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| ITCHY FINGERS Vilnis Vējš | |
Several years ago, on the pages of Studija, I launched an angry attack on artists who use provocative methods in their work (see Studija, 2004 (Feb/Mar), p. 77). I couldn't see the use of these provocations. At that time I was referring to Aija Zariņa's exhibition that was dedicated to Einars Repše [a Latvian politician and party leader - ed.], and a mysterious incident wherein a painting by an unknown Lithuanian artist was allegedly stolen form the "Autumn" exhibition. It was rumoured behind the scenes that Kristians Brekte had had something to do with this art intervention. The artist himself still keeps stubbornly denying his involvement. Ironically, not so long ago Kristians held his first solo exhibition at the Artists' Union Gallery, which is curated by Aija Zariņa; afterwards the curator of the gallery published an aggressive remark saying, "If someone takes the liberty of posing a threat to someone else's life and advocating violence in a public space, then these actions should be classed as misdemeanour, and accordingly treated as such." (Sestdiena, supplement of Diena newspaper, 10 Nov 2007) Is one provocation different from another? It should be pointed out that Latvian art is not particularly rich in provocations. The title of the nastiest instigator should probably be awarded to our classic, Jānis Roberts Tillbergs, who attacked the progressive artists through cruel parodies of modern art; his only achievement was the speedier departure from life of the wonderful Jēkabs Kazaks (the so-called Kasparsoniade of 1920, described in detail in Dace Lamberga's monograph on Jēkabs Kazaks). The cutters of new paths in Latvian art haven't proved to be all that keen on provocations. Among the few memorable instances were Tillbergs' namesake Oļegs Tillbergs' strewn caskets at Jāņasēta gallery yard ("The Switch", 1990) and Gints Gabrāns' "A Knife for Cutting Up One's Arse" ("Geo-Geo" exhibition in Pedvāle, 1996). It seems the public hunger for scandal, and the lack of an appropriate supply to satisfy it, has made Kristians' fame as an instigator stick to him like a price tag to a coffee mug. That is why I chose to speak to him in particular. Vilnis Vējš: How are you feeling after the exhibition? Don't you feel "trapped", tamed? There used to be this myth of Brekte the Oppositionist who is always up to some horrific thing - and then you go and put on an exhibition at the Artists' Union, the stronghold of conservative art. Kristians Brekte: No, I was slowly heading that way, because all of my peers had already had their exhibitions. V.V.: Didn't you want to stick to your position as an outsider? K.B.: I did, so I came to it gradually, over several years; but I also wanted to conclude a particular era, the period between 2002 and 2007. V.V.: What is this era, how would you describe it? K.B.: I'd call it exploration. Initially the object of my interest was the consumerist society, but later, when my works were already appearing in galleries and all kinds of "autumns", I turned to man and work (of art). V.V.: And what have you learned? What's the verdict? K.B.: I'm not done with that stage yet. I still can't really say anything. It is all so elusive. I exhibited my work just now, some aunties came to see it, they had SUCH a reaction to it - but other aunties may like it. I'm constantly balancing between the two. V.V.: Aren't you tired of the role of instigator? K.B.: I have never created a piece with the idea of making it a provocation or anything. V.V.: And the ones that are taken down, disqualified from showing? K.B.: I had no clue whatsoever about the very first one, which was exhibited at "LV.TM" in 2003 - about what could happen to it. I put up some inflatable dolls but they were clothed, no "beaver" on display. V.V.: Were you surprised when this work was taken out of the window of Hotel Rīga? Disappointed? K.B.: No, I was rather pleased when Ieva Kalniņa (Kulakova), who organised this exhibition, and the other artists that had displayed their work, decided that if this one work is taken down then they all must remove theirs as well. I liked that solidarity. I thought it was a good decision, as it was a group exhibition. V.V.: But, as you "pinch" your painting out of a museum, do you envisage a different reaction rather than the one that actually follows? K.B.: I don't think you should write about that... No, it was a Lithuanian who had submitted a painting. V.V.: So it wasn't a fib? K.B.: Nope! (Snickers mischievously) V.V.: But we can talk about it - all of the things that everyone else takes seriously Latvians tend to turn into a joke. Damien Hirst puts sheep into formaldehyde; you do it with some composite beasties. K.B.: Yes, the things I do in organic sculpture are mostly based in humour. But it varies. At the independent biennial "Chechnya. Riga Stopover" (1996), those little soldiers with pigeons' heads, those were in earnest. Because there the idea was a dedication to Chechnya. V.V.: You're that susceptible to frameworks set by others. One gets the feeling you take part wherever possible. K.B.: No!!! I'm quite picky. That's what Andris Grīnbergs told me - never take part in everything you are invited to. V.V.: Can you list all of your scandals? Works that have been taken down? K.B.: The first one was the "LV.TM" at the School of Economics, I think, where they protested against the painting "The Blue Kerchief" (it showed a girl with a tattoo of a swastika - V.V.), the U25 project in Valmiera in 1996 - and there was something else that I can't remember now. Here it may not be amiss to relate some events that aren't widely known and took place at the Mols shopping centre several years ago. Wishing to appear "progressive", the management of the centre chose to mark the Midsummer's Day festival by displaying contemporary art instead of the traditional decoration of birch-boughs. Kristians was among the artists invited to take part... Can you sense the looming disaster? Kristians copied a number of Edgars Ozoliņš's infamous illustrations for the book "In the Name of Love", written by psychotherapist and sexologist Jānis Zālītis, on large cardboards and displayed them all over the centre - by the escalators, grocery stores, cafÈs. Not for long, though. The store managers kicked up a fuss. The marketing director called the director general abroad. An order followed to take it all down. The visitors of the shopping centre had had just a couple of hours to enjoy the classics of Latvian erotica... V.V.: And all this fussing over the misunderstood works - how do you feel about it? K.B.: No, I don't think I ever feel anything resembling resentment. Disappointment... sometimes it grows into something completely different that generates the impulse to create something new. There's never been a feeling of disillusionment: the work has been taken down, so what am I to do about it - go hang myself, or what? But it does make people think - as soon as you say something has been taken down, or something is completely shit, it makes people start thinking. V.V.: What do you want them to think about? K.B.: In terms of the piece "If You're Reading This, You Will Die in a Minute!" (from the Valmiera project) - it is mostly the subject of death in general. Someone will look at their watch and fifteen minutes later will note in satisfaction, "Wow, I am still alive!" Someone else will smile, yet another person will turn away and contemplate some existential issue ("What have I accomplished?", "Why haven't I wished my mother a happy birthday?") or something else. It could be a tiny, tiny thing, perhaps some five minutes of thinking that will change that person just a tiny bit. V.V.: And those crowbears of yours? Do you have itchy fingers? K.B.: Actually, the reason I started doing that, the thing about those animals is that I used to want to be a surgeon. V.V.: And that is why you're making those mutants? K.B.: Sculpting is more of a hobby for me. Actually, the same goes for painting. I like doing it, it is a pleasure for me. I get an idea for something and then I play with it. Sometimes I'd go for a ride on my bicycle and see some dead animal, and then I'd take a picture of it. V.V.: Why? K.B.: It is another instance that has to do with death. For example, I pass a cat that has been run over some five minutes earlier. It used to be alive, and now it is dead. Those five minutes are what is important. V.V.: Everything is built around death? K.B.: Yes. I think Kristians Brekte is a curious person. Deeply curious. Like a child whose mum cannot drag him away from a dead pigeon found by the fence. Usually such interest passes with age; the curiosity is subdivided into healthy and unhealthy interest, and the latter is squashed. But perhaps an artist always keeps some primitive impulses that makes him similar to a child and won't let him rest - as depicted in Kristians' painting, "Itch". An itch: at once a motivation for art and an art motif? V.V.: And what is it with you and Hirst? K.B.: I have nothing to do with Hirst! Of course, I have read things that compare me to Hirst. But that's just along the lines of - someone else is painting, and I am painting too, someone else is doing pencil drawings, I am doing pencil drawings too. Hirst works with animals, so do I; what of it? V.V.: Doesn't this similarity confuse you, isn't it deliberate? K.B.: No, it isn't. To be honest, I learned of Hirst when I had already done my first piece "The Golden Youth" (a pierced cow's tongue), and it took a couple of years of studies before I discovered I was creating something akin to Hirst's work. V.V.: Yet you keep working. You do understand you have no chance in such a comparison... K.B.: I suppose so. Well, whatever. What is to be done about it? Good grief. I don't worry about it. It doesn't offend me. Hirst's work is different. V.V.: In what way? K.B.: My work is mostly based on irony, his pieces are serious, polished, minimalist. I tend to mix and match a bit more, maybe because I have had training as a sculptor. I use several organic components to assemble something that plays a single role. V.V.: And have you heard that your new paintings are reminiscent of early Mitrēvics? K.B.: No! This is the first I've heard of it, but I must go and have a look. I used to use stencils to make the painting more easily legible, and then lately I've started to paint free-hand. Bleeding the paints, drying them and then adding something to it some five hours later - I enjoy that now. I have started doing things free-hand, and I'll experiment with that for a while. I try not to stay in one place for long, and as soon as I find something new I like to see if it works or not, whether I like it. Most of my works are something of an experiment. V.V.: You said painting is a side occupation for you. What is your primary occupation? K.B.: Studies at the Academy of Art. (Laughs) I may also do a piece in bronze sometimes. Thanks to my studies of sculpture. I like three-dimensional things. Maybe that is the reason I've gone into theatre. I like working with volume, with space. During our conversation he receives several calls from stage director Galina Polishchuk - another set design project is in progress. (Kristians is studying for an MA in scenography and has already worked on several plays - "LV" and "Noble Gases" at the New Riga Theatre and "The Holy Blood" at the National Theatre.) Kristians answers in his characteristic manner - enthusiastically enough to make you suspect that something in these conversations about art simply amuses him. V.V.: I don't even want to ask you about stencilling, I hate this trend. But you do it. K.B.: I haven't done anything political on any walls. I hold to the conviction that any work on the street must be of an appropriate quality. The thing with paintings is, I draw it, I know how to cut it, and the rest becomes a sort of a meditation, whereby the knife becomes a substitute for the paintbrush. V.V.: But you sneaked into the "Pornography" exhibition without any authorisation to mess up the walls around Līga Purmale's paintings... K.B.: Oh yeah, I had forgotten that... I think I must've happened to have some stencils with me at that moment. But it wasn't awful, was it - it was pretty! Once, to my surprise, I saw Kristians taking part in a silly TV game show where several guys were competing for a single girl's heart etc. In the scene I saw, Kristians shocked the girl's parents by the frank confession that he wouldn't mind trying sex with a man. Solvita Krese interprets Kristians' art as "a critical commentary on today's consumerist and show-off society, in which violence and cruelty are still very much in demand" (Kultūras Diena supplement of Diena newspaper, 16 Nov 2007). I don't see Kristians consciously commenting on anything. Certainly not from the sidelines, and certainly not as a censorious critic. He dives in like a commando, like an agent X: into the institutionalised and informal art space, into the city, into relationships, PR strategies - every place where there are ruling conventions, where we think we've already "cracked" him and know what to expect from "someone like him". His actions create something like a chemical reaction, always in the same vein, yet always different - and this, not his "works" themselves, seems to be Kristians's art. V.V.: What's your experience of sadomasochism? K.B.: Well, I've seen something like it on the Internet... I took part in the Erots exhibition in 2006, I think, and am going to try to participate this year as well. I think there is a lot of energy in all that eroticism lark, it's not a coincidence that Erots has one of the highest attendances among exhibitions. I like this situation when people have held their breath for a year and then they get a public showing - wow, it is all there, you may go and see it! Many people are very private about these things, and then, once a year, they think - yes, that's a place we can go. V.V.: Are those your own fantasies in your erotic paintings? K.B.: (Archly) In part. Yes, to some extent they are. And tying people up - for the Japanese it is even something of a tradition. V.V.: So you have researched it a little? K.B.: Mmm... Yes. V.V.: But you said you'd only seen it on the Internet. K.B.: It just happened that way. | |
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