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 Fragile Nature and Beautiful Mind Elīna Dūce, Visual Arts Theorist A Conversation with Miks Mitrēvics | |
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For a number of days I was trying to catch Miks Mitrēvics for an interview, and succeeded at a time when he was filming some material for his piece of art Fragile Nature destined for the Venice Art Bienniale. Miks had been waiting for a special day with the right density of clouds and sufficient sunlight. It is now evening... Elīna Dūce: One rarely sees your works in Latvia. Miks Mitrēvics: It's always been a little complicated with Latvia. It's more difficult to feel comfortable here doing only the things you like. Previously I preferred to avoid telling people my occupation. The situation has changed and now I too am regarded as an artist. It just turned out that way, that I found opportunities and created works outside Latvia. You apply for funding or exhibitions abroad, make something there and show it. Here an artist can actually be incognito, they can work without featuring anywhere with what you do. But in order to participate, you need some sort of foundation, so I apply for exhibition rooms myself, do some thinking, make something and finally am seen here as well. That's the way it is. The amount of energy invested is huge. The only thing you learn over time - not to expect much reward. You motivate yourself so as to go forwards, to improve. The attitude of the Latvian audience is equivalent to indifference. There is no real contemporary art tradition, there are only separate incidences. In principle, as an artist you can do anything, but I don't really see any justification for working here. However last year events came together for me very well, with all the major exhibitions. [Amonst the most significant events, participation at the European Contemporary Art Biennial Manifesta 7 (Manifattura Tabacchi, Rovereto, Italy, 2008) should be mentioned. In competition with Estonian, Lithuanian, Swedish and Russian artists, Mitrēvics received the Swedbank International Art Award (exhibitions of nominees were hosted by the Kumu Art Museum in Tallin, 2008/2009). The art works Collection of Persons and Companion were nominated for the Purvītis Prize in Visual Arts, initiated by the Latvian National Museum of Arts. Together with Evelīna Deičmane, Miks Mitrēvics is putting together the official exposition of Latvia for the 53rd Venice Bienniale. - E.D.] E.D.: And you managed to do all that in just over a year! M.M.: Yeah! Hence all the attention and uproar. I can't complain, conditions here have always been favourable for what I do. I received the annual prize from the newspaper Diena for one small exhibition [the solo exhibition Somewhere Nearby (photo and video, creative workshop of the exhibition hall Arsenāls of the Latvian National Museum of Arts, 2006), E.D.]. M.M.: When I enrolled with the Visual Communication Department at the Academy, I had the impression that I could study design, work in an advertisement agency and be a happy person, but somehow everything got turned upside down. That special ambience there... Actually, the most significant turning point was when we visited those major exhibitions. E.D.: Which exhibitions do you mean? M.M.: Venice. As soon as I joined the Visual Arts Department, we went to Venice. Now it's difficult to even to begin to imagine what an impression it left on the students from that year who went to Venice. It was such an event...it really was something else, new and incomprehensible. Firstly, it totally destroyed all my preconceptions about everything. I understood what it means to be an artist, what they do, who they can they be. A different horizon opened... Nowadays, when we travel much more intensively and have access to far more information, it's not the same kind of impressive emotional experience anymore. You're ready for such large exhibitions, there already are certain expectations. Sometimes you're more likely to be left disappointed, because your attitude is a lot more critical. But back then, in 1999, it was a real wonder: how powerful a piece of art can be, so compelling and truly able to change certain things. These are the things that have always attracted me and which I cannot simply explain, but to me seem so powerful and touch on something which cannot be expressed in any other way than by art or music. | |
 Miks Mitrēvics. Photo: Kaspars Lielgalvis | |
| The Story of the Collection of Persons M.M.: There was an opportunity to hold an exhibition in Andrejsala. I got this small shed, but at the very last moment was told that it was falling apart and the exhibition couldn't take place there. In a panic I had to look for somewhere else. Within the framework of an exhibition called Mobile Museum I was able to obtain two containers and actually worked in those containers for a time. With great difficulty and in conditions of total uncertainty the format of the exhibition was created, on the spot. Since then this exhibition has travelled around and been shown in different formats and versions [Collection of Persons (installation, Andrejsala, Rīga, 2007), then was sent to the Latvian contemporary art exhibition Time Will Show (Museumsberg Flensburg, Flensburg, Germany, 2008), Buket (The State Centre for Contemporary Art, Mos-cow, Russia, 2008) and to other events.], but it was exhibited in its original form in Manifesta. The only difference was that the birch tree on the roof was replaced by an olive tree, because of the long way it would have had to travel. The works of art and the way they come into being is one thing, but you, as the artist, are another. The more persistent, the more as a professional you have to work to reach something. But the main thing is that the options here are very limited. All roads lead away, living here in Latvia is like throwing pebbles somewhere far away and hoping that somebody will catch them. Manifesta [for further reading see Tīfentāle A. ‘The European Contemporary Art Biennial Manifesta 7' in ‘Studija', 2008/04] was a fantastic opportunity, especially because Adam [curator Adam Budak] was brave enough to risk choosing many artists that were not known to a wider audience. He did not take the easy, conventional path of making exhibitions by selecting only well-known artists. My chief conclusion is that there is no shortage of artists, and often the culture specific things stay local. Yet we can also look at it from the point of view that everybody has their own right time and opportunities. For example, some Manifesta artists hadn't gone the typical road - they didn't live in big cities, hadn't even visited them, they hadn't participated in residencies. They had been working in their own country for many years, presenting small exhibitions... Then Adam selected them and exhibited their works. 50:50. That's the reason I found this exhibition interesting. A group of German curators followed the usual model of choosing the artists, but then there are no surprises. E.D.: Among artists in Latvia you don't talk about your work... M.M.: Yes. That's how I like it. And I think that everybody has their own approach, doing their own thing. Here, everybody lives their own life and we only manage to talk about art when we travel to some exhibition together, when we do not have to rush anywhere, when that's all we have to do. Practically nobody writes critical reviews either, as we all know each other so well. The reviews are polite, mostly descriptive. We are a small country, all friendly, but at the same time it is not fostering an exchange of views or reactions. It is human to be afraid of making mistakes, so in the finish we prefer not to do anything. E.D.: But you have friends who are critics. M.M.: You know, the most stressful thing for me is the entrance interviews for the schools where I want to study. I've tried twice, I went to Amsterdam. They invite young people [artists and curators] to go there, the competition is enormous, and if you manage to get as far as an interview, then there are several in a row. It is extremely stressful. Of course you're not used to communicating in that sort of way, but that in itself is an interesting process, and these interviews moved something new inside me, in my mind and in the way how I formulate my ideas. | |
 Miks Mitrēvics. Fragile Nature. In the process of creation. 2009 | |
| E.D.: When I read the title of your work, it seemed to be similar to the title of one of your Mum's [painter Ieva Iltnere] exhibitions. Who's copying whom? M.M.: Everybody from everybody. But it was quite simple - after Manifesta I started to write a text for a new work of art, and in the process the title came about. Three months later I received an invitation to a solo exhibition by Ieva Iltnere called Beautiful Fragile Nature. I guess that each of us has our own story. I haven't even asked about it. I should think that she had something totally different in mind. Each of us has a different story behind these words, that's why I didn't even bother to change the title, or to react in any different way. A title like that could have been dreamt up by just about anybody else. There's a common information space out there somewhere, a much wider space... For instance, let's take me and Kristīne [Kristīne Kursiša, Miks' wife, artist]: we live, see, read, go and look at the same things: in this way a common attitude develops, to a certain extent, and we think similarly. You could stamp your foot and demand to know why is it so, and who is copying whom, but it just happens like this. There are certain common trends and things on a much broader scale as well which appear, which are of interest to many people, and you can reach the same result by taking a different road. But I'm not too worried about this, as everything crystallizes over time and the significant things are permanent. E.D.: But how did you choose the title Fragile Nature, and what do you mean by it? M.M.: The title emerged whilst I was writing the text. Initially I was thinking about the sun, how to use it as a basic element in my work. I was thinking about the way today's world is constructed, that the contemporary human being is trying to subjugate everything to his will, and has got fairly far and always thinks that the part of nature he is partly aware of and partly unaware of, ... that nature is putting him in his place. E.D.: You were born and grew up in a city, and still nature plays a great role in your works. M.M.: Compared to classic civilisation, Riga is a pretty wild place. You feel it especially when you come back after being away for some time. That wrestling with nature is more evident here. [Thinks.] You never use things consciously. You look at the things which speak to you, which are stored in the memory, and you try to develop on them. And find out if they turn into something. More often than not, all these elements are more likely to be unintentional, or have come together in one particular moment. For me the most important thing is - not only to rely on my own ideas, but to create the conditions or a kind of frame-work where things can occur. You can put a camera on a tripod and shoot until the film is full, or make a construction of wooden planks and then see what it is. After some time, the construction might fall apart because of gravitation. You seem to have accomplished something, but the process and life itself transforms the construction, and shows you the thing that you haven't paid enough attention to. It's not a coincidence that such things happen. I have always been interested in the how and why of basic things and the ordinary life around us which we take for granted, why some things bring us joy and others don't. That's why I'm the kind of person who is always observing the things I do and evaluating them. There has to be some kind of external factor which motivates and justifies it all, otherwise you lose belief. It was like that with Fragile Nature. There was an original idea, which I wrote down on paper, but the works themselves evolved from the three elements which I considered important at that particular moment. I put these elements together and watch how it looks, because very often you notice some side product created in the process, which is not the thing you intended to create initially. [Miks shows pictures in his workshop.] One of the shelves I made fell down this morning. That demonstrates the fragility of nature in the most direct way, because I had made tiny miniature models and they all got broken. It was then that I realised that things take on a life of their own, it's all so lively there and I would have never created it by myself. You try to construct what nature is doing anyway and is so simple, but you are trying to construct it from the other end - completely artificially, in this way calling attention to those simple things. One of my sources of inspiration is autonomous life. I am not going to tell much about this [shows photos]. There is a horse, the mobile home of a traveller, and this house is in a different place all the time, in a different climate and the traveller is not attached to anything. And this is my neighbour who in a simple way finds fantastic solutions. He goes fishing in the summer and needs power, which he gets from a wind generator he constructed so that he can watch TV. And that is happening in real life. I notice things which are interesting to me. But the material nature of things is such that you cannot get near enough. You need to have that initial feeling of why it came into existence, and to try to revive it and make it live, because a work of art which is too technical has no justification. The main thing is the feeling of what I understand, but I feel very much by intuition and try to formulate it later on. This feeling is something fragile and very alive. If I change it, something gets lost. So it's difficult with my works of art. Let's take Collection of Persons: as soon as I transport it somewhere else, it's in a different environment and a different context. It is particularly difficult to create the sensation of life in typically sterile exhibition halls. Every time this work of art is moved somewhere else, it loses something. My works don't have any real material value. It's all founded on snot. The paper fades. As far as museum value is concerned it is an absurd. The sheet of paper falls down. The work of art lives on its own. E.D.: You have been in all the major exhibitions in Europe... M.M.: And what's the good of that? E.D.: And what next? M.M.: I reply with a question in return - what's the good of that? Is it making my life easier? E.D.: You have collected many ticks in the right boxes. M.M.: That has never been an aim in itself for me. If I take part in an exhibition organised by a curator, then it's always been like... They are not interested in what you have accomplished previously, the most important thing is to get the curator interested at that particular moment. From the ambition point of view, it's a challenge. There aren't any famous artists in Latvia. There is greater understanding, there are traditions among people in Lithuania and Estonia. They have hosted a number of international exhibitions. They are more interested in the processes that are going on, thus artists have been able to participate in global events more easily. E.D.: We return here to the old problem with exhibition halls. M.M.: If you have achieved something, it really doesn't help you to work. The main thing that you enjoy it and it seems relevant. Another thing is when there are too many opportunities. Like Venice: you can work freely, but at the end there has got to be an exhibition with a result. In your explorations you aren't free to make things, to experiment and then come to a conclusion that you're not really ready yet. The fact is that artists, while they are still young, are totally free to create, to change, to prove themselves again and again. Once an artist has a career, this establishes limits, as there are many temptations and a wish to produce and produce. And that, I believe, is something that you have to be extremely careful about. An artist can have a busy exhibition schedule, take part in many exhibitions - here, there and everywhere, but in the end, what was the point of participating? Artists have to find opportunities to work, yet they also need sufficient time to arrive at something new instead of continuing or building upon old works. It's the easy way, but when, after a while, you see the works of the artists you used to be fond of, and you realise that they are still standing in the same place. So there are two sides to the coin of having a career. Armands Zelčs, artist, talking about the works of Miks Mitrēvics: Destruction, provocation, all sorts of mental ailments are not the things Miks would be interested in. Miks notices the fragile nuances of life which we normally don't notice in our everyday lives. It is the capturing of ephemeral coincidences. As if two watches placed next to each other at a certain moment start ticking at exactly the same pace. The moment of time is short, its rhythm has been decided, but it holds a form of existence which survives without disharmony. There is a somewhat courageous statement that poets carry all the sufferings of the world on their shoulders. Miks, it seems, is determined to encase this material into separate sequences, finding in it fragments which can exist on their own and can afford just to be simply beautiful. Maija Kurševa, artist, in an exchange of e-mails with the author: My favourite work from the Collection of Persons is the camping mat with grass growing on it. Maybe somebody was sleeping on it and then died, and the remains provided fertile soil for the grass to grow - then Miks came, tore the mat out of the beach sand and turned it upside down. But maybe the mat was lying there on the beach for a long time and the grass grew through it. Maybe this is how Miks works and thinks. It's a kind of process. All these cables, and mountings, and lamps [about the installation Companion at the exhibition of Latvian contemporary photography The Medium is the Message?, Andrejsala, Rīga, 2008]. His thought processes are wrenched from his workshop and put out for others to take a peek. OK, you can see it, you can think what you like and it is a good thing if people are given the impulse to let their ideas fly. The depth of thought, of course, depends on the viewer. E.D.: What do you think - what is it in Miks' works that attracts the audience? Maija Kurševa: I think it's his refined and untarnished mind. And the aesthetics also isn't bad. A kind of beautiful mind. Miks Mitrēvics was born in Riga, 1980. Graduated from Janis Rozentals Riga Art School (1999), graduated from Visual Communication Department of the Art Academy of Latvia, MA (2005). Presented the project of the work Forgotten Moments (installation, 2006) during a residency at Künstlerhaus Büchsenhausen, Innsbruck, (Austria). The same year the work was improved and exhibited in a solo exhibition The Observer (photo, video, installation), at the Peterborough Digital Art Gallery Space4, United Kingdom, 2006. /Translator into English: Laura Zandersone/ | |
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