Socialist Realist art (or “socrealizm”) was official dogma in Poland in the late 40s and early 50s and elsewhere for longer. Paintings, architecture and sculptures of the period glorify the working class and the achievements of socialism. Kitsch would be a kind word for much of it. Also striking is the resemblance to fascist art: there is a fascination with strong, healthy young bodies. See here, here and here for examples.

While wandering around an exhibition with its glowing reports of Polish Stakhanovs the other day I cast my mind back to the glorification and celebration of my own struggles for a better, brighter, capitalist future in Ireland. One afternoon the exciting news filtered down from on high that our section of the bank had in one day achieved the norm-busting feat of processing over one million pounds in car loans. We workers had outdone ourselves in the fight for a more car-filled future. Plainly, this extraordinary victory in the war against walking had to be marked and so our brigade leader announced that the following day after work we would go to the pub. The day arrived, another million pounds worth of automobile was put on the road and my fellow workers – women all, for progressive Ireland knew no discrimination – disappeared to change out of their work clothes into their civilian clothes (identical to their work clothes) before meeting in a local bar. Joyless, joyless. Even though the motoring public of Ireland was paying, each worker ordered precisely one vodka and diet coke or similarly emasculated product before trickling home, one by one. Where were the patriotic songs, the laughter, the collective buzz of making common cause? The rousing speeches?

Where was the company portraitist with his easel, painting a picture of me wearing a red tie?