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| The Cosmogenesis of Bluetits Jana Kukaine, Art Critic Dace Džeriņa. Room of Treasures 20.03.–11.04.2010. kim? / Gallery VKN | |
| “[..] a big, black, soft beast was creeping towards me.” (Tove Jansson. “Tulle Dress”/“Sculptor’s Daughter”) The bluetits outside our house like the blue polystyrene foam that fills the cracks around the window. When I am alone at home, I listen to them bustling around; at the same time I am leafing through Walter Benjamin’s essay ‘Ibizan Sequence’, which consists of a number of small sketches. In the one referred to by artist Ilze Džeriņa, Benjamin writes about a living space which is so modest that the simple objects which form part of the domestic life of small village dwellers in southern Spain become truly valuable, because here these objects can be of service to people. At the end of the sketch, the author permits himself a slightly melancholy regret for modern “well appointed houses” in which there is no place left for valuable things. The items of village domestic life Benjamin describes, as listed by him, are as follows: wicker chairs, a straw hat, a fishing net, a copper kettle, oars, an earthenware amphora. Reading through the list again and trying to picture the objects, one is left with the sensation that the simplicity described seems more likely to be exotic, and the touch of these words on the user’s hand – unaccustomed. But in my imagination it would not be difficult to find ‘genuine’ elements, the ones which are ‘my own’ and would make a room’s interior seem both comprehensible and familiar, so that, when sinking into a favourite armchair, I could breathe out with great relief something like: “Anybody can let danger out, but the trick is to get it back in its place later.” Just like the little heroine in Tove Jansson’s autobiographic novel who announces, slightly boastfully, the taming of a dangerous beast – her mother’s tulle dress. In her exhibition Room of Treasures, Dace Džeriņa has brought together, in one place, objects redolent with familiar smells and tastes. The central piece of the show – a video entitled The Land of Happiness – features a sequential narrative. In the interpretation of this work, it is difficult to refrain from invoking several “classical attributes of femininity”. Thus, either a tick or two lines (or whatever people are accustomed to use to make notes in a book) may be marked against the entry “conjuring up a feeling of home”. This is achieved by performing daily chores (which the video reveals in great detail), sometimes quietly humming to oneself. Should anybody point out that the diligence displayed is exaggerated, the answer most probably would be: “That’s the way I like it, and that’s it.” (A brief anecdotal interlude. When I was wondering out loud whether I should go and look at the work once again, my conversation partner told me not to, because it’s all quite clear as it is: “She’s cleaning the house.” Curiously enough, in the previous number of Studija art critic Vilnis Vējš gave a similar description of this piece, stating that it was a story of a girl who is “thoroughly scrubbing the dirty floor and washing the dusty windows.”). As it seems to me, the artist shows that behind this “I like it, and that’s it” hides a ritual action which not only allows the doer herself, and maybe also the viewer, to calm down completely (therefore it has a therapeutic effect), but also leads to the creation of a new universe (cosmogenesis). Peace, warmth, a sense of security and shelter – this is the prize the heroine of the story receives, yet one suspects that this has not been an aim in itself, as in the concluding shots of the film her glance lingers on the door. Indeed, the “discourse of waiting” is a legitimate and recognised form of expression for a woman, and the nod in the direction of the white door, it seems, lays claim to being the emotional climax of the work that puts everything else in its proper place. The motif of the tulle dress mentioned at the beginning of this article has been explored in a video piece entitled Enticement, where different layers of textile are being revealed one after the other, finally getting to a slip (a little ironic, isn’t it?). The feminine obsession with silk, lace and ribbons was, in his time, very precisely characterized by Jerome K. Jerome, in fact, within the genre of his choice – “plain truth and true events” – describing a boat trip “in the company of beautifully got up girls”. No doubt, those young ladies dreaded absolutely anything that could potentially ruin their delicate costumes – splashes of water, sitting on the grass, things like that. In contemporary art, nevertheless, the symbiosis of text and textile has developed if not into a permanent tradition, then at least into an accepted play on language; fortunately, the artist places emphasis on the imaginary qualities of textiles, as if inviting one to imagine which moments of life it would be appropriate to, what kind of garment could be sewn from it. The first layers of fabric are white, symbolically associating with the beginning of life, “the blank page”. As the colours thicken and become more expressive (that is, “adult” and “wilful”), Enticement transmutes into an uncommon documentary record of the flow of time and the course of life, where only some of the possibilities are realised, just like only some of those layers of fabric are actually used to make clothing to be worn. The third part of the exhibition – the object On Your Own stands out by its laconic and witty solution, and with its monotonous movement fits in well with the contemplative atmosphere of both videos, although the modern design of the chair contrasts with the thoroughly nostalgic and poetic props of the other two works (as far as can be made out, this is for technical reasons – to achieve the required effect, the contour of the chair had to be transparent). Some questions, however, still remain unanswered. Did the artist intentionally make a reference to the happy land that Sprīdītis [the Tom Thumb of Latvian fairy tales] searched for (this allusion does not seem to have worked)? And why does the feeling persist that the texts commenting on the works are quite unnecessary, as they describe in graphic detail the structure of work (as in the case of Enticement) or tell us what the work is about (The Land of Happiness). However brief the artist’s notes may be, I couldn’t find any justification for their purpose and utility – the works in themselves are not that complicated so as not to be understood without additional clarification. At that moment when the sculptor’s daughter realises that it’s only a tulle dress that lies in wait for her, not a monster, the game, alas, is over. This makes us reconsider once again the purpose of texts accompanying works of art. For my part, I have noticed that the activity of the bluetits behind the window subsides as soon as somebody else returns home, so perhaps you could say that the bird with a blue pellet in its beak is merely a figment of my imagination. /Translator into English: Sarmīte Lietuviete/ | |
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