VILNIS ZĀBERS
Daiga Rudzāte
"Who are you two? A strange question. But we like it that we both are. We're V. Zābers and N. Lācis." Now, one of them has been living in Moscow for several years, and the other is gone, so that Riga has lost such concepts as klikt and pļukt, the division of humanity into boys and girls, and Zābers' three different kinds of laugh. He himself has formulated them as follows: one's so loud you have to block your ears, the second is quiet and the third he never made any mention of, and it seems that rarely anyone heard it. It is in truth very strange to reflect that a whole generation of artists has grown up now among which Zābers is a myth for some, while for others his name is only a little-known aspect of art history, the artefacts of which may be found in newspapers and magazines from the time of turmoil or at best in the catalogues of local and international exhibitions of the 1990s.
"He'll be another Purvītis, if the drink doesn't ruin him," said Helēna Demakova. Such a description was current in early-90s Riga. And this year he'd have turned 40.
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