Magic Lantern Slides of  Avant-garde Soviet Children’s Books: Marshak, Lebedev, Chukovskii, Konashevich, and More…

A hand-colored slide of an illustration by Vladimir Konashevich for Kornei Chukovskii’s Tarankanische, a poem about a cockroach who wants to rule the world manufactured by Edward van Altena.

Thanks to a generous gift from Sibylle Fraser, Cotsen now has a delightfully mysterious group of magic lantern slides of illustrations from some of the most famous Soviet picture books of the 1920s.  No book is reproduced in its entirety, but there are samples from  Samuil Marshak ‘s Vladimir Lebedev’s Tsirk [Circus} and Bagazh [Baggage] illustrated by Vladimir Lebedev, Kornei Chukovskii’s Moidodyr [Wash ‘em Clean] illustrated by Yuri Annenkov, published by Raduga, and Chukovskii’s Tarankanishche [Cockroach] illustrated by Vladimir Konashevish, to mention just a few.

The title page by Yuri Annenkov for Chukovskii’s Moidodyr.

The glass slide for the first page of Lebedev’s first set of illustrations for Samuil Marshak’s Bagazh followed by the color-printed page from the book.

The glass lantern slides were produced by photographer Edward van Altena (1873-1968) at his studio on 71-79 West 45th Street in New York City, but there is no hint on the slides for whom he made them.   The photographs might have been taken as documentation of a private or institutional  collection of 1920s Soviet children’s books, but it seems much more likely they were used for lectures by someone.  The superb reproduction of the artwork would have been perfect for educational purposes, and slides were stored in the kind of case sold to lecturers.

Copy stand photography, on the other hand, is not the kind of work usually associated with van Altena, a minor celebrity in the history of photography.  Over the course of his long career, which began at age 15, were the song slides, or hand-colored magic lantern slides for sing-along entertainment between films in vaudeville theatres, a market he and his partner John Duer Scott dominated from 59 Pearl Street between 1904 and 1919.  Whether the subjects of Scott and van Altena song slides were sentimental or surreal, their production values were superb. The Princeton Graphic Arts Collections holds some wonderful examples.

After the dissolution of Scott and van Altena, the partners went their separate ways.  When van Altena moved into the premises at 71-79 45th Street and how long he did business there I was not able to discover.   The Soviet picture books he photographed were published during the 1920s, but they could have been shot in the 1930s or even into the 1940s, when glass slide technology was on its way out.  He seems to have had plenty of work, judging by the examples held in the archives of the Garden Society of America, Wintherthur, the Yale University Divinity Library, the Eastman Museum, Theodore Roosevelt papers, Brooklyn Historical Society (to mention a few), and for sale on the Internet.   The trail goes cold in the 1940s, after which he seems to have disappeared as a professional photographer.

Many thanks to Sibylle Fraser, for this most unusual and intriguing gift to the collection.  Perhaps it will inspire a researcher to try and learn more about who was preaching the gospel of the Soviet avant-garde’s great creators of picture books for children.

Sources consulted included Terry  Bolton, “Outstanding Colorists of American Magic Lantern Slides, Magic Lantern Gazette, 26:1 (Spring 2014), 3-23, Elizabeth Carlson, “Five Cent Fantasies: Photographic Experimentation in Illustrated Song Slides,” History of Photography, 41:2 (May 2017), 188-203, and Encyclopaedia of the Magic Lantern, co-edited by David Robinson, Stephen Herbert, and Richard Crangle (London: Magic Lantern Society, 2001).

Picturing Progress: A Photo Album for Vladimir Lenin from the Azneft Commune

Dorogomu Vladimiru Il’ichu Ul’i︠a︡novu (Leninu) ot Kommunal’nago Upravlenii︠a︡ Aznefti. [Azerbaijan, 1922]. (Cotsen 30660)

The massive photo album pictured above, measuring nearly 14×19 inches, is definitely a rarity and a bit of a mystery. Created in 1922, probably in Baku, Azerbaijan, the Russian language album features 114 photographs (mostly silver prints) mounted on 30 card stock sheets. The cover title, (badly) translated as “To dear Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov (Lenin) from the Communal Management of Azneft'”, indicates that this photo album was dedicated to Vladimir Lenin, then leader of the USSR, from the Azneft commune. But the album wasn’t really a gift for Vladimir Lenin (he mostly likely never saw it himself), it is more like a modest predecessor to the large scale Stalinist propaganda campaigns in which the great leader is thanked for the benefits of the revolution.

Cult of personality propaganda would reach new heights under Joseph Stalin, this poster text translates as: Thank you Comrade Stalin, for our happy childhood!

After a brief (18 month) independence from Russian rule during the Russian Civil War, Azerbaijan would find itself forcibly integrated into the USSR in 1922. As a result, the massive oil reserves outside of the capital city Baku would be nationalized and consolidated under the Azneft name (at the turn of the last century Azerbaijan was producing almost half the world’s oil, and continues to be an oil rich nation today). This album was probably arranged for the workers of an Azneft commune in order to showcase the amenities of a newly industrialized (and collectivized) life under Soviet rule.

Though probably made up of mostly oil workers and their families, the (ideal) tenets of collectivization meant that many aspects of material and social life would be provided on the commune including things like education, recreation, health services, and workshops.

Biblioteka (library).

Uchitel’skaya (teachers), faculty of the commune’s school.

Ambulatoriya (literally a “dispensary”, or small health clinic) Though difficult to make out here, the sign at the back of the room reads: “it is strictly forbidden to smoke, litter, and spit on the floor”; a message that was crucially displayed in Armenian, Russian, and Azerbaijani in order to make sure all patients obeyed the rules (strogo vospreshchaetsya kurit’ sorit’ i plevat’ ya pol’).

Clockwise from left: Tokarnaya Masterskaya (lathe workshop), Tokarnaya Masterskaya (lathe workshop), Mashinnoe Otdelenie (machine room), Liteinaya (foundry).

Tokarnaya Masterskaya (lathe workshop), a closer look at lathes.

Throughout the nascent Soviet Union bold educational reforms were being rolled out during the 1920’s. Literacy campaigns were especially emphasized in order to modernize the Soviet nation and educate a mostly illiterate populace. This photo album captures these initiatives in action:

Urok tyurkskago yazyka (Turkish language lesson), here adults are being taught the Perso-Arabic script for “Turkish” (Azeri Turkish) before Soviet authorities would institute a Latin script (1926) and then Cyrillic script (1939).

Urok russkago yazyka (Russian language lesson), children would be instructed in both Russian and Azeri Turkish (not shown here).

Urok arifmetiki (math lesson).

The photo album also depicts life off the commune. Pictures in the second half of the album capture visits to a new hospital in Baku and various sanatoria in Stavropol Krai, Russia; a region well known for it’s climate and health resorts. Perhaps advertising the new found inclusion of the united proletariat into the Russian world of rest and relaxation?

Sabunchinskaia bol’nitsia (Sabunchu hospital) in Baku, Azerbaijan. 

Clockwise from left: Chital’nya (Reading room), Fasad sanatorii v Pyatigorske (facade of a sanatorium in Pyatigorsk), Fasad sanatorii (facade of a sanatorium), Sanatoriya v Pyatigorske (sanatorium in Pyatigorsk).

Stolovaya sanatorii (dining room of the sanatorium), a few comrades enjoying a communal dinner.

As the handwriting below the photographs makes plain, this album wasn’t mass produced. Other Soviet photo albums of this kind are known to exist (later and more elaborate versions would be dedicated to Comrade Stalin), but this one appears wholly unique. We are lucky to have it here at Cotsen so that we can preserve these unique snap shots into a once brave new world that has faded sepia with time.


Many thanks to Thomas Keenan, Slavic, East European, and Eurasian Librarian for invaluable insight into what this item is. All misunderstandings and mistranslations are my own.