Soviet mosaics in Central Asia: The stories of Bishkek, Osh and Dushanbe7 min read
At dawn, the streets of the Soviet Central Asian capitals once echoed the footsteps of factory workers, students, and everyday citizens, passing mosaics that showed the tales of space exploration, musical heritage, and local traditions. These skilfully crafted mosaics transformed the urban environment with colourful images and stories.
Today, many such mosaics have fallen into disrepair. Modernity presses forward, but those colourful narratives are slowly vanishing, reminders of a time when 5% of public construction costs were devoted to integrating art into daily existence, transforming otherwise uniform, grey buildings into vibrant displays.
Contrary to stereotypes, the mosaics in Soviet Central Asia rarely showed Soviet leaders or idealised workers. Distance from Moscow allowed local artists some freedom to blend Soviet styles with local folklore, creating a unique mix of Socialist Realism with Islamic and national aesthetics.
Bishkek: fragments of history
Bishkek is like a time capsule, with its abundance of Soviet-era architecture such as the White House, the Opera House, Ala-Too Square, and the eponymous Ala-Too Cinema. The era of these mosaics feels distant, and efforts to preserve them are limited despite their continued presence in the city.
In contrast to Tashkent, where there is a clear government policy for the protection of Soviet mosaics, Bishkek lacks an overt preservation strategy. Although researchers from the School of Theory and Activism Bishkek (STAB), who specialise in the study of mosaics, suggest that a list of protected mosaics should exist, this list has not been made publicly available. Inquiries to the Ministry of Culture regarding this list have also gone unanswered.
This lack of official oversight and transparency makes the future of Bishkek’s mosaics uncertain. Nonetheless, there are examples of grassroots initiatives and occasional government enforcement against the destruction of mosaics.
In 2014, (STAB) undertook a project called Fragmented Dream, mapping all Soviet monumental art across the city. This initiative, which included city tours showcasing the mosaics, was the result of a two-year investigation. However, a decade later, both the map and the project’s website have vanished. While many mosaics remain in good condition, others have suffered irreversible damage. A notable case involved the mosaic “Space and Scientific and Technological Progress,” which was painted over by new owners. Oksana Shatalova, the Director of STAB, filed complaints with the mayor and the Ministry of Culture. Although the owner was fined 1,000 som (around €10) and was ordered to clean the mosaic, the damage proved too severe for full restoration. Holes had even been drilled into the mosaic to install air conditioners, rendering parts of it irreparable. While grassroots efforts like STAB’s project have helped raise awareness, the city lacks sustained preservation efforts. In contrast, Osh has seen more recent grassroots efforts to document and protect its Soviet-era art.
Osh: saving mosaics from the bottom up
In Osh, the second largest city in the country, a project to document and protect Soviet mosaics began in 2022. Ainazik Toktobolotova, who is part of the initiative, explained to Lossi 36, “In 2021, two large mosaics on the former textile factory were destroyed. Despite our appeals to the Department of Culture, none of Osh’s mosaics have been officially recognized as cultural heritage”.
However, in 2023, the project made significant progress with the release of the documentary Osh Mosaics, which helped increase awareness of the city’s Soviet-era art. During the documentary’s presentation, a representative from the local Department of Culture was present and soon after requested a detailed list of all mosaics in Osh. This led to the inclusion of mosaic preservation in the city’s cultural agenda for 2024, signalling an important step toward protecting Osh’s artistic heritage.
The documentary has also contributed to a growing interest among locals, with more people starting to recognize the cultural value of these mosaics. The project’s Instagram page, despite having a modest following, has seen increasing engagement, with residents tagging the account in their own photos of mosaics. While some individuals, particularly from younger generations, may view these artworks through the lens of Soviet ideology, there is a broader recognition that the mosaics represent an important part of Osh’s local history and artistic identity. The upcoming protective status planned for 2024 will ensure that these mosaics are safeguarded from unauthorised demolition or modification. It also opens the possibility of receiving government support for restoration efforts. The success of the project highlights how local efforts can play a pivotal role in preserving Osh’s cultural heritage for future generations.
Dushanbe: balancing tradition and progress
Dushanbe, like many cities in the former Soviet Union, still boasts an array of Soviet mosaics displayed on factory buildings, residential complexes, cinemas, and theatres, although they are now harder to find than in the other capitals.
The artwork of these mosaics, which began to appear in the 1960s, often depicts idealised scenes, such as men and women dancing as equals, promoting the unity and equality of the Soviet people. Cotton, a staple of the Tajik Soviet economy, is a frequent theme, symbolising the economic backbone of the region during the Soviet era.
But the mosaics in Dushanbe also incorporate distinctly Tajik elements that subtly contrast with Soviet ideology. Though socialist realism dominated as the overarching theme, the local culture and predominantly Muslim identity of Tajikistan found their way into the artwork.
For instance, men are often shown in modern Soviet attire, while women appear in traditional long garments and headscarves. This choice portrays men as progressive and modern, while women are depicted in more passive, traditional roles often seated and holding pamphlets rather than working.
It is particularly striking that this fusion of tradition and Soviet modernity was allowed in Tajikistan, despite the Soviet Union’s unofficial policy to suppress religious expression in favour of promoting workers’ ideals.
Tajikistan lay on the periphery of the Soviet Union, politically and culturally distant from Moscow. Not only did officials not pay as much attention to the artistic creations in the country, they were also less worried about slight deviations from official policy, given their limited influence on the political centre.The preservation of Soviet mosaics in Dushanbe remains uncertain, much like in Bishkek. There is no clear official policy regarding their protection, and unlike in Tashkent, there is no formal list of mosaics designated as cultural heritage.
However, many of Dushanbe’s mosaics still appear to be in good condition, despite the government’s ongoing efforts to demolish older buildings to make way for new construction projects. A notable example is the demolition of the House of Peasants, where the Tajik Socialist Soviet Republic was founded on 19 October 1929. Citizens, saddened by the loss of this historic building, made unfruitful attempts to prevent its destruction, but to no avail. This shows the continuing struggle between preserving history and pushing for modernization in Dushanbe.
Despite the lack of an official preservation policy, a recent positive development has given hope to those who value the city’s Soviet mosaics. The famous 1976 mosaic “Shashmaqom” by Asror Aminjanov, located on the Safina TV channel building, was at risk when the government decided to demolish the structure to make way for a new business centre. Aminjanov had handpicked the stones for the mosaic from the Tajik mountains, making it a piece of deep cultural significance.
In response to public outcry on social media, the mayor of Dushanbe intervened, and decided to preserve the mosaic for future generations. An international team of experts, led by Andrey Rykshin, has been assembled to undertake the delicate task of relocating the mosaic, a challenge Rykshin described as difficult but achievable with the right care and attention.
Dushanbe’s mosaics serve as a fascinating blend of Soviet agitprop and local identity, with Tajik culture quietly persisting within the larger framework of Soviet realism, and as a testament of the role and position of Tajikistan within the Union.
The mayor’s decision to safeguard the Shashmaqom mosaic signals a hopeful shift, suggesting that more Soviet-era mosaics may be preserved or rescued in the future.
