BIBLIOGRAPHY

• On Space, Criticism and the Green Screen

  Terezie Nekvindová

   The theme of space and architecture is one of the consistent interests of Tomáš Moravec. Already in 2008, when he was a finalist of Jindřich Chalupecký Award at the age of 23, he made non-invasive interventions in public space in the city of Pilsen where he spent his study years. By means of light projections or occupying a pavement with plastic wrap, he managed, at least for a little while, to redefine the firmly established urban frame and offer a different, mostly more poetic perspective of selected places. Besides specific urban public space, Tomáš Moravec also focuses on space in terms of physical rules, perspective, recorded reality and optical illusions leading to abstract forms. Recently he has been dealing with other matters as well, such as the motives of boundaries and implosion, while his relation to architecture has transformed into the work of an exhibition architect. When examining the artist’s works made between 2011 and 2014, a period when he dealt with this theme most intensively, the seemingly limited phase can be divided into two levels: criticism of the practice of contemporary architecture and works dealing with the form of gallery space. The latter group, particularly the exhibitions Subject to Alterations, Spare Month (both 2011), Beds and Folds (2012) and Prospect (2013), is characterized by careful work with installation based on the particular disposition of the gallery or at least used by Moravec to achieve a transformation of the place, whose full understanding requires the movement of a perceptive viewer. These installations provide a certain commentary on the given space, bringing the viewers’ attention to the experience of the particular situation and place. The artist does not problematize space in the sense of institutional criticism, rather devoting himself to a formal play, primarily that of inverting the polarity of inside and outside. To a certain extent, he shares these approaches with several of his generation peers (Dominik Lang, Tomáš Džadoň and others), mostly also students of Jiří Příhoda who opened up the theme of the obverse and reverse in Czech art in the 1990s. However, it is necessary to add that Tomáš did not get to reflecting on space only at the Studio of Monumental Art at the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague; that line can already be found in the work of his previous professors Adéla Matasová and Dušan Zahoranský from the erstwhile Institute of Art and Design of the University of West Bohemia in Pilsen.

   A link between the two outlined tendencies can be seen in the exhibition Trio held at the Critics Gallery in Prague (2011). It gives a good example of how Tomáš works: the very complicated exhibition space, consisting essentially of several walls around a roofed atrium and composed of unpleasant materials due to a weird reconstruction made probably in the 1990s, was not an ideal precondition for exhibiting art; or perhaps it was. Tomáš and Matěj Al-Ali made a statement about the space by using its own devices. In the “non-exhibition” part of the gallery, the glass paneling of the atrium, they repeated one of its technical elements using an unsuitable material; the girder made of rubber was unable to carry itself, nor to imitate the shape of its model in an illusory way. The site-specific work thus also critically addressed a more general state of working with architectonic space. The motive of failure in the form of a small apocalyptic scene of a certain “post-accidental state of the world” is present in later works by Moravec as well; sometimes the viewers enter the situation after the collapse, sometimes the accident is hinted at by a distinct detail, such as a bulging floor.

   The “trio” of the exhibiting artists – as the work of the above mentioned duo was supplemented with the paintings by Petr Dub at the Critics Gallery – later realized other projects reflecting on the social and political role of architecture. The quality of the place where we live and the social impact of architecture are important themes for which the architects (and not only them) often do not have enough time due to the complex process of projecting, approval and realization. Under the pressure of efficiency and in the network of economic, political and social interests, there is only a limited space left for considering the impact of one’s work or for challenging the apparent definiteness of its external conditions. Visual artists who, like architects, are active in public space and are used to approaching the subject of their interest critically can offer at least some necessary reflection in this respect, just like American conceptual artist Dan Graham did in the 1960s; the contemporary visual artists to do so include Wolfgang Tillmans, Cyprien Gaillard and Amie Siegel. In the past ten years, the Czech Republic, too, has seen an interest among visual artists in dealing with the theme of architecture, not only because it is both a good representative of the faith in modernity and a symbol of its failure, but also because, unlike art, it is a a field with a much greater social impact. Addressing the cynicism of “starchitects”, Zbyněk Baladrán dealt with ethical questions; Isabela Grosseová accentuated prefabrication, unification of materials and non-inventiveness of architecture; Jan Pfeiffer illustrated the non-conceptuality of contemporary urbanism; the list could go on and on. What links these works is the very fact that they can give feedback to all who contribute to creating the lived environment.

   In the projects Trail of Courage (2012), Handle with Care and Criticism and Panic Room (both 2014), the newly formed trio of artists Moravec, Al-Ali and Dub critically addressed the impact of the majority approach on the current architectonic production, including the roles of the architect, client, user and developer. It accentuated the dysfunctions in public space, urban sprawl in suburban structures, the downsides of prefabrication. In Trail of Courage, a permanent outdoor installation in the form of an educational trail between Psáry and Dolní Jirčany, they explored the status quo of a suburban whole lacking city-forming elements. They even reached the level of activism by placing a selection of theoretical texts dealing with these issues on the individual stops and thus offering the local citizens a much more complex perspective of their situation. Another time, they tried to open up a discussion among experts by organizing a public debate. Tomáš Moravec and his friends criticized the darker side of the creation of the environment, represented by certain non-architecture, i.e. the wild housing development on city peripheries or center exploitation driven by economic interests. Moravec addresses the things that surround us on a much larger scale than that of the positive examples from architecture yearbooks, and thus the things that have the greatest impact on our environment, and therefore on us. The green screen, a device employed in one of the above mentioned projects, is a perfect metaphor for the whole problem. It depends on us which form of reality we “key” into our environment; we just have to know the options.

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  The Sky Below our Feet
  

  Marko Stamenkovic
  

  Bang… and one more bang… and then another bang…“Did you hear that?” Whispering into my ear. She posed the question in the shadows of a room where everything looked unusual. I did not respond. My eyes were focused on the other side of the room where the contours of an object behind the smoke screen kept appearing and disappearing. The ‘thing’ was dancing, seductively and with an unusual elegance. She turned back to me and repeated her question. Strange. Very strange. It felt like… something extraordinary was about to happen. I wouldn’t even call it a sound. Perhaps it was only a fragment of the sound, but a strong one. Something was going to explode – from the inside. That’s what I thought. At the beginning I did not bother looking at it at all. An object, rotating… So what? Quite a peculiar shape, though. Empty or not, it was hard to say. But its shiny surface reminded me of something costly, something difficult to afford – especially now, when people can hardly save any money by the end of the month, and the living costs keep rising nonetheless. Everywhere. Isn’t that sad? “What do you mean?” What do you mean; ‘What’? The fact that human lives have become so dependent upon the constantly changing prices of oil. Yes! That’s it! Oil. That shiny thing. Then I remembered an aluminum box. For the ‘black gold’! And it’s bulging and bulging, and growing and growing, and turning around its own axis… I felt dizzy at some point, it made me feel like I wanted to vomit. I am serious. Imagine! Well, to be honest, at the beginning I thought I was going nuts... But in a matter of a few minutes the box began to change somehow. Strangely enough, it turned out to be even more beautiful to my eyes when it started to lose its earlier shape. It seemed to me – but don’t laugh when I say this – as if the object was able to eat its own body, to swallow itself inside out! Yes, I know, sounds disgusting, doesn’t it? The scene contained something of a cannibalistic ritual, without any blood, without any victims around, yet a somewhat dirty smell was in the air – I’m telling you! It felt like witnessing some non-human situation where the shiny little object immolates itself in full view and by a fire that I was not able to see, but I felt the heat all over the place. I was sweating! I wanted to touch it and stop the movement. As a matter of fact – and to my huge disappointment – the object was actually not there. It was ‘written in light’, on the flat surface of a projection screen. The ghostly character simultaneously irritated and fascinated me. And then, out of nowhere, the sound – or the fragment of it! It made me feel so impotent: I was not able to understand what or how or why or even where it was coming from. Like wood crackling inside a fireplace. That’s all I heard. No ‘bangs’ (she exaggerates, I knew it). And I am still surprised that this ‘spectacle’ in front of my eyes, or that the banality of the scene I am now telling you about, could have taken my attention to such an extent. The first people inside their caves must have had some similar experiences in front of the shadows on the wall, I presume. That kind of fascination when objects seem to be moving by themselves, without any external force. Animated objects. “Do you think objects could possibly have their own soul?” I did not know what to answer. What I knew for sure is that I adored watching TV cartoons as a child. “So, now you know what I’m talking about”, she had whispered. This reminded us of our childhood years when we would play in the sand with all kinds of objects, making crazy combinations out of all the elements at our disposal. Pouring water over them, shaking and smashing, or simply blowing air inside a hole at the bottom of the canisters we found at the coast. The only difference: it is no easier to accept that what we used to perceive as a form of mere entertainment has suddenly become a formal exercise of the ways the obese world system functions nowadays. When the emptiness accumulated inside the rich man’s belly tries to find its way out, it cannot have a happy ending (and it must be a dirty, smelly experience, I guess). This might have been some kind of critical statement, even. I don’t know anything about making statements. I’d rather pretend to be a naive, childish observer, open to animated objects and their choreography of self-destruction. “Let’s not talk about politics again, please. Would you agree on that?” She nods. And I say: “Thank you”. Then I see them again, in another room, lined up one next to the other, all similar to each other: almost identical but, also, very different. Now united in their difference, the fixed objects stand disciplined, all uniformed; in order and without any movement. They look to me as if they are bearing the marks of a battle that they were not able to win, like the soldiers of a fallen army. There’s no rotational movement here anymore: only the remnants of the action gone by. They do not accumulate anything but dust. Their surfaces have become the projection-screens, for sunrays to play with the cold, grayish material when entering the space ‘illegally’, through the windows… Things easily change their shape when they start to move, but their skeletons easily set into angular structures when the body forcefully stops moving… A white little ball did not surrender, though. The noisy sound saturates the image of a tiny round object levitating in the air. Looks like a ball. And it’s actually moving forward: no barrier to stumble upon. It is, actually, me who stumbles upon her feet, from time to time, in the dark, while we are following the object’s trail inside the image. She doesn’t react. She’s totally immersed in the scene, and seems like she would prefer to be on the ‘other side’. She wants to enter behind the screen, and maybe try to catch the thing. I wouldn’t mind doing it either. It’s playful and absurd at the same time. It brings a smile to my face when I realize how ‘unbridled’ a movement through space can be. An experience of being on the road – how exciting and enriching! Where are we heading? Perhaps, as a late painter from Damascus would have said, “not towards home, but the horizons”… Occasionally the ball drops down. Then goes up again. Nothing seems to disturb its free-floating promenade in the open-air. Along the street, the blurry contours of immobile cars are flanking the scene and ghost-like people are passing by. Keep rolling, my friend… fly with the wind, while the hair-dryer’s on! Eyes wide open, I’m curious where it will take us next. Sooner or later, we must have a break. And settle down. What if there is no space left for us? What if every square meter available on that particular territory has already been taken? Occupied, you said? Well, objects-on-the-move have their own methods to find the space so as to have their very existence exhibited among other objects on display. It’s about the survival of the fittest, isn’t it? “For God’s sake, it’s just a simple ball in the air!” She’s trying to be down-to-earth…. And to make sure I’m not projecting too many of my fantasies into the image-world. Ever noticed something rather unusual in the sky above our house? Well, yes. Exactly. And do you also consider drones, for example, to be the ‘simple things in the air’? She looked at me angrily. “This has nothing to do with it.” I turned my head in the direction of another round object. It was staring at me, and I had the feeling it wanted to enter our conversation. Quite a messy situation, I thought: if compared with the elegant tiny white ball, this one was somewhat ugly, with aspects that challenge the conventional (and expectable) rendering of a human head. It was disproportionate, without facial characteristics, entirely brown. I doubted that it could be some irregular head-shape. “A piece of cow’s excrement, now blown up to unimaginable dimensions, only to make you feel ignorant and confused”, she whispered again, this time biting my ear like a child. Ouch! It hurts when she does so (but I was glad she was again in a good mood). Why putting an animal’s piece of shit on the top of a tripod, what kind of a shitty structure is that? It resembles an asteroid. How bizarre… Clumsily done job, I’d say before I read the note beside it: “Random structure created by physical material process inside the balloon, without contact of the author.” Hmmm… I wonder how the author managed to ‘enter’ the balloon.... She started to laugh. Whenever I’m cynical, she can’t resist laughing at me. Sometimes loud. “It’s about the chance effects, you know… letting things take their own shape… independently (from external influences).” What an unusual conception. I didn’t get her message immediately. What I realized, much later, was that striving for some sort of independence (you know what I’m talking about now, come on, I’m not going to repeat myself over and over again) must have something of a procedure; and that procedure is random and uncontrollable insofar as it remains immune to any possible intervention from the outside world, right? Excuse my words, but I feel it’s right to say: I never thought about foreign interventions as some sort of ‘forceful penetrations’; however, a certain kind of violence seems to be inevitable in the procedure described above: otherwise, how am I supposed to understand the physical contact between the interior of a balloon and the exterior intervention – not outside but deep inside of it? “There is a bigger ‘asteroid’ for you to see”, she says. That’s more of a monster! (I shouted instantly). Not that I was afraid of construction works, not at all; but what horrified me was a moving black wave beneath and around the huge scaffolding. It was stepping in and out of the area demarcated by the ladder’s ‘legs’ stretched across the white space, with many tools and boxes around, and all sorts of stuff that make your hands dirty – especially if you want to play ‘home alone’ when nobody’s there to keep you under control. But that’s also why I liked it so much! To me, all together, the whole scenario looked like an exercise in public disobedience, no matter how temporary actions may appear. She looked at me with a smile, so typical for her when we both understand that we share the same conclusion: why it was impossible to capture the entire image of that flying object in front of the smoke screen (or was it behind it?), is precisely the reason why it is now possible to put our thoughts together, to think in images that escape our memory, to imagine the beauty that was never meant to emerge in its integrity. It was, perhaps, the very idea of how (through images, or their fragments) we relate to each other’s imaginaries. Or – despite humankind’s weakness to have its memory preserved entirely and forever – how we could possibly relate to each other as humans, while learning our ‘lessons in difference’ from undisciplined, ‘destructive’ behavior of the objects-on-the-move. “And only when they are out of our sight, when they are gone, we’ll be able to see what they really meant to us,” she said, before closing the door. “To you and me, together.” I agreed. So we kissed. After three seconds, she said: “Did you hear that?” In the shadows of a room where everything looked unusual, we looked down with ever-increasing wonder and awe: the starry sky was right below our feet…

  Marko Stamenkovic

  In Gjirokastra, Albania, 23 October 2016