With swift audacious brush strokes and a radical approach to composition, Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev set about creating his historic masterpiece in the experimental new style of which he was its the chief exponent. He turned the tenets of socialism on their head to create his own vision of a brave new world under the explosive twin banners of Glasnost and Perestroika.

This thawing out and opening up of Soviet Russia has seen a steady trickling of world culture reach the Russians and has turned the world on to the Soviets' own cultural offerings. The excellence of Moscow's ballet and circus have for a long time been legendary. Today, Russian fashion is slowly making its presence felt. European fashion houses have responded with Soviet inspired designer goodies whilst the real items have became highly sought after status symbols amongst young style-setters.

Foreign tourism is blossoming and MacDonald's is so popular that it, ironically, provides the worlds' slowest 'fast food'. If many Russians are both exhilarated by and nervous about their future prospects, confused by the dramatic easing of restrictions on their daily existence, the more enterprising have embraced their newfound freedom in the spirit intended by their visionary leader.

The western art world has had many years to grow comfortable with its commercial aspect and, if it wasn't obvious before, the astronomical prices paid for works by Picasso and Van Gogh have left no doubt that art is a very lucrative business, as much the domain of the entrepreneur as the artist. The USSR is only now coming to terms with this fact and is starting to see a new breed of worker, the entrepreneur. Two of these fledgling empressarios have recently shaken the art world, both in their native USSR and abroad, with their efforts to destroy the established preconceptions of Soviet art.

In pre-Perestroika Russia, Nikita Andrievich and Mark Yankelevich worked as art critics. Andrievich holding a position of some influence with the State's official arbiter of taste, The Ministry of Culture, whilst Yankelevich was being bored by his work at The Planet, a Moscow publishing house, which is hardly surprising, given that the art to be critiqued consisted of little more than 'Agit-Prop' (agitational propaganda) and works depicting heroic figures sternly pushing the wheels of industry towards a better Soviet state. "You must understand", elaborates Andrievich, "in dogma and ideology. The system permeated the whole art scene.

"As a curator, for instance, I could not attempt a personal exhibition, or even select themes of conceptual ideas for my exhibitions. The one accepted form of art was that which glorified the socialist ideal. They called this 'Socialist Realism'. It is a very difficult concept to explain. You know, even the people who dreamt up this style of art are still arguing over a definition".

It is a bittersweet joke, as is most Russian humour, for it reveals a sad truth in the absurdity of 'the system' that Andrievich is fighting hard to defeat. Yet he is a far cry from the fast-talking, snappily dressed dealers who move in New York's art circles. A bearded man with unruly hair who wears his clothes for comfort, he has the air of an academic whose deep measured voice would be happiest discussing theories of representation rather than negotiating contracts. His eyes, however, reveal an intensity, not unlike Gorbachev's and his gaze shows the determination and passion that fuels this entrepreneurial dynamo.

Andrievich sketches a picture of the art scene that previously existed in the USSR. "Many Russian masterpieces were safely hidden away in cavernous storerooms beneath the official art museums. To see the works of modern masters such as Kandinsky or Malevich, or Chagall, even for the art experts it was necessary to obtain KGB authorisation. Priceless works of art were taken out of the country, stamped as worthless by the Ministry of Culture. So you see, things were not so good... Not only was the content of art dictated, the form of works was also limited to figurative art. Abstract or conceptual art was renounced as capitalist bourgeois ideology that would have a negative and harmful influence on the Soviet citizenry".

Perhaps the state of the art is best illustrated by the response to a gesture by one of the Twentieth Century masters, the Russian expatriate, Marc Chagall, who, before his death offered to donate all his works to the city of his birth, Vitebsk, only to be informed that they weren't interested.

"Again you see", continues Andrievich, warming to his topic, "artists who did not create according to the rules had no chance of earning a livelihood because there was no market in the USSR, and works were only bought and sold by the official organs of the state. Artists that were experimenting in different styles and methods had to work in basements or locked away in their apartments. To survive they had to take jobs such as cleaners or night watchmen. These people were really creating because of a deeper need, since it was unthinkable that they would find either fame or fortune.

"Now, of course, it's a different story", he says cheerily. "the old masters have been dusted off and proudly displayed for all to see. Also, old works are no longer permitted to leave the country; modern artists are being given recognition and people are even allowed to buy and sell art".

The new Russia indeed provides a refreshing contrast to the bleak tableau of the past decades and a stroll through Moscow's Ismailovsky Park on any weekend will highlight the changes. Where once the viewing of artists' work was a covert affair limited to a select handful of people, the atmosphere in the park today, is akin to an open air market, where Muscovites openly browse, admire and even purchase the variously styled works of hundreds of artists and artisans.

This spirit of openness and free enterprise was embraced by Andrievich and Yankelevich, stifled as they were by their official jobs. "With the beginnings of Perestroika in 1986, we saw an opportunity to do something and so Mark and I, together with another friend, Leonid Bazhanin, formed the Hermitage Association and began to exhibit previously unrecognised artists", says Andrievich. In September of 1987, the group held what would become one of the most important exhibitions ever seen in the USSR. Under the title, "Thirty Years Work by Moscow Artists 1957-1987", the exhibition blatantly ignored official ministry works, showing what amounted to a retrospective of the last thirty years of Soviet avant-garde art. The exhibit drew on the collections of the artists themselves as well as a small band of private collectors and displayed a range of works encompassing conceptual works, realism of a distinctly non-socialist variety, even Soviet Pop Art!

"We had our own version of Pop art...." affirms Andrievich, only to add in exasperation, "It's just that nobody saw it". This is an oversight which he does not intend to see repeated and to this end he and Yankelevich have dedicated themselves to its fruition. Following the Thirty Years exhibition, which showed the Soviet people an artistic heritage they didn't know existed, they embarked on an ambitious project to unite and promote contemporary avant-garde artists and in early 1988, Andrievich's studio was transformed into the headquarters of the Moscow Palette Association of which Andrievich and Yankelevich became chairmen.

Commencing operations without capital, the two drew on their own resources and the many connections Andrievich in particular, had made during his years with the Ministry. Within three months, they had amassed over half a million roubles and the show was, quite literally, on the road.

With the Hermitage, they had established the reputations of a number of Soviet artists: Ilya Kabakov, Edward Steinberg, Nikolai Filatov and Grisha Bruskin to name a few. One of Bruskin's works in fact sold for almost $400,000 at a recent Sotheby's auction. With the Moscow palette, Andrievich and Yankelevich were now ready to introduce Soviet contemporary art to the world.

The Moscow Palette has already notched up some admirable achievements, with successful exhibitions in Switzerland, France, the USA, Poland, Czechoslovakia and the Netherlands. A touring exhibition even visited Australia under the twin titles of ISKUSTVO and THE PYRAMID SHOW, one displaying recent Soviet avant-garde paintings whilst the other exhibited drawings, sculpture and decorative art. Together, they represented the best work of Russia's one hundred finest artists.

Andrievich was delighted to bring these works to Australia and had high praise for his partner in the venture, Sonart Australia. "No other gallery, with the exception of the South Australian Gallery were willing to become involved when we approached them. The wide spectrum of this show was a little daunting, I think. This type of exhibition is also a high risk enterprise financially, and without the faith shown by Sonart, I doubt whether we could have taken the show to Australia, even with the spirit of Perestroika".

In an understandable attempt to avoid bureaucratic red tape, the Moscow Palette avoids dealing with trade people, liaising directly with foreign galleries. In fact, the only organisation they have any links with is the Soviet Foundation of Charity and Health. "We give almost all our foreign currency to them so that they can purchase medical and other vital supplies", explains Andrievich.

If further evidence is needed of both these mens' commitment to art for art's sake, with their remaining funds they have already taken The Moscow palette to a position where it is the world's largest collector of Muscovite avant-garde artists with over 1200 quality works. Additionally, it is now looking to establish a gallery of Contemporary Art in Moscow which will showcase the many developments and trends that help define the ongoing process of Soviet modern art as well as providing Russians with a glimpse of the international art scene by way of foreign exhibitions.

As to the changing political landscape, Andrievich remains optimistic. In regard to art, he is well aware of the irony that the repressive system, even with its hardships and political dangers, has long been the source of much artistic inspiration but believes that good art thrives no matter what the prevailing conditions. Picasso, after all, produced inspired works in the luxury of his various villas; Michelangelo was spared the potential of starving for his work through the patronage of the Medicis and even Australia's Charles Billich, picks up his supplies in a gleaming Rolls Royce. "In Russia", adds Andrievich, "it would be quite easy for artists to become pawns of the system and enjoy the accompanying privileges and comforts, but for the Russian purists, this has never been an option".

Considering the broader repercussions of Russian reforms, Andrievich can only maintain the faith both in terms of his own gentler pursuits and those of the country as a whole. "Our economy is now past the point of crisis and I still believe that it will take a long time to heal, but I think, I hope, that democratic rights will continue to increase, until one day, we become a real democracy".

It is a hope many people share given the alternative, which brings to mind another example of the peculiarly Russian brand of humour:

Question: What happens when Communism is introduced in the Sahara?

Answer: For a very long time, nothing. And then there is a shortage of sand!