag?'52
The pavilion's success with educated Western elites - critics, artists, architects,
and intellectuals - was also counterbalanced by a much cooler popular reception.
Many ordinary Yugoslavs who came to Brussels thought that it was 'empty' and
'too modern.'53 Some foreigners, too, observed that the elegant but cool building
conveyed nothing of the country's 'vibrancy' and that it was more suited to a quiet
Switzerland than the colorful Yugoslavia, obviously frustrating the stereotypical
views of the Balkans.54 Ultimately, however, it was the attendance that proved the
most disappointing, as fewer than 10 per cent of EXPO's 45 million visitors ven
tured towards the pavilion. Of course, its position was rather secluded and it could
not directly compete with the enormous pavilions of the two superpowers, filled
with all kinds of technological wonders. But Czechoslovakia demonstrated that,
50 Le Soir of 14 May, 1958, as reported by TANJUG, 28 June, 1958; AJ, Fond 56, Fascikla 6.
51 Ibid.
52 Report by the host Mirjana Brujic, AJ, Fond 56, Fascikla 6.
53 'Knjiga utisaka', op. cit.
54 Ibid.
Kulic 181
through sheer ingenuity and smart planning, a small country with no cutting-edge
technology - lacking even Yugoslavia's automatically positive political perception -
could create a spectacular exhibition capable of attracting huge crowds. Unlike
Czechoslovakia's Grand Prix, Yugoslavia's Gold Medal - one of a total of 35 - was
awarded by the international jury solely on the account of the elegant pavilion
building and the art exhibition; as the jury noted, the pavilion's 'didactic quality'
was utterly disappointing.
But the most devastating estimate came from the Yugoslav side itself. Among
the many official reports, one stands out for its sheer length and an acute criticism
of all the weaknesses of the pavilion.55 Unfortunately, the archived version does
not bear the name of its writer, but it must have been someone very closely involved
both with the pavilion's organization and its daily workings, possibly the head host
or even one of the Commissariat members. This reporter especially highlighted the
lack of a proper concept attuned to a large popular gathering and the many missed
chances to advertise the country in more pragmatic terms. He also mentioned a
whole range of organizational problems, from the lack of tourist representatives, to
nepotism in selecting the hosts, most of whom were insufficiently prepared and
some only spoke English in a French- and Flemish-speaking country. He described
the perpetual problems with the functioning of the national restaurant, which was
organized at the last minute and, apparently, without any desire from the Yugoslav
hospitality industry to exploit an excellent business opportunity. In the context of
the pavilion's central theme, it was particularly ironic that, based on the problem
atic functioning of the restaurant, he came to a conclusion that 'self-management
perhaps does not work abroad.' But his criticism did not spare the otherwise highly
praised building and its architect either. Functional issues were the lesser evil in this
respect: from the stale air on top floors (which caused some visitors to faint in the
summer heat) and no fences around water pools on the ground floor (because of
which some 60 visitors took an unexpected bath), to a dysfunctional projection
room and the stench that emanated from the restrooms. The greater problem,
according to the reporter, was Richter's tyrannical aesthetic control, which, in
the vacuum created by an under-defined concept, hijacked the exhibition, eliminat
ing everything that contradicted its own rigorous principles, including color
photos. Richter allegedly even fought to remove the basic state insignia from the
show; the national flag was only hung after the opening.
The Pavilion's successes and failures were thus inextricably intertwined: the
rarefied atmosphere created by Richter's aesthetic control was as much a
source of praise as it caused trouble. It was also a symptom of the deeper
problems with the exhibition, since it could only become so domineering in the
absence of a well defined general concept. It was in this context that the
exhibition of dolls in folk costumes, introduced as a solution to an unenthu
siastic popular response, represented a particularly telling gesture. An ad hoc,
55 'Izvestaj o nekim problemima i iskustvima naseg istupanja na Izlozbi u Brislu', op. cit.
last-minute remedy, these humble dolls revealed in a single stroke the weak
nesses of both the years of high-level planning and of Richter's uncompromis
ing aesthetic. At the same time, their immediate success also revealed the
persistence of the stereotypes about Yugoslavia and its folksy, traditional cul
ture. But it was the very choice of this particular remedy that spoke most
eloquently, reverting to the very formula the organizers were trying to avoid
all along. It was a familiar formula, anxious to anchor a modern identity -
still volatile and under construction - to its traditional, pre-modern roots. And
while the dolls could obviously be interpreted in terms of the 'brotherhood and
unity' of Yugoslav peoples, the formula, in its essence, was carried over from
the interwar period, when the monarchy used the exhibition pavilions to
explore its dichotomous identities by juxtaposing the modern and the tradi
tional, the 'civilized' and the 'primitive.'56 It was as if, under pressure, socialist
Yugoslavia's repressed Other had no choice but to resurface, even if in such an
ephemeral form as a collection of dolls.
At the same time, the pavilion revealed another split: between the notions of a
politically engaged avant-garde, which strives to take an active role in the trans
formation of society, and an apolitical 'autonomous' modernism, which is merely
interested in exploring its own aesthetic potential. Richter's activist, avant-garde
ethos was blunted through the removal of his most heroic gesture, the suspension
mast, and further flattened through the lens of Cold War politics. His allusions to a
direct link between self-management and avant-garde aesthetics were all but apo
litical; but they were generally overlooked and the pavilion was reduced to a mere
sign of Yugoslavia's independence from the Soviet Union. This was the same oper
ation that recontextualized much of the modernist art in the West during the Cold
War and allowed such previously socially engaged artists as Jackson Pollock to be
recast as America's cultural 'weapons' in its struggle to capture the 'hearts and
minds.' Paradoxically, at the same time, Yugoslav political establishment adopted
the ideologically neutral modernism, later dubbed 'Socialist Aestheticism,' as its
own herald of cultural prestige. But the work of the more radical artists, like
Richter and his EXAT colleagues, could only be exhibited in Brussels in an applied
form, as part of architecture and design, not as self-sufficient artworks.
Nevertheless, Richter's success in Brussels opened the doors for his international
career as a bona fide artist and, arguably, for a subsequent acceptance of abstrac
tion in the country, while the officialdom happily continued to exploit art as a
source of external legitimation.57 If there was ever any doubt about what kind of
art should be shown abroad, by 1960 it became a calculated political strategy to
56 This opposition marked a number of Yugoslavia's national presentations before World War II,
including those in Barcelona in 1929, and Paris in 1925 and 1937. See: A. Ignjatovic, 'Peripheral
Empire - Internal Colony: Yugoslav National Pavilions at the Paris World Exhibitions in 1925 and
1937', in Centropa, 8, no. 2 (May 2008).
57 Indeed, Richter's artistic career flourished after Brussels, eventually overshadowing his architec
tural achievements. While he subsequently designed very few buildings, his sculptures found their way
into such prominent collections as the Museum of Modern Art in New York and the Tate Gallery in
London.
Kulic 183
Figure 6. The Pavilion of Yugoslavia at EXPO 58, the exhibition of dolls at the Gallery
of Tourism.
send the most cutting-edge art to the West, while reserving the more conservative
works for the East (i.e., the Soviet Union; by this time there was already a
fruitful artistic exchange with Poland and Czechoslovakia).58 In this context, it
is no wonder that Richter's abilities continued to provide a substitute for a
well-rounded concept of foreign cultural propaganda. On at least two occa
sions, in Turin in 1961 and in Milan in 1963, the architect was given free reign
in designing the national pavilions, both times condensing the Brussels formula
to self-management plus a highly aestheticized environment. Although much
smaller in size than in Brussels, these pavilions were perhaps the most aesthet
ically radical designs with which Yugoslavia ever presented itself
internationally.
The successes and failures of Yugoslavia's presentation at EXPO 58 high
lighted the multiple intersections at which the country stood at the time:
between the ideological blocs of the Cold War, between political and economic
systems, and between modernity and tradition. In many ways, that was a
position that Yugoslavia would continue occupying for the remaining three
58 For example, Ivo Vejvoda, Yugoslav ambassador to the United Kingdom, spoke very clearly in
such terms when discussing the strategy of presenting Yugoslav art in London; see: Minutes of the First
meeting of the Board for visual Arts, Federal Committee for Cultural Connections with Foreign
Countries, held on 14 November, 1960, at the Federal Executive Council; AJ, Fond 559; Komisija za
kulturne veze s inostranstvom, Fascikla 200a.
decades of its existence. The Brussels show may thus be seen as the first
synthetic symbolic proclamation of all of its components to an international
audience: a perpetually experimental socialism that sought to reinterpret the
authentic spirit of Marxism; an independent foreign policy that refused to side
with either of the Cold War opponents; openness to international cooperation
on equal terms; a culture relatively autonomous of direct political intrusion;
and concerted efforts at modernization. That all of these messages were suc
cessfully sublimated through the pavilion building was as much a testimony to
the remarkable vision of its architect as to the failure of the state to convinc
ingly present itself.
Acknowledgement
This article would not have been possible without the generous help of the staff of the
Archive of Yugoslavia in Belgrade, to whom I owe my deepest gratitude. All the images
presented with the paper are from the Archive of Yugoslavia.
Biographical Note
Vladimir Kulic teaches architectural history at Florida Atlantic University in Fort
Lauderdale (USA). He received his batchelor's and master's degrees in architecture
from the University of Belgrade (Serbia) and a doctorate in architectural history
from the University of Texas at Austin. Vladimir's writings have been published in
journals and books in the US, UK, Serbia, Slovenia, Italy, and Spain. He is the
winner of the 2009 Bruno Zevi Prize for a Historical/Critical Essay in Architecture
from the Fondazione Bruno Zevi, Rome. He is currently working on two books:
Modernism In-Between: Architecture in Socialist Yugoslavia (written with Maroje
Mrduljas, with photographs by Wolfgang Thaler) and Sanctioning Modernism:
Modern Architecture and the Creation of Post-War Identities (co-edited with
Monica Penick and Timothy Parker). He also co-directs the international research
project Unfinished Modernizations: Architecture and Urban Planning in Socialist
Yugoslavia and its Successor States, which includes scholarly and professional insti
tutions from Croatia, Macedonia, Serbia, and Slovenia.

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An Avant-Garde Architecture for an Avant-Garde Socialism: Yugoslavia at EXPO '58

Author(s): Vladimir Kulić

Architecture for an sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav

Avant-Garde Socialism: jch.sagepub.com

The Pavilion of Yugoslavia at EXPO '58 in Brussels was an attempt to internationally

Figure I. The Pavilion of Yugoslavia at EXPO 58, Brussels, 1958

both existing television channels covered the show, praisin

The archival material leaves it somewhat uncertain as to how the Commissariat

the political establishment): Branislav Kojic, a well-known modernist architect in

8 'Materijal za Zlatnu knjigu belgijskog Komesarijata".

apparently dawned on the Commissariat members during the development process.

of socialist Yugoslavia; but to say that it was unfocused, especially in competition

Figure 3. The Pavilion of Yugoslavia at EXPO 58, entry plaza.

the avant-garde status of Yugoslav socialism represented by

25 Richter hired engineers Draganic and Springer to estimate the su

Figure 4. The Pavilion of Yugoslavia at EXPO 58, the Gallery of Art.

from a few medieval manuscripts (displayed, ostensibly, to illustrate Yugoslavia's

inspired selection of accompanying imagery that circumvented any overt ideolog

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