The Savitsky Museum: Nukus's Hidden Avant-Garde
How a collection of banned Soviet art ended up in a desert town in Karakalpakstan, what is actually on the walls, and how to plan a visit to Nukus around it.
Nukus is a flat, hot, Soviet-planned city on the edge of the Kyzylkum, 750 kilometres from Tashkent, with almost nothing a tourist would cross a desert for. Except one museum, which people do cross a desert for.
The State Museum of Arts of Karakalpakstan, known to everyone as the Savitsky, holds one of the largest collections of Russian and Soviet avant-garde painting anywhere. Most of it was made by artists the Soviet state suppressed, and it survived because it was assembled a very long way from Moscow.
Igor Savitsky
Savitsky was a Moscow-trained painter who first came to Karakalpakstan in 1950 with an archaeological expedition and stayed. He began by collecting Karakalpak folk art, the embroidery, jewellery, carpets and yurt fittings of a culture that was being modernised out of existence, and in 1966 he persuaded the regional authorities to found a museum for it.
Then he started buying paintings. Through the 1960s and 1970s he travelled to Moscow, Leningrad and the provinces, tracking down artists who had been censored, arrested or simply forgotten after the state settled on socialist realism in the 1930s. He bought from widows, children and studios, often on credit the museum could not cover, and carried the canvases back to a town nobody in the cultural bureaucracy was watching.
That is the key to the whole story. The same paintings in a Moscow institution would have been destroyed, sold abroad or locked in a basement. In Nukus they were catalogued as provincial museum holdings and hung on the wall.
Savitsky died in 1984, in his sixties, worn out by the work and by restoring canvases in conditions no conservator would accept today. He is buried in Nukus.
What is in the collection
Numbers vary depending on what is counted and who is counting: the figure usually quoted for the whole collection is around 90,000 items, with some sources saying 82,000 and others going above 100,000. Only a small fraction is on display at any time, which is normal for a museum this size.
It divides roughly into four parts.
- Russian and Soviet avant-garde painting, mostly from the 1920s and 1930s. This is the famous part, and the claim you will hear is that it is the second largest such collection in the world. Treat that as a claim rather than a measurement; what is not in doubt is that it is very large and holds work by artists represented almost nowhere else.
- The Turkestan school: Russian and Ukrainian artists who moved to Central Asia and painted the desert, the bazaars and the teahouses in styles that got them into trouble at home. For many visitors this, not the avant-garde, turns out to be the best room.
- Karakalpak folk and applied art: the collection Savitsky started with, and still one of the fullest records of the culture anywhere.
- Archaeology from ancient Khorezm, including material from the desert fortresses north of Khiva.
Some of the most affecting pieces are the plainest. Work by artists who died in the camps hangs a few metres from official Soviet canvases of cotton harvests, and the museum does not always label the difference. It is worth asking.
The artists to look for
You do not need art history to enjoy the museum, but four names give the rooms a spine.
Alexander Volkov painted Central Asian life in hard, faceted forms that owe something to cubism and something to Russian icons. He was denounced in the 1930s for formalism, stopped exhibiting, and is one of the artists the museum is best known for holding in depth.
Ural Tansykbayev began with blazing, near-fauvist colour and later produced the calmer official landscapes that were safe to sign. Seeing both phases on the same wall is the clearest lesson in the museum about what pressure does to a painter.
Nadezhda Borovaya made drawings of a Soviet labour camp from inside it. They are small, on poor paper, and hang without ceremony. If you see only one thing here, several visitors would tell you to make it these.
Yelena Korovay painted Bukhara's Jewish quarter in the 1920s and 1930s, a community and a streetscape largely gone now. Her work connects directly to what you can still walk through in Bukhara's Jewish quarter.
Why the paintings were at risk
It helps to know what the artists were up against. From the early 1930s, socialist realism became the only officially acceptable style in the Soviet Union: art had to be legible, optimistic and useful to the state. Experiment was labelled formalism, and formalism was a political charge rather than a critical one.
The consequences ranged from losing your union membership and therefore your studio, materials and income, to arrest. Unsold, unexhibited canvases went into cupboards, attics and, often enough, stoves. What Savitsky was doing when he knocked on a widow's door in the 1960s was arriving at the last possible moment.
He also took risks with money. The museum acquired works on promises to pay later, and the debts were real; the collection exists partly because a provincial budget was quietly stretched for years by a director who cared more about the pictures than the accounts.
The buildings
The museum has moved and grown. The main modern building on Rzaev Street opened in 2003, and a second phase was added later; older displays occupied a smaller building nearby. Which halls are open depends on the year, renovation work and how much of the collection is out on loan, and Nukus is not a city where that information reaches the internet reliably.
Practically, that means two things. Check the current opening days before you build a trip around it, and accept that the specific paintings you have read about may not be on the wall the week you arrive.
Visiting
Allow two hours. Three if you take a guide, which is the single best decision you can make here, because the labelling is minimal, much of it is in Russian and Uzbek, and the stories behind the pictures are the reason the place exists.
- Tickets: a foreign-visitor entry fee, paid in cash at the desk, plus a separate charge if you want to photograph.
- Photography: permitted in most halls once you have paid the photo ticket, but the rules change and some rooms are excluded. Ask at the desk rather than assuming, and do not use flash.
- Guides: English-speaking guides can usually be arranged at the entrance, better if booked a day ahead through your hotel.
- Closed days: the museum has a weekly closing day and shortened hours on some public holidays. Confirm locally.
- Bags: large bags go in the cloakroom.
Getting to Nukus, and what else to do
Nukus has an airport with several flights a day from Tashkent, taking about an hour and a half. The overnight train from Tashkent takes around 18 hours; from Khiva it is a three to four hour drive by shared taxi, which is how most travellers arrive.
Almost nobody comes to Nukus for Nukus. The usual plan is to combine the museum with the Aral Sea: Muynak's ship graveyard, the dried seabed and, for those with time, the desert plateau beyond. Our Nukus and Aral Sea guide covers the logistics of that trip, and the Ustyurt plateau guide explains what the expedition tours actually involve.
Two nights is the right length: arrive, see the museum properly the next morning, leave for Muynak after lunch or the following day. One night works only if your flight times cooperate.
Is it worth the detour?
Honest answer: it depends on what you like. If Uzbekistan for you means tiled domes and Silk Road cities, Nukus is a long way to go for a provincial art museum, and you will not regret skipping it.
If you are interested in 20th-century art, in Soviet history, or in what survives when a state decides certain things should not, this is one of the most extraordinary museums in Asia, and the fact that it is hard to reach is part of the story rather than an obstacle to it. Karakalpakstan's own tourism board page gives the official version of the history.
One more practical point in the museum's favour: it is air-conditioned, and Nukus in July is 40 degrees. The building is the most comfortable place in the city between noon and four, which is an unromantic but genuinely useful reason to plan your day around it.
If you want to read ahead, the 2010 documentary about Savitsky is the usual starting point for most visitors, and the museum shop sells catalogues in English that are far better value than they look. Buy one before you walk round rather than after; the pictures make more sense with the biographies beside them.
Frequently Asked Questions
How long do I need at the Savitsky Museum?
Two hours for a proper visit, three with a guide. It is large enough that rushing it in 45 minutes leaves you with a blur of unlabelled canvases.
Can I take photographs?
Usually yes, in most halls, after paying a separate photo fee at the ticket desk. No flash, and a few rooms may be excluded. Rules have changed more than once, so ask on the day rather than relying on what a blog said two years ago.
Is there an English-speaking guide?
Yes, though not always on the spot. Ask your hotel to arrange one the day before. It makes a much bigger difference here than at most museums because the labels tell you almost nothing about why a painting mattered.
Can I visit Nukus as a day trip from Khiva?
You can, but it is three to four hours each way by road, so you would spend seven hours in a car for two in a museum. Staying a night in Nukus is far more sensible, especially if you also want Muynak.
Is the famous collection always on display?
No. Only a fraction of the holdings is hung at any time, and pieces travel to exhibitions abroad. If there is a specific painting you want to see, email the museum before booking flights.
Featured image: Fabienkhan (public domain) via Wikimedia Commons.