The Frame Blog

 

Oksana Lysenko

In the field of decorative art, picture frames occupy a special niche due to their primary purpose – to complement or embellish a painting. Frames have served this rôle since ancient times. In the 17^th century, the Dutch poet, scientist and composer Constantijn Huygens wrote:

‘…an Ebony frame can enrich a poor canvas, and make it look or sell as well as a good one.’ [i]

A painting in an artist’s frame usually provides a most interesting example of the synthesis of arts or, using the term of Thomas Munro, ‘diversified arts’ [ii]. In a number of paintings and drawings dedicated to the everyday life of artists, frames occupy a prominent place. In some works they are an integral ‘attribute’ of the studio, in others they become a marker or symbol of creative success or failure.

Pavel Fedotov (1815-52), The artist who married without a dowry on the hope of his talent, 1844–46, pen-&-ink, wash, 31.3 x 45.6 cm., State Tretyakov Gallery

Thus, in Pavel Fedotov’s sepia drawing, The artist who married without a dowry on the hope of his talent, an episode from the everyday life of an artist who has not received recognition plays out before the viewer’s eyes. His paintings remain unsold, and so their frames are burned. He is forced to paint a sign for a shop in order somehow to feed his family. The boy at the right looks at the painter with a silent question, whilst he breaks up a frame to feed the stove.

Pavel Fedotov (1815-52), The Major’s courtship, 1848, 58.7 x 75.4 cm., State Tretyakov Gallery

It’s worth noting that many of Fedotov’s paintings were framed in the second half of the 19^th century, after his death in 1852. For example, The Major’s courtship, 1848 (State Tretyakov Gallery), presented by the artist to the public at the Imperial Academy of Arts in 1849, was framed in the 1860s [iii]. It had been purchased by a collector, the director of the Postal Department, Fyodor Pryanishnikov – maybe he ordered a frame. How did Fedotov frame his own works, and could he afford to buy frames with his modest income? A. Druzhinin, a friend of the artist, mentioned that two of his drawings – copies of Thomas Lawrence’s ‘heads’ – were

‘…in the setting arranged by Pavel Andreevich himself.’ [iv]

Pavel Fedotov (1815-52), The gamblers, 1852, o/c, 60.5 x 70.2 cm., and detail, Kyiv Picture Gallery National Museum

In this regard, let us examine Fedotov’s painting The gamblers, where three empty frames hang on the illuminated wall of a room drowning in the darkness of the night. In the center is a gilded 1840s pattern, with projecting centres and corners and an S-shaped contour. To either side are shallow coloured architrave frames, with no decoration. Perhaps it was precisely these modest, ungilded frames that Fedotov used to frame his paintings. The central character of The gamblers, sitting directly under the frames, resembles Fedotov himself, who sometimes spent time playing cards during his service in the Finnish Life Guards Regiment. Having chosen the path of an artist, he worked tirelessly, including at night. Empty frames, intended for new paintings, symbolize the antithesis of the idle pastime of players sitting at the table for too long.

We know from Karl Bryullov’s own words how much importance he gave to the frame. In May 1824, in a letter from Rome, he asked his father to make frames for his and his brother Alexander’s works, noting:

‘Papa!! – you probably won’t want to see our works at a disadvantage – and you know yourself how much a frame means to a painting: the same as a corset for a girl’ [v].

The lines from Nikolai Gogol’s story ‘Nevsky Prospect’ help us fully understand this comparison:

‘Here you will encounter waists such as you have never even dreamed of: slender, narrow waists, no thicker than a bottle neck… the most delightful work of nature and art’[vi].

Bryullov often thought about the frame even when first conceiving a painting. Moisei Melikov recounted that Bryullov made numerous sketches for each painting and only began working on the work itself when he imagined it as

‘…completely finished and even framed’ [vii].

Karl Bryullov (1799-1852), Grand Duchess Alexandra Nikolaevna in the frame, 1844, pencil, State Russian Museum

In his drawings you can find both stock frames and original patterns designed by the artist himself. In particular, Bryullov designed a frame for a portrait of Grand Duchess Alexandra Nikolaevna, 1844. Unfortunately, it is unknown whether his sketch was ever realized.

Karl Bryullov (1799-1852), Princess Saltykov, 1841, o/c, 200 x 142 cm.; frame carved to Bryullov’s design (?), 1840s, State Russian Museum

It can be said with a high degree of certainty that the frame for the Portrait of Princess Saltykov, 1841, was created in the 1840s after a design by Bryullov. Its composition is similar to that of the frame of the portrait of Nicholas I’s daughter in the artist’s drawing, above. In the top centre of the frame on Saltykova’s portrait, two cartouches from the coats of arms of the Counts Saltykov and the Princes Stroganov are joined. Above them were crowns, which have not survived.

Andrei Voronikhin (1759-1814),View of the picture gallery of Count Alexander S. Stroganov, 1793, watercolour, The State Hermitage Museum

The portrait used to hang in the Stroganov Palace in St. Petersburg. It is worth mentioning that the extensive collection of paintings housed there was framed in exquisite Empire-style designs with carved ornamentation, which can be seen today in Andrei Voronikhin’s watercolour view of Count Stroganov’s picture gallery, as well as in the halls of the Hermitage. However, Bryullov’s undoubtedly luxurious, fashionable and at the same time unique frame made his painting stand out, whilst emphasizing its merits.

Orest Kiprensky (1782-1836), Portrait of the Danish sculptor Bertel Thorvaldsen, 1833, o/c, 79.5 x 65 cm.; Italian carved giltwood frame c.1830 (?), The State Russian Museum

For most artists of the 19^th century, frames were ornamental, and a means of effectively presenting a painting. This is confirmed by Orest Kiprensky ‘s words on the Baroque frame which he acquired in Italy for his portrait of Bertel Thorvaldsen, 1833. In a letter to Count Vasily Musin-Pushkin-Bruce, the artist reported that the frame ‘makes the picture look quite decent’ [viii]. In the spring of 1834, Kiprensky sent three of his works from Livorno to St. Petersburg for an exhibition at the Imperial Academy of Arts, including the Portrait of Thorvaldsen and the Tiburtine Sibyl, 1830.

Orest Kiprensky (1782-1836), Tiburtine Sibyl, 1830, o/c, 137.6 x 96.6 cm.; Italian frame with compo decoration, c.1830, and detail, State Tretyakov Gallery

He complemented the second work with a NeoClassical ‘rich golden frame’  [ix] with an egg-&-dart at the top edge, a double shell in the corners, and a Greek corner motif on the wooden spandrels. This frame has survived and was identified by Ekaterina Evseeva, a senior academic of the State Tretyakov Gallery. Before being sent to St. Petersburg, the artist showed the Sibyl in Naples in 1830, and Rome in 1832, apparently in the same frame. It was important for Kiprensky to send the paintings to Russia along with the frames, although their transportation was expensive and difficult. He was worried about customs permits, and at his request, Count Musin-Pushkin-Bryus turned to the Director of the Department of Foreign Trade, Dmitry Bibikov, for assistance. Kiprensky also wrote to the conference secretary of the Academy of Arts, Vasily Grigorovich, noting that,

‘…the frames are well worth worrying about’ [x].

Ivan Aivazovsky (1817-1900), The ninth wave, 1850, o/c, 221 x 332 cm.; Russian carved giltwood frame, early 1850s, State Russian Museum https://rusmuseumvrm.ru/data/collections/painting/18_19/zh_2202/index.php?lang=en

Ivan Aivazovsky’s large painting The ninth wave is on display today at the State Russian Museum in its opulently carved giltwood Rococo-style frame. The long, curving stems in its decoration echo the waves on the canvas; a seashell is carved at the bottom centre, the hollow is decorated with rocailles, and some of the branches look like seaweed. The work was painted in 1850, and on June 17, 1851, the artist offered to sell it to Count Viktor Panin for 2,500 silver roubles, and invited Panin to inspect it

‘…in the house of Prince Sergei Sergeevich Gagarin, which is on Bolshaya Morskaya.’ [xi]

In the spring of 1853, Nicholas I purchased The ninth wave for the ‘Gallery of the Russian School’ in the Imperial Hermitage [xii]. Soon there followed an order to ‘correct’ and re-gild the frame of the painting, which was done by the gilder Ilya Grigoriev at the request of the Court Office [xiii]. Thus there is no doubt that the frame for this marine painting was commissioned by the artist himself.

Karel Brozh, from a sketch by Ivan Aivazovsky, Opening of an art gallery in Feodosia (clipping from the magazine World Illustration, 1880), Department of Manuscripts, State Tretyakov Gallery

Aivazovsky, who was almost always concerned about the setting of his paintings, in most cases ordered NeoClassical frames with compo ornamentation; but when in 1880 he opened his gallery in Feodosia, the artist presented many of his works to the public unframed. Perhaps this was a challenge from the celebrated master to the public, which, in the second half of the 19^th century and especially in the provinces, began to pay too much attention to the frame of the painting. Nikita Balagurov, analyzing the Peredvizhniki exhibitions (the Society for Itinerant Art Exhibitions), noted that they were not so much a place for introducing the public to painting, but a ‘space for symbolic consumption’. And it was not so much the painting itself that served as an object of consumption, but rather its frame [xiv].

Vasily Perov (1834-82), Modern idyll (Family portrait), 1880, pencil, 26 x 19 cm., State Tretyakov Gallery

Maybe that’s why some curious framing ideas appeared. For example, in the sketch for the painting Modern idyll (Family portrait), which satirizes social vices, Vasily Perov – a founding member of Peredvizhniki – outlined a grand Rococo frame. At the same time, the fashion for spectacular gilded frames, which buyers wanted to see in their homes, may have been an additional stimulus for the appearance of a significant number of beautiful works of decorative art, including those created according to artists’ designs.

Ilya Repin (1844-1930), Sadko, 1876, o/c, 322.5 x 230 cm., and detail, The State Russian Museum

This, for example, is the frame for Ilya Repin’s painting Sadko, 1876, made according to the author’s drawing in the E. Carpentier workshop in Paris. For this painting, the artist chose an episode from a Novgorod epic, where Sadko, at the bottom of the sea, chooses a wife for himself at the request of the water king. The motifs of marine flora present on the canvas continue on the frame, where the wide, smooth frieze at the inner edge is engraved on gilded gesso with images of curved plants seemingly swaying on the waves, with narrow, long leaves resembling those of bullrushes and water forgetmenots (the designs were supplied by Repin, from botanical illustrations).

Firs Zhuravlev (1836-1901), Boyaryshnya, 1880s, o/c, Museum of Fine Arts of the Republic of Tatarstan, Kazan

Firs Zhuravlev commissioned a giltwood frame with carved rocaille ornament from the St Petersburg workshop of Semyon Abrosimov & son for his painting Boyaryshnya, 1880s. Interestingly, Zhuravlev did not choose a ‘Russian-style’ frame for his painting dedicated to ancient ‘Rus’. He obviously wanted to adorn his work with a fashionable frame which would appeal more readily to the public. The popularity of Baroque and Rococo frames in the late 19^th century is evident in advertisements from manufacturers, including Anton Gecele of St Petersburg. On one of the labels of his workshop, as well as in his catalogue, is the image of a frame with richly carved ornament, harking back to Italian examples from the 18^th century.

Vasily Vereshchagin (1842-1904), Shinto temple in Nikko, 1903, o/c, 45 x 61 cm.; frame made in Russia to Vereshchagin’s design, 1903–1904, with Japanizing polychrome carved ornament (the scotia was originally covered with Japanese yamato-nishiki silk, now lost), State Russian Museum

Vasily Vereshchagin held over 60 exhibitions of his work, both in Russia and in cities across western Europe and the United States. The exhibitions were usually a great success, which was due to the presentation of the works. Following the artist’s design, the walls and windows of the hall were covered with fabric, exotic plants were placed here and there, and sometimes there was appropriate music. Vereshchagin showed his works in series, developing ‘the same theme in many paintings’ [xv]. The impression was enhanced by objects and weapons from the country to which the exhibited paintings were dedicated. And the frames played a special role. Massive, wide of profile, gilded, they enhanced the canvases, as well as the exhibition space.

Until the 1880s, the artist commissioned frames based on samples available in the workshops [xvi], but for the studies he had made during his journey through the cities of the Volga region, he created original frames, which were executed by carvers from Rostov the Great. In the ornamentation of these frames, Vereshchagin used patterns from carved iconostases and others ancient Russian objects of art [xvii].  Similarly, for the sketches made during his trip to Japan in 1903, the artist designed frames with decoration based on polychrome carvings from the Shinto temples in Nikko: the Fo lion and the peony flower. The scotia of several of the frames was covered with fabric, as in the one above, which was originally faced with Japanese yamato-nishiki silk brocade.

Nikolay Roerich (1874-1947), The herald, 1897, o/c, 124.7 x 185 cm.; frame made in Russia to the artist’s design, 1897, State Tretyakov Gallery

New trends in the presentation of their works by various artists emerged in the late 19^th and early 20^th centuries. The public, even the most enlightened, was not ready for the new aesthetics of framing. In 1899 the art historian Andrei Somov described artists, who, when submitting paintings to exhibitions, began to devise the most intricate frames for them, wanting

‘…to be original at all costs. It gets to the point where, for example, they knock together a frame from rough, half-rotten boards of an old box and drape it with plush or some other material; bronze the frame as if it had been lying in the ground for many years and was not yet completely cleared of dirt and rust; cover it with woven matting, which is then varnished and, before it has dried, sprinkled with gold or bronze powder …’ [xviii]

The last words obviously refer to the frame by Nikolay Roerich for his painting The herald, executed in 1897 and submitted to an exhibition of competitive works by graduates of the Higher Art School at the Imperial Academy of Arts, where it was purchased for his gallery by the famous collector and merchant Pavel Tretyakov. Without diminishing the merits of the painting, we note that the artist’s frame could have played a significant role in this acquisition. Roerich did not strive to make it ‘beautiful’, as his contemporaries would have understood it. According to the artist’s design the frame needed to remind the viewer of a bygone era, so he sprinkled the fillet at the top edge with sand, and coloured it to make the wood appear very old. He glued coarsely woven matting to the frieze, and in the corners and centres of this he created images of dogs and ducks, copied from ancient amulets that he had found in archaeological excavations [xix]. They were made by applying sand through stencils onto glue on the frieze, and then ‘gilding’ them with powdered gold leaf.

Nikolay Roerich (1874-1947), Ominous, 1901, o/c, 104 x 233.5 cm., and detail; frame made in St Petersburg to the artist’s design, 1900s, State Russian Museum

The frame for Roerich’s painting Ominous, 1901, is even more daring; it was made to the artist’s design in the workshop of Anton Gecele in St Petersburg. The frame has a wide torus profile, covered with a gypsum composition with a deliberately rough surface, as if not finished, looking like earth or raw clay. A pattern of large ovals and diamonds has been pressed into the wet plaster, each oval containing tulip buds arranged in a cruciform pattern. The frame is coloured overall with grey-brown paint, and in places is sprinkled with bronze powder, which creates a mysterious shimmer.

The frames of avant-garde artists were, for the most part, of a simple profile, without ornament or gilding, often very narrow. The question arises: is it fair to say that such minimalist frames played any rôle in the presentation of the works? Of course, yes, and it is important to add that some artists delegated new tasks to the frames.

Alexander Archipenko (1887-1964), Médrano II, 1913–1914, mirrored glass, wood, painted oilcloth & painted tin, 126.7 x 51.4 x 31.8 cm., The Guggenheim Museums & Foundation, New York

Alexander Archipenko created works that he called ‘sculpto-painting’. In these, he combined colour and volume, making the frame one of the elements of ‘plastic synthesis’ [xx]. For example, in his work Medrano II, 1913–1914, Archipenko made the frame of the pedestal and background from simple wooden rails of varying widths, tinted red (top) and green (bottom). Through this frame, he enhanced the dynamic contrasts of the geometric structures in the work.

Mikhail Larionov (1881-1964), Provincial dandy, c. 1909, o/c, 100 × 89 cm., artist’s frame, c.1909, State Tretyakov Gallery

Experimental artists often tinted the frames of their paintings according to the laws of colour perception. The Tretyakov Gallery has preserved a rare frame by Mikhail Larionov for his painting Provincial dandy, 1909, made from narrow rails and painted green. Larionov noted that the expressiveness of a painting depends

‘…on the degree of tension of the colour and the position in which it is located in relation to other colours’ [xxi].

This pattern can be seen by altering the colour of the artist’s frame to white: then all the colours of the painting will seem to fade, and gray will begin to prevail.

Marc Chagall (1887-1985), letter with coloured sketches to Konstantin Kandaurov, 1911, Russian State Archive of Literature and Art, Moscow [xxii]

Unfortunately, many of the frames designed by avant-garde artists have not survived. In black-and-white photos from their lifetime exhibitions and studios, the profile of the picture frames can be seen, but the colour is impossible to determine. Marc Chagall’s letter to Konstantin Kandaurov, who in 1911 participated in organizing the exhibition of the ‘Mir iskusstva’ association in St. Petersburg, is therefore of great value. Chagall, who was living in Paris at the time, sent three paintings to the exhibition and asked Kandaurov to take care of their framing. In the letter he made sketches and detailed comments on them:

‘No. 1 [Birth] – yellow frame, simple ochre. No. 2 – very black frame, made of simple, unhewn wood. No. 3 [Dead Man on the Street] – very yellow frame – the colour of the sky [on the canvas]’ [xxiii]

Kazimir Malevich (1879-1935) painting Girl with a red flagstaff in its frame, 3 April 1933, with detail. Photo: N.M. Suetin

Kazimir Malevich exhibited his early works without frames or in very narrow mouldings with a simple profile. Their plainness correlated with one of the main principles of Malevich’s artistic and philosophical system of Suprematism – ‘economy’, which was explained in the article ‘On new systems in art’, written in 1919. In the late 1920s and early 1930s, under the conditions of the state’s new cultural policy (when formal explorations in art were strictly prohibited), Malevich was looking for a way to ‘converse’ with the viewers. He wrote to Ivan Klyun:

‘At the present time, I… allow myself to develop images, i.e. human faces in classical sensations, but this does not mean that the painting of these faces will be in the spirit of Venetsianov, Ivanov, Fedotov, it will be in a Suprematist treatment…’ [xxiv]

Malevich complemented his new works with antique 19th century gilded frames, which previous masters had employed for their work. That is, he passed to the frame the rôle of a bridge or moderator between the Suprematist interpretation of the image, which Malevich did not want to abandon, and the public, accustomed to a different art language. (See more on Malevich’s frames in Oksana Lysenko’s review, ‘Precious Framing. The painting and its frame: Dialogues– an exhibition at the State Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow‘)

Nikolai Suetin (1897-1954), detail of a Suprematist frame, 1940s, painted wood, private collection

Nikolai Suetin, student and comrade-in-arms of Malevich, developed Suprematist frames in the second half of the 1930s and 1940s. They were based on joint work with Malevich on the creation of a new architectural order – the Suprematist. Designed in accordance with the Suprematist ‘law of economy’, Suetin’s frames are monochrome and undecorated. Their profiles are built on a combination of vertical and horizontal planes of varying widths, composed on the principles of proportionality and dynamic balance. The elements of the profile alternate in a complex rhythm, sometimes increasing, sometimes slowing down, comparable to the rhythm of a piece of music. The main rôle in revealing the form of Suprematist frames, as in the case of Malevich’s architectons, is that of the light [xxv].

Alexander Samokhvalov (1894-1971), drawing for the frame of Girl in a sports shirt, with ornament and profile, 1963, pencil, private collection

Alexander Samokhvalov also designed original frames for his works – notably in 1963, whilst preparing for a solo exhibition – the drawings for which are now in a private collection. For the painting Girl in a sports -shirt, 1931–32, he designed a reverse profile frame with compo acanthus leaves, which was initially ivory-coloured.

Alexander Samokhvalov (1894-1971), Girl in a sports shirt, 1931-32, o/c, 102 x 64 cm., frame made to the artist’s design, 1963, State Russian Museum

Later, in the 1970s, the painting was repainted grey at the Russian Museum, which changed the perception of the colours in the painting.

Alexander Samokhvalov (1894-1971), Weaving factory, 1929, tempera & oil/c, 68 x 98 cm.; frame made in Russia to the artist’s design, 1963, State Russian Museum

For the work Weaving factory, 1929, the artist designed a frame the finish of which combines wood veneer and white paint.

Dmitry Zhilinsky (1927-2015), Under the old apple tree, 1969, tempera on board, 178 x 98 cm., frame created by the artist, 1969, State Russian Museum

Dmitry Zhilinsky’s panel, Under the old apple tree, 1969, has a frame made by the artist himself, which is part of, or a continuation of, the painting. This work depicts Zhilinsky’s mother and children on a summer day in an apple orchard – superficially an idyllic scene. However, the frame brings a tragic overtone to the work: on the wide frieze, in small recesses like those of icons, are painted portraits of Zhilinsky’s father and brother.

Dmitry Zhilinsky, Under the old apple tree, details of the portraits on the frame

Beneath each portrait are their dates, reminding us that the artist’s father was arrested, shot in 1939, and posthumously rehabilitated; his brother died at the front in 1944. At the top of the frame is the inscription: ‘Dedicated to my mum’.

Erik Bulatov (1933-2025), The clouds are growing, 2007, o/c, 200 x 200.5 cm., State Tretyakov Gallery

It is important to point out that in Russia the study of picture frames began only at the end of the 20^th century. Artists themselves, however, have maintained a tradition of framing their work appropriately, and of understanding the importance of the frame. This is obvious, even in Erik Bulatov’s declared rejection of frames. He explained it like this: the space in a painting can recede

‘…into space, away from the viewer, or it can be constructed the other way around – so that it is aimed directly at the viewer. In my paintings there is almost always the possibility of both movements: into the distance and also towards us. The frame will necessarily cut off one of these possibilities, or at least reduce one and emphasize the other.’ [xxvi]

Igor Makarevich (b.1943), Portrait of Ilya Kabakov (Ilya’s Wardrobe), 1987, mixed media, The State Russian Museum

In Igor Makarevich’s work, Portrait of Ilya Kabakov or Ilya’s Wardrobe, the frame is ready-made. The painting was executed on the inside back wall of a wardrobe from the 1960s-70s, containing typical personal items of the period: cheap battered shoes, a map, photos, etc., which replace the ornament. The ready-made aspect refers viewers to the work of the sitter and artist Ilya Kabakov, whose works explore the existential problems of the Soviet era.

Thanks to its original framing, Makarevich’s work invariably attracts the public’s attention, as we have observed repeatedly in one of the halls of the Russian Museum. The image of Kabakov in the old wardrobe is a sad one, but the piercing colour of the endless blue sky behind him inspires hope and, at the same time, makes one perceive the ready-made frame as a portal to another world.

Roman Linza, Human form, 2023, frames from the video installation, private collection

The theme of the portal is also present in Roman Linza’s video installation, Human form. In the first part of the work, the protaginist carefully approaches a huge white board with a round window cut in it, through which he peers. In the next ‘frame’, the viewer sees the board from the other side, as if he/she is one of the figures who peoples the ideal, cold world of modern Oblomovs [xxvii] – the pampered consumers of the fashion industry. Into this composition, the artist has introduced an opulently decorated and gilded but empty frame, which is perceived as a symbol of luxury and, at the same time, as a sign of the aimless, unproductive life. In the final part of the video installation, Roman Linza leaves the audience alone in front of the same portal that we saw in the beginning, through which one of the characters from the previous scene bends to look.

(top) Pere Borrell del Caso (1835-1920), Escaping Criticism, 1875, o/c, 75.7 x 61 cm., shown with its painted integral frame but without its actual solid frame, headquarters of the Banco de España, Madrid; (below) Roman Linza, Human form, 2023, frame from the video installation, private collection

This ‘frame’ involuntarily brings to mind Pere Borrell del Caso’s painting Escaping Criticism, with its trompe l’oeil frame. However, in Roman Linza’s work, the image of the character looking through the frame carries a different, positive emotional connotation.

Ilya Kabakov (1933-2023), Decorator Malygin, sheets from an album, 1986, The State Tretyakov Gallery

In this way, contemporary artists enrich the frame with new meanings. For example, in the drawings from Ilya Kabakov’s album Decorator Malygin, the frame becomes an absolutely independent work. The artist came up with a story about a certain official, Malygin, who went to meetings and, out of boredom, drew in the margins of documents until the boss reprimanded him. Then Malygin began to use blank sheets of paper for his sketches, but he was so used to drawing on documents that he continued to draw only on the perimeter or in the corners. On behalf of his fictional character, Kabakov created a graphic series which includes self-sufficient frames, not intended to complement or to contain any other works.

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Oksana Lysenko is Senior Research Fellow at the State Museum of Fine Arts of the Republic of Tatarstan, and has published numerous books and articles on the history of frames in Russia and Ukraine.

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[i] Paul Mitchell & Lynn Roberts, Frameworks: form, function and ornament in European portrait frames, London, 1996, p. 88

[ii] Thomas Munro, The arts and their interrelations, New York, 1951, p. 411

[iii] This type of frame was developed for the Imperial Hermitage in the 1860s.

[iv] Aleksandr Druzhinin, Recollections of the Russian artist Pavel Andreevich Fedotov, St Petersburg, 1853, p. 41 (in Russian)

[v] Ivan Andreyevich Kubasov (ed. & notes), The Bryullov Archive, St Petersburg, 1900, p. 52 (in Russian)

[vi] Nikolai Gogol, Collected works in 7 volumes: vol. III, The Inspector, Moscow, 1984, p. 9 (in Russian)

[vii] Moisey Melikov, Notes and recollections of an artist (Russian antiquity), 1896, vol. 86, no 6, pp. 655–56 (in Russian)

[viii] A.A. Fedorov-Davydov (ed.), Masters of Art about art, Moscow, 1969, p. 212 (in Russian)

[ix] E.D. Evseeva, ‘On the problem of the artist’s and owner’s frames: from observations on the Tretyakov Gallery’s collection of 18^th-earlier 19^th century paintings’, The frame as an object of art, proceedings of the scientific conference, T.L. Karpova (ed.), Moscow, 2015, p. 95 (in Russian)

[x] Ibid., p. 96

[xi] P.A. Lebedev, ‘Forgive me for daring to disturb you with my immodest proposal…’, a letter from the artist Ivan Aivazovsky to the Minister of Justice Count V.N. Panin, 1851, in Domestic Archives, 2006, no 6, pp. 111-12 (in Russian)

[xii] State Hermitage Museum Archives, Fund 1, Inventory 2, 1853, case 5, folio 1 (in Russian)

[xiii] Ibid., folio 4 & 19

[xiv] N.V. Balagurov, ‘An exhibition of a canvas in 145 frames: towards a social history of the Peredvizhniki shows’ (abstracts of the report), Picture – frame – image, programme of the international conference, St Petersburg, 2019, pp. 13-14

[xv] Correspondence of V.V. Vereshchagin and V.V. Stasov, vol. 1, 1874-78, 1950, p. 14 (in Russian)

[xvi] Whilst working at Maisons-Laffitte near Paris, Vereshchagin used the services of three frame workshops: P. Humbert, E. Carpentier and Latour

[xvii] See ‘Russian frames: an interview with Oksana Lysenko…‘

[xviii] A.A. Brockhaus  & I.A. Efron, Encyclopedic dictionary, vol. XXVI, St Petersburg, 1899, p. 244 (in Russian)

[xix] Nikolay Roerich took part in many archaeological expeditions, organizing them, presenting reports at the Archaeological Institute based on the results of excavations, and writing articles

[xx] From an article by Guillaume Apollinaire on the work of Alexander Archipenko, published in the catalogue of the artist’s exhibition at the Der Sturm gallery, 1914. Quoted from I. Azizyan, Alexander Archipenko, Moscow, 2010, p. 47 (in Russian)

[xxi] Mikhail Larionov, Luchizm, Moscow, 1913, p. 20 (in Russian)

[xxii] Chagall’s letter is published in Russian avant-garde from the collection of the Russian State Archive of Literature and Art, Moscow, 2004, p. 117

[xxiii] Ibid.

[xxiv] Irina A. Vakar & Tatiana N. Mikhienko (compiled & ed.), Kazimir Malevich: letters, documents, memoirs, criticism, 2 vols, Moscow, 2004, vol. 1, p. 235 (in Russian)

[xxv] In the early 1950s, Suetin experimented with one of his frames, tinting it to match the painting’s color scheme. See ‘A review of Precious Framing. The painting and its frame: Dialogues, an exhibition at the State Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow‘

[xxvi] From an interview given by Erik Bulatov to Yulian Makarov, ‘Leading rôle: Erik Bulatov’, Kultura TV Channel, 30 October 2014

[xxvii] Oblomov is the protagonist of Ivan Goncharov’s novel of the same name. The nobleman Ilya Oblomov is well-educated and well-read, but weak-willed and incapable of action. He relies on others for help in his affairs, spending his days in bed in his city apartment