Art was a powerful tool for spreading communist ideology. Factory walls, schools, and bus stations served as cheap, ever-present canvases for propaganda. Mosaics were just as influential as newspapers—if not more—because they carried political messages directly to where people lived, worked and played. Some still stand, but many are crumbling in plain sight, their legacy tied to the rise and fall of the Soviet Union.

Mosaics and Metro Stations

At the turn of the 20th century, mosaics were mostly confined to churches and ancient history. But in an unexpected turn, they found a new home in the Soviet state. Public transit was a pillar of communist ideology, and in the 1930s, car production was deprioritized in favour of building metro systems. Mosaics were "cheap in their materials but luxuriant in their extent." They didn’t fade and could endure freezing winters.

Famous painters like Aleksandr Deyneka were commissioned to create intricate mosaics for Moscow’s new metro stations. Mayakovskaya station, with its soaring arches and elaborate chandeliers, used mosaics to depict what Soviet citizens might see when looking toward the sky—airplanes, parachutists, CCCP flags waving in the breeze, and other symbols of Soviet ambition.

Their rise was as fast as their fall. After Stalin’s death, and in the face of a postwar housing crisis, the era of ornamentation ended. Soviet Premier Nikita Khrushchev declared war on  “unnecessary extravagance in architecture.” Buildings under construction were stripped of their planned decorations, and designs were standardized for function over form. Mosaics all but disappeared. Any featuring Stalin were destroyed or covered up as part of Khrushchev’s de-Stalinization campaign, which sought to erase the dictator’s legacy of forced collectivization, Gulag imprisonment, and purges. Mosaics of Lenin fared slightly better.

The Rebirth of Monumental Mosaics

After two decades of austerity, mosaics returned in the late 1960s. At the height of the Cold War, the state used art to fuel nationalist and patriotic sentiment. Many public buildings automatically allocated 5% of their budget to " artistic elements’." Factories, collective farms, and industrial plants commissioned large-scale mosaics for walls, housing blocks, and public spaces. The state-run Union of Artists—controlling every aspect of artistic life down to the distribution of paintbrushes—assigned local artists to design them. Mosaics became a way for artists to supplement their income, though they weren’t considered "real" art. A simple bus stop mosaic could pay an artist 10 times the average monthly salary.

By the 1970s, mosaics had moved away from the refined neoclassical style of earlier decades. The biggest shift was ideological: Lenin, Stalin, and communist symbols were largely absent. Instead, mosaics depicted a utopian future. Monumental works covering entire apartment buildings drew inspiration from space exploration, with “vaulting, plunging and soaring bodies bursting into real space.” Their vibrant, dynamic style allowed artists to create a vision of the socialist dream.

Many reflected the culture, language, and history of individual Soviet republics. In Ukraine, mosaics often depicted shipbuilding and steel production. In Georgia, they showcased military victories, space achievements, and labor heroes. Prominent public mosaics typically featured workers and families, with women shown as equals—even in physically demanding jobs. Ethnic diversity was included only when it aligned with the state’s messaging on the "friendship of peoples."

Vanishing Mosaics and their Legacy 

The official art of the Soviet state, mosaics projected images, ideas or symbols that spoke to the heart of the communist manifesto. For the most part, they were ignored. Citizens treated them as state commissioned propaganda, not worthy of their attention. The Western world also ignored them because of their state-sponsored association. “They were rejected in favour of work by dissident poets and authors, underground conceptual artists, and censored visionary film-makers.”  

When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, public spaces, factories, and industrial buildings were privatized. Many mosaics were covered by billboards or left to decay. In Ukraine and Georgia, decommunization laws mandated the removal of Soviet symbols from public spaces. Y. Nikiforov's book: Decommunized: Ukrainian Soviet Mosaics documents many of these disappearing works. You can buy it here.