You probably walk past incredible art every single day without even noticing it. In cities across the former Soviet Union, massive mosaic murals cover the sides of buildings, metro stations, and public squares—some stretching several stories high, composed of thousands upon thousands of meticulously placed tiles. These aren’t just decorations. They’re monumental works of art that have stood for decades, weathering time, politics, and changing societies.
But here’s the thing: they’re disappearing.
As old Soviet-era buildings get demolished to make way for modern developments, these mosaics are being destroyed or painted over. We’re talking about works that took artists months or even years to create, gone in an afternoon of construction work. A mosaic that survived wars, regime changes, and decades of weather can be reduced to rubble in hours because a developer wants a clean slate.
The loss isn’t just aesthetic—it’s cultural. Each mosaic tells a story about the community it served, the era in which it was created, and the hands that crafted it. When we lose these works, we lose pieces of collective memory, fragments of history that can never be recreated.
That’s why we’re working so hard to document every single one we can find. Our archive now contains hundreds of these mosaics, carefully cataloged with their locations, historical context, and whatever information we can gather about their creators. We organize them by region, by decade, by theme—creating a comprehensive record that ensures even if the physical artwork disappears, the knowledge of its existence and significance remains.
The artists who created these works came from all walks of life. Some were celebrated masters whose names are known throughout the art world. Many more worked anonymously, their contributions unrecorded in official documents, their artistry unacknowledged by the regimes they served. They created beauty under challenging circumstances—sometimes with limited materials, often under political pressure, always with remarkable skill and dedication.
Every mosaic we document is a victory against time. Every photograph we take, every detail we record, every story we uncover adds to our understanding of this extraordinary art form and the people who practiced it. We’re not just preserving art—we’re preserving the artistic spirit and historical depth of communities across vast regions.
But we can’t do this alone. These mosaics exist in cities, towns, and rural areas spanning multiple countries. They’re in metro stations bustling with commuters, on the walls of abandoned community centers, decorating schools and hospitals and workers’ clubs. Some are well-known local landmarks. Others are tucked away in places only locals know about.
If you know of a Soviet-era mosaic in your area—whether it’s a massive public monument or a modest chapel decoration—we’d love to hear about it. Send us photos, locations, any information you have about when it was created or who made it. Even if you think we might already know about it, share it anyway. Additional photographs from different angles, in different lighting, at different times of year—all of this enriches our archive and our understanding.
Help us save these stories before they’re lost forever. Because once a building comes down, once that mosaic is destroyed, it’s gone. No amount of documentation can truly replace the experience of seeing these works in person, but at least we can ensure that future generations know they existed, understand their significance, and appreciate the artistry that went into their creation.
The clock is ticking. The bulldozers are coming. But together, we can make sure these magnificent works aren’t forgotten.