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| Black Box Armands Zelčs, Artist Conversation with the artist Sarmīte Māliņa | |
| Sarmīte Māliņa began working in art in the late 1980's, and like Ojārs Pētersons, Oļegs Tillbergs, Sergejs Davidovs, Kristaps Ģelzis, Andris Breže, Indulis Gailāns, Juris Boiko, Juris Putrāms, Aija Zariņa et al, was in the forefront of a new period of contemporary Latvian art. Readers of the 90's generation will no doubt remember the first performance art where Sarmīte participated, the youth magazine Avots of the same era (where she was a member of the creative team), and the various exhibitions in an urban environment. Those who happened to be born around that time can now find the results of Sarmīte's work in their mailboxes or in books. Besides creating art, for over thirteen years Sarmīte has been the chief artist for the daily newspaper Diena; she also illustrates books. Over the past ten years she has received both awards and ireladen comments. In recent years Sarmīte Māliņa's name has appeared on joint works with the photographer Kristaps Kalns. The tandem found success at a contemporary art exhibit in Moscow and also the Cēsis art festival in Latvia, where they received the audience award. In addition the expert committee at the Cēsis art festival has nominated the work "Love never ends" for the first ever Vilhems Purvītis Award. | |
 Sarmīte Māliņa. Photo: Kristaps Kalns | |
| Armands Zelčs: What did you leave behind in the nineties? What have you stopped doing?
Sarmīte Māliņa: I don′t get to dance on tables so much. A.Z.: That was about the time that you started spending your days at Diena. S.M.: Yes. After I lost my job with the trolleybus and tramways trust, Diena′s Saturday magazine was looking for an artistic editor. Back then it was still a large format black and white publication. Later it became a full colour magazine. Now my main concern is the newspaper itself. A.Z.: I haven′t worked on a newspaper, but I assume that it′s difficult finding the right balance between taking care of the paper and taking care of your own principal occupation? S.M.: That′s something completely different! I think it′s like that for everybody: you work in order to make money, and then there′s a few moments when you make art. You have to make an effort and concentrate for it to happen at all, because it′s not easy to find space for it. A.Z.: Do you "find space" regularly? S.M.: Well - how could you work non-stop? Where to do it? Where to put it? Who needs it? Nobody needs it. If there is a show in which for some strange reason you have become embroiled, then you create something. Everything else - if it comes into my head, I write it down. But if I don′t, then I forget it straight away, however wonderful it may have seemed. The next day I just cannot remember it. Is it the same for you? A.Z.: Those little notes - I usually lose them. Or I forget that I wrote something down in the first place. When did you realise you wanted to work with art? S.M.: There was nothing to realise! I think I understood that as a child! When I was at school, we had wall newspapers where everybody drew things, so that it would look "nice"... I participated in all sorts of drawing competitions. I wasn′t thinking of "art" as such at the time. The only thing I couldn′t understand was why, in competitions, big-name artists gave prizes to those who couldn′t even colour in properly, right up to the edges. Now that I′m grown up, I do understand why the artists chose those "incompetents". | |
 Sarmīte Māliņa, Sergejs Davidovs, Oļegs Tilbergs. People in Cages. Performance on Philharmonic Square, Riga. 1987. Photo from the private archive | |
| A.Z.: You became grown up in the cages? S.M.: Now, in retrospect, you could perhaps see it that way, but, at the same time, I must conclude that it was a continuation of childhood games. From this aspect I'm still in a "rabbit cage". I'm happy about that. "People in Cages" may have been the first serious performance event. Three days beforehand I was sitting with Sergejs and Oļegs among heaps of paper. We had countless ideas, and then the morning of the day of cages arrived. If I remember correctly, we hadn't even had any alcohol. On that morning it was clear to me: I wished this day had never come! It was a bit frightening, but Oļegs called from Zaķusala and said that he had already found some rabbit cages, and that he'd arranged for a tractor. There was no choice but to go and do it. A.Z.: Did you continue to work with Oļegs and Sergejs after that? S.M.: Yes! As a part of the Art Days events. This was where you could go wild. Also the happening "Staburags Children", in the station tunnel. Sergejs was supposed to wear a diving bell. On that particular morning he had a fever of 38˚, and the outfit was incredibly heavy, but he sur-vived it all. After that he did however crash out for several days. A.Z.: There seems to be a lull in the Art Days events now. S.M.: Maybe it depends on who is organising it all. Because it's a kind of, well.... Although back then there were various shows taking place, it's not as if everybody was running around in tunnels with the militia hanging around. A.Z.: Maybe it was more difficult to get into an exhibition hall than a tunnel? S.M.: The tunnel was an opportunity. You didn't have to encourage anybody. It was an honour to take part. And it was a gamble. These events in tunnels and other places were also a subconscious consolidation of the creative position of the 90's artists' generation. There were marches from the Academy to Dome Square, but that wasn't quite the same as the tunnel. In those days the Theatre Days were also a happening, when the actors walked along Brivibas iela in their costumes. Maybe Artmane's funeral was something along those lines. It was grand, wasn't it? A.Z.: I was shocked! Do you think that the artist's profession is one of those where you retire after the age of 30? S.M.: Your eyes get worse, but that's another ten years later. You can be sure, I tested them myself. Capitalism also helps with ageing. I remember when I went to the carnival straight from the Diena office. The only mask I had was a cardboard box on my head. I quickly got tired and ended up sitting in a corner and crying, because I simply didn't have the energy to really party any more. A.Z.: But you seem to find time for new works and exhibitions. S.M.: I haven't had any exhibitions. Personal shows. A.Z.: Why? S.M.: Lack of domestic space. This is only my second year in this apartment. The lack of space was so bad, that I had to frame my water colours in bed. What else! These are the leftovers from that time (points to an oval cupboard-table with a transparent surface, with all sorts of knick-knacks inside). This, for example is Kristaps Ģelzis' finger from one of his works. Everything I had was microscopic. All my imagination and fantasy could fit into these little things. Now it's the opposite: I don't collect these trinkets any longer. But I haven't learned to live on my own. I'll show you a box... (goes to get the box, after a while returns with a roll of paper). Oh! Do you want this? I'll give you this work by Andris Breže. The only thing - it says: To Sarmīte. A.Z.: And you're willing to part with it? S.M.: Well yes, you see - it's been ten years, and I can't put it up anywhere. But I'll have to write down that I gave it to you. A.Z.: Thank you! I really appreciate it. S.M.: I have to find that box! (goes off to look for the box again) | |
 Sarmīte Māliņa. Front cover of the newspaper Kulūras diena ("Culture Day"). Photo: Kristaps Kalns | |
| A.Z.: Hey, but you two years ago you too had some rather large works.
S.M.: Yes, really?! A.Z.: A confined environment is often mentioned in the context of Latvia as a whole. Have you ever considered working abroad? S.M.: This is getting interesting (still looking for the box). Well, maybe it will turn up... You would have thought that there wasn't enough room to hide things in here...Do you want a red scarf which says Coca-Cola? I got it when Kristaps Kalns suggested I buy two bottles of that wonderful drink. A.Z.: That just might be something that I won't be able to put up anywhere. S.M.: So where were we? A.Z.: We were talking about whether you have ever thought of leaving "Little Paris", "the Switzerland of Vidzeme", don't know.... "Flat Georgia" - to look for happiness in unexpected places? S.M.: You mean a husband, don't you? But I'm not the kind of per-son who could do that with myself. I don't think that it applies to me. I don't even know how to live. Never mind that kind of activity. A.Z.: Do you suspect anyone of knowing how? S.M.: I have a suspicion that B.G. [Boriss Grebenshchikov, A.Z.] knows how to live. At least he's been learning how to do it. A.Z.: Well, then Uldis Tīrons as well! S.M.: Oh! You read Jaunais Laiks [Magazine "New Times", A.Z.]? A.Z.: Once every four years. What do you read? S.M.: What do I read? Reading as entertainment doesn't work for me now. It's very difficult to find something that really grabs my attention. I had put my hopes on David Lynch's "Catching the Big Fish: Meditation, Consciousness and Creativity", but stopped at the chapter called "Suffocating Rubber Clown Suit". I didn't get any further, because it seemed to me that he was too happy. I will return to it though. Pelevin is good. Reading takes commitment. Right now there isn't that much of me. Somehow I'm torn. | |
 Sarmīte Māliņa, Kristaps Kalns. Snooze on. Object, video. Exhibition "Autumn" at the Latvian National Museum of Art, exhibition hall "Arsenals". 2004. Photo: Jānis Buls | |
| A.Z.: Did your collaboration with Kristaps Kalns also begin with books?
S.M.: Yes. The first book was a collection of poems by Janis Steiks. Happiness, surprise. That was an opportunity to branch out. The book took off. Then covers for the Kultūras Diena3 magazine. Later on Vilnis Vējš invited us to participate in a small show called "Pornography". We made our first piece for that, sort of extremely naïve. Fricis Bērziņš. Did you go? You didn't. A.Z.: I wanted to, but didn't get a chance. S.M.: It was in an apartment. That show. We were assigned the bathroom. Now, what was there: darkness, a baby-doll, which is - look, up there on the wardrobe. I bought it in a children's clothing store. Then Jesus on the wall, and in the bathtub, hidden in black velvet, there was a machine playing recordings of Vera Singajevska's children's stories. A real horror show. Yes, and then Ivars Henrihsons invited us to participate in the "Autumn" show. We made a piece at the Arsenāls gallery which I really liked. It was called "Snooze - on". A.Z.: Snooze! Like on your phone? S.M.: Yes, I thought the words were so funny, but it really suited the work. The work itself came to me on my way to go shopping at the Matīss Market, as I was walking through the grounds of Riga's 1st Hospital. I always feel as if I'm in Thomas Mann's "The Magic Mountain" there. They were renovating the morgue, and almost everything had beenbrought outside. I really like those grounds. Have you ever been there? A.Z.: Once. I even had to take the "ready-made goods" outside. S.M.: Oh! So you know the place. Well, it was autumn, the leaves were yellow, a kind of church-like atmosphere, and from the morgue they had brought out the metal stretchers on which they lay the people. The stretchers were under a tree. To me this scene looked like some kind of paradise: just lie down - and that's it... A.Z.: If I'm not mistaken, there's a small pool next to the building. You can see it from Šarlotes iela. S.M.: That's right, and then I called Kristaps, he photographed everything and we figured out what the piece would be. Then we needed those actual stretchers. I phoned, numerous times, worrying that the renovations would be finished and they would take everything back inside. Then the renovations were done. I called the director of the morgue. She said that she wasn't going to give me the stretchers, but I said that I would come and see them. I went. They took me on a kind of tour, probably to cool me down. A.Z.: To take a look at reality? S.M.: Yes, to take a look, but I didn't even faint! Fantastic. But I did calm down - we gave up on the idea of authentic furniture. We got some stretchers from the ARS Clinic and ordered the top parts from a tinsmith. And then on one of these beds we projected an image of Kristaps lying there, with me on another, wearing black clothes. There was some musical accompaniment as well. Something like a heartbeat. A ring made of countless light bulbs: when these were switched on, you couldn't see the projection, but when they were off, you could see us. Yes, and after that "The Altar" and now Cēsis - and that's it. A.Z.: There was also a slightly scandalous event at the church of St. Mary Magdalene. S.M.: Yes there was, but nothing so notable that it's worth dis-cussing. Cardinal Pujāts was very concerned about "The Altar". He called me on the night that we set it up, and about the main figure he said: "Sort of fat and hairy". The idea about "The Altar" had dragged on for two years. The idea came to us after observing Easter altars set up by congregations with varying notions of artistic quality. At Easter it becomes the central altar. And so we had the idea of putting in a video. The only action was the image breathing a little, with a moving background. On Easter morning, at the moment that the Resurrection took place, the image got up and left. The video lasted three days. In order for everything to happen on time we made arrangements with someone from the church. He gives a nod, we switch the video over to the Resurrection. I remember that we were very stressed that some technical text would appear on the monitor as we were switching it on, but everything went smoothly. Of course, it would not have been possible without the surprisingly accommodating congregation. A.Z.: Is "The Only One", which is on show in Moscow, a con-tinuation of "The Altar", or is it a sovereign entity? S.M.: It's a sovereign entity. A.Z.: Starting with "Yes and No. Divided Cross" there has been a religious theme in your works. That's not a coincidence is it? S.M.: Yes and no... A.Z.: And love never ends? S.M.: That's what was written on the crosses in the Ukru Forest cemetery, by the Lithuanian border. We were there because we were working on [the poet] Imants Ziedonis' photo album. The words stuck in my mind and later became the name of the work. It was uncomfortable to create something so saccharine, but we pulled ourselves together. The result was like being a musician - you play something sweet and nobody says anything bad about it, but instead they sing along. A.Z.: This is the first time that I've heard of Ukru Forest, but I have often read that the notice "Love never ends" featured in Cēsis as well. S.M.: Yes, we wrote it on the wall of the building where our work was exhibited. It had built up inside us. A.Z.: And to sum up, you are among the lucky eight? S.M.: Yes, it somehow happened. I'm already perturbed at the thought of the event...the presentation of the Purvītis Award - and I'll have to appear in public. I'm sorry that Ģelzis isn't one of the eight....And so I didn't show you that box, either... /Translator into English: Liene Kalniņa/ | |
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