Arts

In the canon of Soviet travel writings of the 1920s–30s, Andrei Bely’s lesser-known book Veter s Kavkaza (1928, not reprinted since its first publication) and the essay Armenia (1929) are something of an oddity. They are generally seen аs an active attempt on his part to become a Soviet writer. This attempt by all accounts had very limited success, but the intention was genuine, and it enters into a most intriguing constellation with the more successful travel writings of the same period that ostensibly are based on the same practice of participatory observation as was practiced by members of LEF and other literary groups. Bely’s writings are more about observation itself than they are about anything else. His entire approach to the subject matter of his travel narratives is based on an obsessive mapping of the topography of his journey in an attempt to learn (by his own account) the Goethean art of seeing—not just the physical topography but also the past and the future of the human landscape in its revolutionary transformation. Ultimately, Bely’s spatially focused narrative seeks to see and represent time, and for this reason suffers the most spectacular failure, which Bely the Kantian and Bely the Symbolist wants to celebrate, but Bely the Soviet writer desperately tries to overcome. The article examines this failure in the broader political and artistic context of the time.

When I set out to edit a Special Issue in Arts on urban development and the role of the arts, I wanted to harvest a different perspective on the advantages of culture for urban development [...]

This article examines the politics of visuality in Israel through the case study of Alami House, a Palestinian home in the village of Hiribya that became the nucleus of Kibbutz Ziqim in 1949 and was later transformed into a heritage site near the Gaza border. Drawing on theories of visual culture, affect, and heritage, the study traces the shifting visual and ideological functions of the site—from its early use as a kibbutz “watchtower,” through its renovation and rebranding as a heritage museum and wine bar, to its symbolic role during and after the Gaza War. It argues that the Israeli gaze toward the Palestinian—manifested in both the spatial design and the performative experience of the site—embodies a dual operation of seeing and unseeing, whereby the Palestinian is simultaneously acknowledged and erased. The essay introduces the concept of disciplined visuality to describe this politically orchestrated management of what may be seen, remembered, or forgotten. By analyzing Alami House as a microcosm of Israeli heritage-making, the article reveals how visuality functions as a tool of power, shaping both the material and conceptual landscape of the Israeli–Palestinian conflict.