|
|
| The province, good painting and agnostics Alise Tīfentāle, Art Historian | |
| “What’s going on, after all? They couldn’t always stay at the bottom! You have to stand up for the province! Something must be arranged! If not an exhibition, then we’ll go and up-end the table.” Anšlavs Eglītis. Homo novus (1943–1944)(1) Browsing through this summer’s art offerings at the largest exhibition halls of Riga, at least one conclusion can be made in an instant – everything is just as we are used to: plenty of 20th century painting and little or no interpretation, comments, pointers. It’s as if the exhibition organisers wanted to say: look how many good paintings have we in store! In this way, art institutions in some respects “up-end the table” and repudiate the European rules of game which not only foresee putting up pictures in the hall, but also saturate the viewer with facts, contexts and explanations. And this is how it should be – our painting doesn’t need any interpretation! It’s just good, and that’s it(2). We don’t care what and how they do it in those big cities. The summer season in Riga is marked by three major exhibitions: Peldētājas (‘Bathers’, at the White Hall of the National Museum of Latvia, from 21 May to 18 June), Zelta darbi (‘Golden Works’, at the LNMA exhibition hall Arsenāls, from 1 April to 27 June) and Glezniecība Latvijā 1950.– 1990. no Latvijas Mākslinieku savienības kolekcijas (‘Painting in Latvia 1950–1990, from the collection of the Latvian Artists Union, at Riga Art Space, from 20 May to 15 August). All three shows focus mostly on the 20th century and mostly on painting, and the viewer should gain a fairly many-sided, competent insight into Latvian painting. As long as the viewer is not a professor of art history (and we should assume that museums and municipal exhibition halls are also meant for representatives of other professions), having seen the countless paintings they will be none the wiser or better informed. Without a short and simple annotation on the most significant trends in style, the most notable authors and schools, traditions and influences the viewer is left to rely on their own sense of judgment and taste, which in no way will have been enhanced by a visit to an exhibition. Because only the chosen ones (and the real professionals in the field) may have the talent to go into general raptures about “good painting”, whereas we – the common people – are eager to find out what is so special about this particular work, why everything is so brown in that one, did they paint like that only in Latvia or also somewhere else in the world. It would also be good to find out also why this painting, for instance, should be attributed to realism, but that other one – to the severe style. And so on. All three exhibitions are characterised by a practical approach to the material. The ‘Bathers’ exhibition (curated by Aija Brasliņa) has been structured as a selection of works on a common theme (tactfully avoiding the period of social realism and elegantly leaping from Jānis Tīdemanis’ polysemic work of the 1930s straight to a painting by Jānis Pauļuks done in early 1960s(3)). Boriss Bērziņš is richly represented (not only by paintings, but also by a slideshow of drawings and sketches in the Hoege Hall), and the foreign visitor in particular may like to find out, quickly and concisely, why it is Bērziņš that Latvians are so proud about. ‘Painting in Latvia 1950–1990, from the collection of the Latvian Artists Union’, (curator Inga Šteimane), as the title indicates, introduces a specific collection. The number of paintings on display (about 500) and their intensive placement in a narrow maze of canvas-covered stands reminds one of a tour through museum holdings. Here, again, you won’t find out anything more than the author’s name, the title and the year when the work was created. The viewer has to be educated enough to notice the linkages, to identify parallels in style and contents, the development of motifs, and at the very least those telltale signs of “good painting”. The fact that the works have been arranged into well-considered groups can only be learnt from the curator’s introductory lecture for the press and from the city councillors. Meanwhile ‘Golden Works’ (curator Elita Ansone), avoids the dominance of painting and also covers a much wider period (the exposition includes a collection of icons and applied art). Still, in this exhibition also the “place of honour” is assigned to painting. The works are united by formal aspects (the use of gold or tints associated with gold) and the presence of gold as a symbol of values in the subject matter of the works. There is an exhibition catalogue, and also in the exposition the viewer can follow the thematic meanderings charted by the curator, although again there could be more easy-to-read commentaries. There is no basis for relying too much on the viewer’s background knowledge and independent analysis, we all are much readier to exclaim “Oh, so that’s how it is!” at a well-written sentence, rather than to figure it out by ourselves. The three exhibitions reviewed here point to a significant trend – that of turning the spotlight onto the legacy of our recent past. The knowledge of heritage and local tradition or “the readiness to receive the future from a conscientious evaluation of the past”(4) is a compulsory prerequisite for creating new things, for reflection and theorising, and is necessary as a constituent part of cultural education Painting of course is of inestimable significance in 20th century Latvian art, and paintings should be not only proudly displayed, but also substantially commented and set out in a meaningful way, identifying trends and schools, and placed within a wider context. If not, then our wealth – paradoxically – instead of bolstering pride and an enlightened discussion, increases confusion and “provincial” inferiority complexes that lead to no good. Out there in the public space we meet two extremes: either absolutism and an absence of self criticism, or the complete opposite – exaggerated self-abasement and excusing everything with the hopeless fate of a province. Both extremes imply a certain isolation: in the first case we become a hermetically closed and self-sufficient centre of world artistic life, in the second, an equally closed community which avoids communication with the outside world, and as archaic as the one in the movie ‘The Village’(5). An outlook targeted at the good life(6) should be sought somewhere in between the two extremes. As Helēna Demakova writes, “This our thing has to be defined, just like it was back in the days of the jaunlatvieši (the Young Latvians). Art requires thought.”(7) Or, like Oļģerts Saldavs wrote in 1935, “Since we live in the age of assessment and qualification, there is no doubt that Latvian artists must prove their intelligence and bear responsibility for the results of their spiritual efforts.”(8) “What is it that he wants? One sees neither the influence of the Belgians nor the French… Does this provincial assume he can paint just like that, all on his own?”(9) It is easy to absolutize, detaching the phenomenon to be analysed from its potential contexts. The origins of the lack of self-criticism could possibly be sought in local cultural education that inculcates an excessive respect for the past, for authority, and as often as not even an archaic cult of the genius(10). From here also rise such uncritical phantoms of thought as “good painting”. A fine precondition for an unhealthy and tendentious attitude towards actual occurrences – exactly how we are used to regarding the High Renaissance, for example, so too in contemporary processes a ‘genius’ is quickly found, and to him the entire stock of respect is afforded, without even analyzing the works themselves. As a result, at the opening of a mediocre exhibition serious people clink glasses and cannot stop enthusing over seemingly wonderful qualities, but the viewer and the work of art have not met each other, an analysis of the works has not been done. By speaking about “good painting” (“a good photograph”, “an outstanding installation” etc.), art is deprived of the right to be an object of intellectual discussion. In the groundless fear of losing by comparison, art is deprived of its right to exist in the same cultural space together with art works created elsewhere in the world, with significant movements, characteristic techniques, the social and political context of the epoch, etc. (“Isn’t it more often the case: no, our people here haven’t got anything, but there, see, that country I visited, oh yes, they’ve got it! Yet in fact it turns out that the eye had been caught by mere trifles.”(11)) Instead of analysing and interpreting a work of art, current criticism frequently confines itself to a couple of abrupt sentences and turns more willingly to a flattering or compassionate examination of the artist’s personality (right now it’s particularly in vogue to accentuate the signs of non-conformism in a lifestyle, or at least the memories of such). It is possible that this tendency has something to do with the intuitive attitude typical of many artists, which implies a certain reserve and reticence regarding one’s methods, the range of influences, etc. Most probably, because of this, that is why there is so little of the rational and the analytical in exhibition descriptions and texts. An art theoretician or critic, however, should apply their rational mind and remember that “the art historian, naturally, has to deal with art and so has to have knowledge of what it is, to recognize art, setting it apart from all that is not art.”(12) It is acceptable to talk about works of art with enthusiasm and with rapture rooted in mysticism, if the speaker represents an agnostic point of view and is convinced about the incognisability of the world, and thus also the unexplainable, supernatural influence of art works on the viewer, an impact on all the sensory organs (“He who will seek in the works by Rainis or Rozentāls or Zāle any intellectual or moral teachings as the substance of these works, will destroy art”(13)). Still, in the world of academia preference is given to scrupulous dissection, and I think that as a result of this it is possible to reach a conclusion which might be “translated” into a language also understood by the wider public, and presented as part of the package with the outstanding works of art from museum holdings. | |
 Oļegs Tillbergs and Kristaps Ģelzis in the cafe 'M6'. The 1990s. Image from the book 'The Nineties. Contemporary art in Latvia' | |
| “A horrid non-ball. Yes, the Opera Ball in Paris, the Munich artists’ carnival – that’s where they’ve got cheer, a whirligig, life, glamour. But here… pshaw!”(14) The photographer Ivars Grāvlejs, for example, insists that the works of art created elsewhere in the world “would be regarded as non-art”(15) in Latvia and “it’s hardly likely that in Latvia they would appreciate an exhibition like the one was just shown in Prague.”(16) Another extreme emphasises the relatively short history of Latvian culture, its remote location on the map of world culture and art, or “provincial isolation”(17.) Nevertheless, the use of arguments of this type does not permit an objective evaluation of achievements and lowers the status of everything that was created in Latvia. As painter Kaspars Zariņš said, “You might be a complete archaic, but you must live in a modern environment. A discovery, if it is not at the centre, most likely won’t needed by anybody, because nobody can appreciate it.”(18) Zane Onckule, while putting together the contemporary Baltic art exhibition What Drives Baltic? (Gallery Supernova , 29 April – 26 May 2010), reflected on the peripheral situation thus: “..art and life in general here are too local, and the lack of financial resources and a consumer audience is ever-present in the production of suitable and good quality contemporary art, art exhibitions or art galleries. Such “local pottering around” is quite divorced from global processes, but that doesn’t mean that it is not worthy of examination.”(19) Truly, the status of being a province is no excuse, and something will have to be done. In yeomanlike unambitiousness there also hides a certain danger, a risk of trying too hard, and of levelling the functions of art down to the production of pseudo-national decorations. Latvia already experienced this kind of an outcome in the quest for “our” national art in the 1930s, when the influence of modern Western European trends was actively disencouraged. As Vilhelms Purvītis noted, “Cubism, constructivism and other currents were less pronounced in Latvia than in other countries, and their impact was not long-lived. In contemporary Latvian art one can observe a strong tendency to build art on purely national foundations. Our artists are now trying to probe into the character of their people and their land. The land of their fathers is not only the object of their art, but also a live wellspring from which they draw creative powers.” ”(20) Roberts Pelše, the Marxist art and literature critic, for his part, gave even more specific directions: “The art of our people – the art of the farmer, the ploughman should resound with those voices of the earth that bind an artist to the distinctive characteristics of the life of his nation and its destiny. The more our art expresses the nation’s unique depths of spirit, the greater will be its significance both in our own lives, as well as in the development of the cultures of mankind and mutual relations among peoples. (…) Our ideology of art has now been unshackled from the fetters of cosmopolitism and fashion. An awareness has established itself in society that high and fully developed culture is not possible without the participation of national art.” ”(21) It must be admitted that the spirit typical of the polemic of the 1930s(22) has remained quite unchanged even up until now: “..thousands join in the grandiose fabrication of “contemporary art” and appear on the first pages of art magazines and gallery promotional booklets. But hundreds of thousands of others don’t appear there, instead staying where they should be – in their own national identity, not the global one, but that of the village of their birth.”(23). Painting enjoys a privileged status: it has been supported and collected under all political systems; it also has the highest prestige among local private collectors(24). It is only logical that the principal institutions wish to attract the attention of culture tourists with this asset, and also to address local audiences in a meaningful way. As the result of the “up-ending of the table” mentioned at the beginning of this article concerning good practice, to comment and interpret the works of art in museum exhibitions, and to impart also an intellectual or at least factological character to our artistic heritage, at this present moment results in an attitude of misunderstanding and incomprehension towards the processes of contemporary art as well, which is prevalent among those who are not involved in the field. If it is not customary to interpret art publicly and understandably as a constituent part and sometimes even the driving force of one’s time, it is only logical that those who decide the fate of artists – politicians and public servants, collectors and patrons have adopted agnostic, mystical enthusiasm about “good painting” as the measure for all things, and many of them would gladly agree with the assertion made in 1938: “The government is doing a great deal to facilitate the creation of artistic treasures, but the citizens’ duty is to purchase these valuable objects and to leave them as a fine legacy for the coming generations.” ”(25)Although it would be more appropriate to agree with Helēna Demakova’s conviction that “Strictly speaking, huge masses of people can love art only by mistake. (..) The instrumentalization and “massification” of art has nothing to do with its quality.”(26) “..a true artist is not some dolt to be enslaved; he does what he wants and says what he wants.”(27) “If a wizard were to turn our painting into a language, everybody would be puzzled by the artists’ strange pronunciation”(28), the painter and critic Jēkabs Strazdiņš noted when writing about, in his opinion, the clumsy efforts of Latvian painters to look at a “Latvian” landscape through the “Belgian” of “French” eyes. This utterance can be applied to the present-day situation – the achievements of artists, as well as those of theoreticians and critics. It is always tempting to take over something ready-made, bred under the influence of Western modernism and powerful critical thought – be it an artistic technique, or a splendid term in a text. “As odd and perhaps sad as it may be, but on the whole Latvia is lagging far behind other European nations in art. Lately though we observe great efforts to catch up, however artistic life does not permit leaps and sudden unfounded changes. (…) In any case we should refrain from demanding from our young art exactly the same as is offered by other nations with a longer history of art, but still we must firmly insist and expect that our art, even if not particularly vivid, nevertheless creative, should become fully independent.” ”(29) The problem of intellectual and spiritual independence has been highlighted also by the artist Laura Prikule in the pages of Studija, listing obstacles encountered by every contemporary Latvian artist. Among them, “there is a risk inherent in using artistic approaches more widely accepted in Western countries (...). In contemporary art in Latvia, and possibly in other Eastern European countries, “poetic conceptualism” (...). The sector’s infrastructure is based on traditional, mainstream artistic values, the local cultural heritage lacks a serious, future-oriented vision for development (which Latvia as a country lacks at present), and society is depressed by the economic crisis”(30). According to Laura Prikule’s article, once these obstacles are overcome, bright prospects await the artists of Latvia – an opportunity “to realise in the global artistic space the kind of ideas which are vitally important for its further development, rather than promoting the already well-advanced general degradation process or neatly slotting themselves into existing categories of values and directions.”(31) How then to overcome those obstacles and achieve independence? Many have already surmounted them, perhaps without even being noticed(32) – both in art and working with theory. In conclusion all that remains is to add that Latvia is certainly no province, and that we really do have good painting here, and it is even wholly respectable to be an agnostic. And from the outside everything looks different – as, for example, the German philosopher Wilhelm Schmid said: “Why should everything be always perceived as a dark night. Sometimes it seems to me that that is the Latvian mentality. No hope on the horizon. It is forgotten that the present-day situation is so much better in every respect. People are free. And for ten euro, you can get to Rome. ”(33) (1) Eglītis, Anšlavs. Homo novus. Rīga: Zinātne, 1992, 55.lpp. (2) The said refers mainly to traditional approaches in setting up exhibitions and how visitors are informed. High quality academic studies by Latvian art historians are avilable to professionals, though mostly these are on art of the pre-World War II period. For example, ‘Valdemārs Tone’ by Dace Lamberga has been just published, recently – the monograph ‘Johans Valters’ (2009) by Kristiāna Ābele, also Mairita Bērziņa’s ‘Kārlis Brencēns’ (2008), Dace Lamberga’s “Jēkabs Kazaks” (2007), Eduards Kļaviņš’ ‘Džo. Jāzepa Grosvalda dzīve un māksla’ (2006), Kristiāna Ābele’s “Pēteris Krastiņš” (2006) and others. (3) Jānis Pauļuks (1906-1984), “Dienvidū”, c. 1963, LNMM. (4) Demakova, Helēna. Ringing in the future of art. In: They Wouldn’t Notice. Latvian Contemporary Art and the International Context. Riga: ¼ Satori, 2010, p.15. (5) The Village, 2004, Director M. Night Shyamalan. (6) Sic, a good life means full harmony between deeds and a rational mind, eudaimonia Aristoteļa “Nikomaha ētikā”. (7) Demakova, Helēna. Art in Cēsis. Without a Title, but with Quotations. Studija, No. 69, 2009, p. 18. (8) Saldavs, Oļģerts. Tēlojošās mākslas kultūra. Rīts, No.247, 9 September 1937, p. 8. (9) Eglītis, Anšlavs. Homo novus. Rīga: Zinātne, 1992, p. 211 (10) Contrary to how art was regarded in the light of the “New Art History” as defined in the early 1980s. Characterising it, Eduards Kļaviņš notes: “Discrediting the old art history, such terms as “connoisseurship”, “quality”, “style”, “genius” became taboo and were replaced by different ones, like “ideology”, “patriarchy”, “class”, “methodology”. Kļaviņš, Eduards. The Artwork as a Given of Art History. Mākslas Vēsture & Teorija, No.3, 2004, p. 44. (11) Landaus, Indulis. Indulis Landaus un reālisma metafizika. Interview by Inga Šteimane. Kultūras Forums, Nr.20(399), 2010.g. 28.maijs – 4.jūn., p.7. (12) Kļaviņš, Eduards. The Artwork as a Given of Art History. Mākslas Vēsture & Teorija, No.3, 2004, p. 45. (13) Kroders, Roberts. Māksla kā tautas vienotāja. Kurzemes Vārds, No. 82, 9 April 1938, p. 4. (14) Eglītis, Anšlavs. Homo novus. Rīga: Zinātne, 1992, p. 250. (15) Lejasmeijere, Ieva. Čehu māksla Iļģuciemā. Kultūras Forums, Nr.21(400), 2010. g. 4.-11.jūn., p.7. (16) Ibid. (17) Šteimane, Inga. Mākslinieks karā un karš mākslā: jauna tēma publisko debašu telpā. Kultūras Forums, Nr.4(383), 2010.g. 29.janv.-5.febr., p. 8. (18) Zariņš, Kaspars. Ko grib iekšējā balss. Interview by Inga Šteimane. Kultūras Forums, Nr. 12(391), 2010.g. 26.marts – 9.apr., p.12. (19) Onckule, Zane. The Universe has no sense of humour. Baltic art. Studija, No. 71, 2010, p. 63. (20) Latvju mākslas panākumi Somijā. Latvijas Kareivis, Nr. 226(4881), 1936.g. 4. okt., p. 1. (21) Pelše, Roberts. Mākslinieciskās kultūras attīstības ceļi un uzdevumi. Rīts, Nr. 164, 1935.g. 16. jūn., p. 4. (22) More about the features of art theory in Latvia at the beginning and in the first half of the 20th century: Pelše, Stella. Ietekmju virzieni un avoti latviešu mākslas teorijas laukā (1900-1940). Mākslas Vēsture & Teorija, Nr. 5, 2006, pp. 62-64. (23) Bankovskis, Pēteris. Notes on the white margins of some project. Studija, No. 71, 2010, p.59. (24) Quite the opposite has happened with photography: although in Latvia, after World War II in particular, it developed in several directions, for various reasons it has not been collected on an institutional basis (with a few exceptions, which concern only the work of a couple of authors). Consequently the legacy of the second half of the 20th century (documentary protography, art photography and other directions) is inaccessible and cannot be researched. The young artists and photographers of today, and theoreticians as well, have almost no way of obtaining a more or less complete idea of recent developments, and it has been literally deleted from Latvian visual culture and art history. (25) Dombrovskis, Jānis. Laikmeta mākslas uzdevums. Jaunākās Ziņas, Nr.41, 1938.g. 19. febr., p.5. (26) Demakova, Helēna. Honesty Crucified. In: They Wouldn’t Notice. Latvian Contemporary Art and the International Context. Riga: ¼ Satori, 2010, p.167. (27) Eglītis, Anšlavs. Homo novus. Rīga: Zinātne, 1992, p. 237. (28) Strazdiņš, Jēkabs. Novēlējums mākslai. Brīvā Zeme, Nr.2, 1938.g. 4.janv., p. 2. (29) Laursons, Valdemars. Patstāvība mākslā. Students, Nr.3, 1923.g. 28. sept., p. 1. (30) Prikule, Laura. Directing Changing Installations. Studija, No.70, 2010, p.39. (31) Prikule, Laura. Directing Changing Installations. Studija, No.70, 2010, p.39. (32) A reference to the title of a collection of articles by Helēna Demakova and published this year. (33) Šmids, Vilhelms. Filosofs tirgus laukumā. Interview by Ilva Skulte. Kultūras Forums, Nr.20(399), 2010.g. 28.maijs – 4.jūn., 9.lpp. /Translator into English: Sarmīte Lietuviete/ | |
| go back | |
