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| The Truth-Seeker Jānis Borgs Thoughts at the Bruno Vasiļevskis Exhibtion | |
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This exhibition was not a crowd-puller or a commercial success. Which is only logical, since Bruno Vasiļevskis himself was not a man of the crowd, and moneymaking was furthest from his mind when he was creating his art. Contained within the main exhibition room of the State Museum of Art was the entire life of one of the zealots of Latvian painting: less than fifty very small format works likely to elicit only a yawn from the contemporary viewer, eager for entertainment and attractions. It's seemingly all so incredibly realistic and comprehensible, but at the same time the minimalist simplicity gives rise to startled incomprehension. White walls, with an austere play of light and shadow. Some inconsequential objects on the flat plane of a tabletop... And some landscapes with a seemingly inexpressive mass of green foliage. Perhaps only the few portraits, with their photographic intensity, may convince the sceptic that this man was actually very good at those sought-after artistic tricks and wonders denied to "ordinary people". And of course, those little things, the vases and flowers in the still lifes, appear so real... But no trace of any message, no story one would like to have read...
Let us not condemn the casual exhibition visitors who take it all literally, their experience shaped by the culture of entertainment. Since, after all, where in education or traditional perception is art treated as a thought process accompanied by particular kinds of outward expression? People are accustomed to perceiving a painting as simply a "pretty picture". But in essence, a work of art is only a kind of window through which we may peer into the artist's mental world. Behind its visual surface, the painting reveals a certain ideational space, cognisance of which is essential for comprehending a work of art. The "little pictures" of Bruno Vasiļevskis are actually permeated with ideas. Few artists can match him in this regard. His still life compositions tend to include books, and sometimes we can even read the title of the work and the author's name: Blaumanis or Shukshin... This seems to indicate the importance of literature in shaping the artist's views. Here's an invitation to the viewer: if you wish to grasp my meaning, then read Blaumanis and Shukshin. Or equivalent authors. Vasiļevskis is seemingly indicating the world of his kindred spirits. And his own artistic code. At face value, there seems to be nothing illustrative, nothing that might be connected with any form of literature. Only a spirit and common values: humanism, clarity in human relationships, purity and unpretentious simplicity. Ideals that many of us strive for, that are so wanting in this world. And Bruno Vasiļevskis strives to transform the values of these great writers and thinkers into the clarity and simplicity of his paintings, into the undisputed absolute of corporeity. He himself had a single word for this set of values: Truth. Bruno considered that the concept was actually revealed more profoundly and capaciously by the Russian word Istina. It was a concept he imbued with quite divine significance. Even more than that. The idea of truth, confirmation of which the artist sought in literary classics, was also exemplified by his own life. His relationships were characterised by respect, honesty and a complete absence of ostentation. Minimalism in painting may have derived from Bruno Vasi¬evskis' own asceticism. With his limited material wants and refined culture, he offered a contrast to the voracious appetite of consumer society. His splendour lay in his spiritual life, which was untrammelled by the bustle of materialism. He'd be regarded as a pauper by materially oriented individuals, unaware of the honour of being in the presence of a spiritual millionaire. Vasiļevskis' spirituality made him an excellent conversation partner. His friends often had the pleasure of nightlong dialogues on life and art, dialogues that were lit up by Bruno's intellect. Although wine introduced levity, there was no trace of vacuous, commonplace chitchat. Unfortunately, these pearls of wisdom were never recorded and were lost to posterity along with nature's bounty, like sunlight. Only the intoxication and the aroma remained in one's heart. In these conversations, the French Impressionists were often mentioned as an ideal, perhaps as the pinnacle of achievement of Western culture. Bruno perceived very clearly the tsunami of mass culture that was coming from the West, compared with which the characteristic expressions of vulgarity in the Soviet era fade into insignificance. Unfortunately, already at the time of the National Revival, many saw this as a long-awaited alternative to all that was Soviet, which, by the way, tended to be identified with all that was Russian. Nowadays, some people gaze with surprise at those still lifes of Bruno Vasiļevskis that depict the passport of the Soviet "occupiers", harbouring a suspicion that the painter might have been a despicable collaborator. It must be made clear that few people were more remote from Soviet officialdom than Bruno. At the same time, we need to consider the date of this work: a time when there was still no trace in social consciousness of the concept of independence. Everyone was still living with the idea of the unchangeable empire. For Bruno, the Soviet passport was an unusual and paradoxical symbol of protest, a kind of appeal to the Christian aspect of ideal Communism, which rejects that Western and bourgeois consumer system threatening all humanist ideals. It later turned out that Bruno Vasiļevskis was right in many ways. His painting is not just a declaration of the humanist principle. Just as importantly, it represents a struggle for clear artistic principles. Perhaps it was the brilliance of the Impressionists that stimulated Bruno to approach the question of colour purity. He chose the most difficult methods of mixing colours, ones that permitted him to obtain unusual clarity. Discipline, absorption and concentration, bordering on the fanatical, constituted his method of work. Needless to say, his work progressed very slowly. It might rather be compared with meditation. Lifelong meditation. The conceptual apogee of Bruno Vasiļevskis' art may be identified in his paintings of pure white walls. The wall as an absolute image of clarity and truth, something incontrovertible. Take a closer look: it's not done the way the Modernists would have done it. The flat planes of Malevich or Mondrian represent a kind of rational colouring, rather than painting. For Bruno, the flat plane is not an abstract concept: it is definite and corporeal, painted with patience and care, retaining micro-nuances and vibrations at the atomic scale of matter. Perhaps it was actually a way of distancing himself from the Modernists, who were somewhat alien to him, and affirming instead his allegiance to classical values. And in doing so, he has been transformed unexpectedly, even paradoxically, into an internationally recognised figure in the new, Modernistic world. To say more with fewer words, to show more with less imagery. Constant striving towards the maximum in the minimum led him to the great, white silence. To oblivion? To the Buddhist idea that all is nothing? Bruno Vasiļevskis succeeded in obtaining unusual depth in the third dimension of the plane of the painting - in the dimension of thought. Almost tangibly, with all the materiality of his painting, he has shown that art is thought above all else, and only after that comes all the rest: depiction, delight, narration... Few others were so closely fused in a trinity of Artist, Art and Truth. | |
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