EVEN NOW, MY NECK IS SORE, AND SO WILL BE YOURS.

The final two volumes of The History of Czech Art, published this summer by the Czech Academia publishing house, have been celebrated as the culmination of years of work. For a great deal of those interested in Czech art from the last fifty years, these last two volumes will serve as a primary (and, considering they are under the aegis of the editors’ academic credibility, also respected) source of information, a foundation from which people will form their own opinions; therefore we shall chiefly focus on the sections that directly concern the art of the last two decades.

Whereas with the preceding volumes leading up to 1958 the work is essentially clear, for these new volumes, specifically the passages covering art from the Eighties to the year 2000, the authors have built upon shaky terrain. This shaky terrain (which would not matter so much) is built upon a relatively authoritative and voluminous structure (which still would not really matter), except that it fails to adequately address the impact of its substructure (and this is the fundamental stumbling block). The consequence of this fossilization of some interpretations—which, incidentally employ dated terminology—is that many important artists and significant exhibitions have been left out; thus, such works are not located in any new analytical context that might otherwise demonstrate their significance. (1)
Although the sections mapping out the art of the Sixties and Seventies leave plenty for discussion, here, I selfishly focus on what I am most interested in. Disregarding the quite complex conventional questions of methodological skepticism(2) that have discouraged scholars in the past from pursuing the subject of contemporary history, I understand the difficulty in credibly describing, or even implying what has taken place in Czech art since the mid-80s. Despite my appreciation for what the authors and their editors were up against, I must declare here that the primary impetus behind the article you are now reading was a spontaneous gesture of disbelief – at least that is how shaking one’s head from left to right and from right to left is commonly interpreted. Even now, my neck is sore.

What We See.
When navigating publications on art history, there are several paths we can take. Each has its own pitfalls, but together they can help familiarize us with the terrain that such books offer their users and readers. The essential material is made up of more than the reproductions, texts, footnotes, bibliography,(3) and indexes; there are also the questions and assumptions, expressed or withheld, that have guided the authors and editors. Or, in the best case scenario, there is the methodological framework that supports the publication’s construction and composition.
Working with the graphic portion as the starting point—an obvious choice as it should not only exemplify the disquisition but the totality also—the reader should be afforded the opportunity to become as intimately familiar as possible with the visual culture of the period and works regarded by the author as significant either as unique feats or as representative of a certain type of artistic work. This is not an overly presumptuous demand for an illustrated publication on the history of art.
After studying these volumes, I came away with the impression that the most notable representatives of Czech art from 1989 to 2000 are Federico Díaz, David Černý, Michael Bielický, Silver, Woody Vasulka, Jiří Příhoda, Kateřina Vincourouvá, Jiří Černický, and Veronika Bromová. After calculating the numbers of images from the index and counting the number of pictures on a given page, I found that with the earlier History of Czech Art 1958-2000, that is indeed the case. In addition to inventory consisting of the most frequently reproduced artists, there are also artists who are represented through at least one work of art: Lukáš Rittstein, Roman Franta, Martin Kuriš, Krištof Kintera, Markéta Othová, Pavel Humhal, Lukáš Jasanský and Martin Polák, Daniel Hanzlík, Filip Turek, PODE BAL, Miloš Šejn, Lubomír Čermák, Tomáš Mašín, Tomáš Ruller, Jana Vidová-Žáčková, Miloš Vojtěchovský, Markéta Baňková, Jiří Surůvka, Ivana Lomová, Lubomíra Kmeťová, Petr Pastrňák, Martin Zet, Ivan Vosecký, Michal Pěchouček, Ivan Pinkava, and Pierre Daguin.
Determining visual emphasis not by the number of reproductions, but rather by the size of these reproductions, we come up with the following proportions: Díaz, Silver, Bromová, Příhoda, Vasulka, Bielický, Mašín, Šejn, Vojtěchovský, Vincourová, Dopitová, Rittstein, Turek, Othová, Černický, Pastrňák, Pinkava, Surůvka, Kintera, Humhal, Pěchouček, Lomová, Zet.
For those who did not circulate in the art scene in the last two decades, it is difficult to comprehend how their impression of art in the Nineties will be influenced by this book. Although the number and size of the reproductions in the volume depend on many circumstances (not excepting graphic design), it is safe to assume that readers usually will not take time to further filter or reflect upon visually submitted information. Instead they will accept it as an informed opinion that impression will remain an influential guidepost.
However, I can hardly reconcile to myself that this visual layout does not correspond at all to my own visual perception of Czech art from the Nineties. To be sure, as memory categorizes according to various criteria, that is distinctively subjective in nature. But I believe that provided different people circulate in a single region, even if they move in different directions, there might be a number of consistent common denominators. I do recognize some even in this composition: David Černý, Markéta Othová, Kateřina Vincourová, Jiří Černický, Milena Dopitová, Petr Pastrňák, Lukáš Rittstein, and Jiří Surůvka. And I am even willing to acknowledge that Federico Díaz deserves due attention. That said, the proportions of the remainder, underscoring the eccentricity of the end result, nonpluses me when they bulge at the expense of excluded authors and artistic positions that were integral for the aesthetics of the Nineties or have absolutely zero relation to the author’s theses (Vosecký and, in the case of Martin Zet, the chosen reproductions do not justify why his standing in the art scene is so extraordinary; in terms of further evolution, even the choice of Pěchouček’s student embroidery is rather misguided, and Filip Turek’s featured work is likewise problematic).
Understanding the necessity of limiting the number of reproductions, it is still absurd that not a single work was reproduced from Petr Písařík, who may be the most talented painter of the younger generation and a brilliant object-maker; nor any object from Tomáš Hlavina; nor one painting from Igor Korpaczewski; nor one work from Jan Mančuška; nor a single installation from Petr Lysaček; nor one painting from Josef Bolf; nor anything from Michal Nesázal; not to mention Jan Šerých, Jasper Alvaer, Tomáš Vaněk, Tomáš Svoboda, Štěpánka Šimlová, Erika Bornová, Míla Preslová, Robert Portel, and others. The selection’s obtuseness is to blame for the total distortion of the context, making it possible to conjecture why the accentuated works seem so important.
Even though Martin Kuriš and Roman Franta, who indubitably belong in any more elaborate overview of Czech painting from the Nineties, have here two works each, the absence of Písařík as a painter is an outright failure of the editor. That is, unless I am to think that those whose names are signed under the volume have no understanding of art or how to view it. The name Tomáš Hlavina does not even appear in the volume once, making the strong, disproportionate presence of Lukáš Rittstein’s featured work all the more glaring.
But there is something else that discredits the selection of visual information on post-1989 Czech art: the only documentary photography are images of the Japanese and Israeli expositions at the Prague Quadrennial from 1991, a meeting at the Karel Teige European Avant-garde International Colloquium from 1994, and Vilém Flusser lecturing at the Goethe Institute in 1991. Yet numerous important exhibitions that shaped the atmosphere of the Nineties, as well as performances(4) (of which there were plenty), were bypassed. Instead, only objects and the occasional installation are shown in real space. From this perspective, the photos of Veronika Bromová’s installation of digitally adjusted prints are totally excessive(5) Provided that installation as a genre was characteristic of the first half of the Nineties, its almost complete absence in reproductions testifies either to displacement or to its quality—that its contribution to the Czech scene’s identity was deemed poor or insignificant; unless these oversights are simply a case of sloppy work. (6) Publishing photos documenting the often ephemeral life of works of art would be much more beneficial than images of noted academics engaged in debate, not to mention vacuous documentary photos from the Prague Quadrennial.
The fact that in the chapter on the art of the Nineties we don’t find any image of works by artists who distinguished themselves in that decade, or who have influenced the emerging generation (often including those who made their mark after 2000), or from artists against whom some generational currents were contrasted, the situation has obviously been misrepresented. Nevertheless, it does proceed from the logic of the chosen structure of writing on the most recent history of art. I venture to elaborate on that.

Structural Problems
The same complaints surrounding the images associated with fine art after 1989 can be applied to the section’s structure. It is varied by the standard segmentation developed in the previous volumes of The History of Czech Art. The article introducing the era’s socio-cultural context follows the chapter devoted to architecture as the artistic form most closely linked to social, political, and economic conditions. Placed after that are chapters treating individual (dominant or indicative of the particular period of time) themes, problems or trends of artistic work. The conclusion constitutes passages summarizing photography, scenography, design, glass and ceramics, and typography. This model is by and large conservative; nonetheless, in light of the attempt to not complicate matters and to draw such a challenging project to a close, the preservation of the chosen model is understandable, acceptable, and often even befitting. Snags occur namely in the choice of which themes and focal points are highlighted.
Although we will not tackle the chapters that don’t directly relate to fine art, it should be noted that Petr Kratochvíl’s entry on architecture seems to be a balanced, exemplifying synopsis sufficiently mindful of the subtly differentiated and gradually stratifying trends in Czech architecture and of the groundwork for them that was laid in the Eighties. The chapters by Věra Ptáčková on scenography and Jana Paula and Dagmar Koudelková on design are in a similar vein. That text would, however, merit greater boldness in identifying the qualities of the emerging generation. Unfortunately, there is no chapter on interior design, a separate and dynamic field that has had a perceptible impact on the evolution of architecture and design after 1989. Neither Petr Kratochvíl nor Jana Paula and Dagmar Koudelková devoted any special attention to it. To a certain degree, this lapse can be perceived as a logical consequence of the methodological simplification that the chosen concept brought to the editors. The condensed report on typography, by Polana Bregantová, is accompanied by a similar problem: though the author herself correctly notes that the tendency to label these areas as “graphic design” has its footing in the transformation of how we approach these tasks, she nevertheless fails to analyze their various aspects any further.
Additionally, the images accompanying the text are limited to examples from book-making, typography and posters. Visual culture, even if complicated by the rise of advertising in the Nineties, was after all wider-ranging, and graphic design served other purposes as well (one or maybe even a few CD cover designs would be worthy of mention).
Post-1989 fine art ultimately fits into five chapters. Seperate from these chapters Antonín Dufek attempted to explain photography. The introduction to the Czech art scene at large was written by Anděla Horová. Jiří Zemánek followed up on his text which maps the evolution of new media in the Czech surroundings with an entry comparable in scope only to Kratochvíl’s chapter on architecture. Karel Srp uncompromisingly entitled his contribution “Topical Art of the Nineties.” Anděla Horová then tried to relate some aspects of the progress characterized by the accession of curatorial concepts to discussions on the relevance of concrete artistic positions and interpretation models. And finally there is Otto M. Urban’s conclusion which centers around the study of decadence in the art of the Nineties.
With the exception of specific references in Zemánek’s piece and the theoretical background of Urban’s entry, the authors almost exclusively focus on artists and problems of the generation that entered the scene after 1989. From the perspective of The History of Czech Art’s composition, that is understandable to some extent. Nevertheless, the preceding generations’ work, was not tracked in the passages on art from the Sixties, Seventies, and Eighties all the way up until 1989, thereby becoming a sort of missing referential framework without which understanding the path of more recent art is often impossible. From this perspective, the absence of later works by Sýkora, Malich, Kolíbal(7) or Šimotová(8) is incomprehensible, as is the lack of paintings by Zdeněk Beran and Jiří Sopek.
It is likewise impossible to reconcile with the fact that the final mention of Milan Knížák concludes in connection with his furniture designs, and is preceded only by reflections on his actions and concepts, while the entire phase of his work relating to post-modern painting and eclectic objects that culminated with projects from the early Nineties was ignored by all of the contemporary art historians contributing to the publication. The visual presence of Knížák’s furniture designs was striking but – purely from the perspective of art history – inadmissible.
If one is to understand the tension and movement of art from the Nineties, cutting out the work of 1989-era Trvdohlaví generation artists is completely absurd. Jiří David’s feverish activity in particular played, at the very least, a pivotal role in shaping the Nineties art scene. His exhibitions and projects profiled the art discourse both adapted and attacked by younger authors.(9)
The painting work of Petr Nikl and Martin Mainer also culminated after 1989, a fact which Ludvík Hlaváček’s entry failed to grasp. Moreover, without František Skála’s or Petr Nikl’s strong presence, it is impossible to fully understand Jiří Černický as one of the younger generation’s distinctive personalities. Since the Eighties, Vladimír Skrepl has undeniably been a catalyst for the tendencies steering the art scene towards post-conceptual art. The same is true of Jiří Kovanda, who continuously and fundamentally influenced younger artists’ thinking through the conceptual civilism in his works (this was apparent even in the preparation phase of the reviewed publication, and has been confirmed by the reception of his work internationally in recent years). Kovanda is among the Czech art of the Nineties’s distinguished figures, and to fail to mention or include images of his work in the context of this decade is among the most cardinal and inexcusable of errors. Another example, whether one likes it or not, is the omission of Václav Stratil’s new positions and role in the Nineties. Without him, any portrait of this decade is equally inconceivable, not only because of his body of work—his own drawings and his appropriation of Václav Boštík’s works in the Společná výstava (Collective Exhibition) project, his use of other materials, photographic work, performance art, or his return to painting—but also because of his method of communication that shaped a multitude of younger artists and functioned as a specific social code within the Prague and Brno communities.
The inclusion of Jan Merta’s paintings in the chapter on Eighties’ art is a disastrous consequence of the book’s structural concept. Merta’s major painting was during the Nineties.(10) It is like presenting Josef Šíma using his works from the Twenties and substituting the rest with the orthodox Surrealists or Lyrical Abstractionists. As a result, the greatest living Czech painter, carrying on a tradition reaching back to Jan Preisler, appears as a short-lived talent. We could continue with Ivan Kafka...
Another shortfall of the given classification of the Czechoslovak art scene after 1989 is in the problematic selection of specific spheres and their unqualified categorization. The illogical seesawing of the organization of the chapters – by medium, trend, type of social practices or approaches – hardly helps to present the true dynamic of post-1989 Czech art. One medium (electronic art) gets its own section, but then there is no chapter devoted to painting. One chapter attempts to deal with the phenomenon of curated exhibitions, but conversely discusses painting based on a false dichotomy between the intangible relationship of artwork to public space, and the “new image.” At the same time, the medium of painting provides enough material in and of itself to characterize the Nineties, even with its ties to the maturing generation and the debated status of artwork.
It is similarly questionable to brush aside photography as a self-explanatory and undefined medium of idle artists, and so is the allegation that artists who assert themselves as photographers have lost control of this medium. Antonín Dufek intimated this problem, but failed to radicalize or mention that this shift – perhaps more important and, in terms of quality, more significant than with new media and video(11) – would be reflected as one of the key forces on the Czech scene after 1989. (12) Provided we accept the premise that Nineties art can be defined under the guise of historical connotations of the devoid and the vague concept of decadence, then the failure to discuss the gender issue, or at least latent feminism as a distinctive post-1989 phenomenon is incomprehensible.
Another general framework which had a considerable impact on Nineties’ art but which failed to receive its own label, is art’s relationship to pop culture, consumer society and the mechanisms of advertising. The social aspect and gradual re-politicization of Czech art towards the end of the decade similarly deserve to be focal points of this section. In contrast to these tendencies, at times Otto Urban’s writing incorporates an interpretation of works using the umbrella term, “decadence.” But that has nothing whatsoever in common with the reality and environment of that given period—perhaps with the exception of the author’s comprehension of the past as a timelessness, an aesthetic shared by stylizing photographers such as Ivan Pinkava and Václav Jirásek. If one chooses to speak of “decadence,” one might just as easily wax eloquently about a Baroque principle, such as, say, Tomáš Vlček’s project Absolutní nekonečno (Absolute Infinity), but still missing is a true analysis of the art of the Nineties.

…and Other Problems
The volume’s decaying structure, which holds together neither in terms of logical progression or transformation of Czech art, nor in terms of the purely formal aspects of contemporary art, is underscored particularly by the problematic order of the passages by Anděla Horová and Karel Srp. While the artists, on whose work Srp bases his argument about how to interpret art, are among the undisputed figures in the Nineties (perhaps with the exception of Petr Svárovský)—lumped together as they are—they have little in common other than the fact that their works have been purchased by the author’s institution, the Prague City Gallery. Srp’s narcissistic and formalist interpretation leads to a multitude of important observations (such as the artists’ fixation on certain materials). However, it overlooks the complex contexts that predicate the artist’s work, such as Kintera’s ties to theatrical elements, socially engaged aspects of Dopitova and Humhal, and the principle of corporality in general. Furthermore, the arguments are constrained by the narrow sampling of what the selected artists actually did. The absence of any alternative interpretations is not out of place, but it unfortunately disqualifies the relevance of Srp’s reading of contemporary art, which is, in terms of understanding the individual artists and their specific work, a subjective one. (13)
The greatest obfuscation and inability to solidly and credibly summarize the post-1989 Czech art scene was displayed by Anděla Horová, who, unlike Karel Srp, reads the work of other authors. Without the footnotes, her introduction entitled “Sober Euphoria of the Nineties” would look like bad journalism that aims everywhere and ends nowhere.(14) Her enumeration of various activities and events that survived or originated in galleries, individual exhibitions and magazines, (15) are jumbled together with references to cultural policy or the problem of financing art. This attempt constitutes a clutter of poorly sorted information and unsubstantiated assessments, which astonishes above all in its ability to place incomparable and unrelated activities and actions side by side. While attempting to define the basic characteristics of the emerging new infrastructure and the often already easily perceptible roles that individual projects and institutions play in the process of shaping the environment, development and self-reflection of Czech art is not unthinkable, but it evidently requires both greater insight and overview.
One of many specific examples of the contextual promiscuity characteristic of both of Anděla Horová’s contributions to this volume is her inability to precisely differentiate between private galleries that have profiled themselves as commercial (MXM Gallery, Jiří Švestka Gallery, Caesar Gallery, Via Art Gallery, the defunct Ruce Gallery)—even if they do have other sources of funding—and private or cooperative galleries whose purpose is non-profit confrontation and presentation of art (Display Gallery, Eskort Gallery), and galleries operated by grant organizations (G99 in Brno, Youth Gallery in Brno, Theatre of Music in Olomouc). (16) These are all in one paragraph about the establishment of non-state and private galleries.
The Egon Schiele Art Centre, the Gallery of Art Critics in Prague, and the House of Art in České Budějovice are all similarly mixed together, namely in a paragraph dedicated to the “sector administered by the state and higher territorial self-governing units.” A description of various projects that have contributed to the recognition of modern Czech culture is disrupted by an inserted passage on the Zvon Biennale and how the values of contemporary art have been refined, only to go back to fill in the gaps. Imported exhibitions appear next to big domestic projects without us even learning, for example, which (if any) undercurrent was behind the policy of Rudolfinum taking on foreign exhibitions. But there is no reference of the other major imported projects. When some exhibition projects land in the main text and others in the footnotes according to some mysterious methodology, reflections on Czech art in the international context is nothing but a farce. Stating that the presentation of Czech artists at the Venice Biennale was of great significance for international relations is none other than wish-fulfillment.
It is no wonder, then, that there is no word here on the role played by Andrée Cook and the Window Gallery financed by the British Council in Prague, even though it was one of the channels that brought to the Czech Republic contact with—and hands-on information about—the current British scene (Tomato, Critical Design, Cathrin Yass, Ed Lipski or Hussein Chalayan, who exhibited here long before he received the Hugo Boss Prize and became viewed as one of the world’s most interesting fashion designers). Similarly, nowhere do we find mentioned the Stadtforum Kunst Park Graz branch on Prague’s Krakovská street, which functioned as a narrow, yet natural contact point with foreign art (Fareed Armala, Jorg Schlick, but also Czech artists). No mention either of the Gandy Gallery, which exhibited and sold foreign authors’ work in Školská street (Simon Patterson, Patrick Faigenbaum and his Prague project, Javier Peréz and his Prague project) and cultivated some Czech artists (Stratil, Kafka), too. Similarly, Tutsch’s Gallery Na bidýlku has also played a major role in providing contact with foreign artists as well as Czech exiles (Peter Friedl, Zittko, and recently the Berlin scene). These are all natural and distorting connections that often leave greater impressions on local artists and curators than the massive exhibitions borrowed by central institutions.
When it comes to foreign art in the Czech context, Anděla Horová is obviously thrilled about the truly large, adopted exhibitions, but she forgets the important ones curated here at home. (17) While it is certainly possible to differentiate the phases in the process of establishing the underpinnings of the Czech art scene in the Nineties and their consequences, the author failed to do so. What she found characteristic was first the genesis of projects that were neither subordinate to the regime and old institutional biases nor connected to the dissent or underground of the Eighties, and secondly the absence of any new, grander discussions that would have introduced fresh themes to replace the polarization of approaches and practices that marked the beginning of the decade.
This crisis was ultimately manifested in the successive demise of private and non-commercial galleries, in the faltering or fading of the potential of those that survived, or in the standardization of approaches to presenting modern and contemporary art in large institutions. The malfunction of the Czech National Gallery’s Collection of Modern and Contemporary Art at Prague’s Veletržní Palace and the gradual decline of Prague Castle’s activities are another symptom thereof. At the same time, the crisis brought with it the emerging generation’s DIY orientation, a trend proving to be very productive and which laid the groundwork for progress in not just one part of the operational system, but also for rediscovering an appropriate language and form of communication of contemporary art and its own community, and to the public as well private. (18) What happened subsequently, and what may have been identifiable in its genesis sometime around the year 2000, is beyond the framework of this discussion, but should have been included among the conclusions of the volume’s study.
In this muddle it becomes no accident that it is only in Anděla Horová’s second text, which is altogether devoted to her effort to map the various conceptions, accents, and demands on artwork in the Nineties, that the word “operation” appears. “Operation” rises namely in connection with the husband-and-wife curating duo of Jana Ševčíková and Jiří Ševčík and their concept of curatorial work, which did indeed become a phenomenon of the first half of the decade. The problem is that the analysis of operation—the everyday operation of a given discipline and its hidden logic—was, or should have been contained within the author’s first text, for the correct term for what she and her colleague Horová want to express is the “operating system of art” and its contents are not so much the individual opinions and acts, but rather their conditions, the institutions, their types and relationships, the market, (19) the positions of power, and the roles of each person involved.
Although Anděla Horová’s second chapter titled in reference to its contents, “The Art of Curating – Art in Public Space” (which, by the way, extensively argues the position of the wall painting through this curious and unexplained dichotomy) opens with a deliberation on operation, rather than analyzing this vehicle as it pertains to attempts to exhaust the main themes present on the Czech art scene. Unfortunately the text did not go beyond recapitulating the debate from the viewpoint of the particular people involved, particularly in the case of the polarization of pre-1995 ideological positions (she did not make note of the later ones), whose divergence (rather than contradictoriness) she failed to clearly express and explain. The curator’s role in Czech art from the Nineties was likewise left undefined due to the lack of analysis of the operating system. The author crystallizes the Ševčíks’ position and the first big exhibitions in the early Nineties curated by Vlasta Čiháková-Noshiro and Milena Slavická, but then tosses all the curatorial projects after 1995 into one bag, even though their starting points and ambitions were utterly different and could have revealed much about the motion that reacted not to experience from the end of the Eighties, but to the internal problems of the Czech art scene in the Nineties. (20) That is also the case in relation to painting, whose reflections were most distinctive in Milena Slavická’s projects and at two symposiums organized by the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague, but whose reality had a role far exceeding that framework.
To state—in a serious text written after the year 2000—that even today some critics consider painting to be a beautiful anachronism, is truly sensational. The capacity of painting for self-reflection was not introduced as an important topic by anyone, only making its way into the polemic as a mere by-product. This is unlike the now understandable efforts to actively apologize for figural illusionistic painting. It is only here that even I accept the logic of this trend without again succumbing to the tense clash at the time that was steeped in distrust on both sides and concern for the future of the Czech art scene.(21)
Despite the possibility of taking an affirmative stand towards illusionism today, it is the self-referential, the self-reflective and the post-conceptual in painting that constitutes the core of the Nineties’ legacy. However, the reflections on painting and the visual examples presented in the book are completely off the mark, if we disregard the rather unfortunate example from Ivan Vosecký and the beautiful painting from Pastrňák (missing is Písařík, as well as Vaňková, Fexová, Špaňhel, Adamec, Skrepl, Merta, Kokolia, Kvíčala, Salák, Bolf, Stratil, Ševčíková-Gillman and others).
Speaking of painting, I can not refrain from one reservation I have that relates to practically the entire collection of The History of Czech Art. Besides one citation regarding Martin Kuriš, we never come across the name and work of the Russian-born Viktor Pivovar. It is as if this excellent painter had not lived here all those years and does not belong to Czech art (particularly the Nineties). That probably can not be attributed to art historians’ claustrophobia, because Pierre Daguin, from France, has one photograph reproduced here. It is more likely that the editors were unable to logically or methodologically cope with the phenomenon of foreigners or artists of other nationalities who simply belong to the Czech art scene. (22)

Some Conclusions
In summary, after scrutinizing the final volume of The History of Czech Art, which is devoted to art after 1989, the main discrepancy is in the imbalance between the amount of poorly sorted and analyzed information (Horová) and the excessive reduction of both the view and the interpretational mode (Srp). The methodological quandary and eclecticism (Horová) and the minimal feel for the period’s discourse on contemporary art in context (Srp) outweigh the partial relevance of the presented information and incomplete analysis. A more-or-less marginal medium (Zemánek – electronic media) and the subject of Czech art in the Nineties (Urban – decadence) were given too much space, but any space for a substantive discussion on the transformation of other mediums (painting, installation, performance) was reduced and there was no adequate discussion of latent trends (feminism, activism, re-politicization, exhibition as an institution of its own). The largest handicap is in the limited interpretation of the emerging generation and the removal of art in the Nineties from the movement that occurred on the Czech art scene in the second half of the Eighties, in light of both the institutional practices as well as the profiling of individual artistic positions and expressions without which a number of “innovations” and reactions are incomprehensible and inexplicable. It is clear that the result does not correspond with the demands of the preceding volumes, and misrepresents, albeit understandably, so that it is impossible to garner a meaningful understanding of this decade of art. Obviously missing are a distinct conclusion or a formulated opinion on the state of Nineties art. Provided Anděla Horová writes that the meaning of curated exhibitions is found in the “coding” rather than in the quest for real values, then let us suggest in a gentle paraphrase: at best, the authors of the volume committed the same crime, while she succeeded neither with the coding nor with the quest for real values. Maybe next time.








(Footnotes)
(1) Similar to the approach used in chapters devoted to art in the Eighties and Nineties that gradually take notice of up and coming generations of artists and their artistic language, reflections made in the form of presentation of art also avoid returns to the past or cross-overs, instead the works look to the future. Besides the Tvrdohlaví (The Hardheads) art group’s large exhibitions of its own work and several monographic retrospectives (Skála, Róna, Merta, and most recently Mainer), there was no broader attempt to show the art of the last two decades in context. For reasons of limited space or choice of artifacts, long-term expositions likewise can not substitute for knowledge of the material. Each of the authors of the texts on post mid-80s art more or less recalls the works of his/her own area of expertise, and evidently draws from the limited selection of artworks or written sources he or she has, as it were, on hand.

(2) In this solidarity of ages, there is so much power that the bond between the past and present, which leads to comprehension of their phenomena, applies in both directions,” wrote Marc Bloch more than sixty years ago. The more recent the past, the more careful I would be about the conditions in which I write about it, and the more attention I would pay to the subtle driving forces behind that today improved what happened a few years ago. I would not dispute that more recent art can not be interpreted with classic art history methods; but I would postulate that it can not be interpreted exclusively with them either. Viz Rostislav Švách’s introduction to the sixth volume of The History of Czech Art.

(3) The selective bibliography would merit a separate analysis, which we will not delve into here. However, I must add that with regard to 90s art, it is utterly inadequate, distorted, and can not be taken seriously. Example: Four of Jiří Příhoda’s catalogues are listed, yet of all the catalogues devoted to Lukáš Jasanský and Martin Polák, just the one edited by Karel Srp is included; likewise, only Jan Merta’s first catalogue (from 1993, again edited by Srp) and Milena Dopitová’s catalogue published by the Prague City Gallery are listed here, whilst the House of Art of the City of Brno came out with an extensive publication. Catalogues for the key exhibitions To, co zbývá (That Which Remains), Sirup (Syrup), Zkušební provoz (Test Run), Jakub a anděl (Jacob and Angel) are missing entirely. Missing is the collection regarding postmodernism edited by Petr Nedoma; here are neither the important contributions reflecting on postmodernism appearing in the Moravian Gallery in Brno’s Bulletin nor the catalogue for the Tradice v novém (Tradition in a New Form) exhibition curated by Kaliopi Chamonikola; not one text by Michal Koleček, Radek Váňa, Martin Dostál or Karel Císař is included; and the inclusion of just one text by Martina Pachmanová and only Tomáš Pospiszyl’s interview with David Černý is absurd. And we could go on (including the discussion on postmodernism that was published by the Slovak art revue Výtvarný život to which Czech art historians contributed). The selection is, I am sorry to say, incompetent. Although certain texts are listed in the footnotes to individual chapters, their absence in the bibliography is indicative of manipulative intentions in the editing process.

(4) Anděla Horová makes mention, at least, of the Malamut Festivavl. But she fails to mention the Pražský válec Festival (there is not a word about exhibits on peformance art). A number of performances took place one-off and thus cannot be considered as a „type“ of profile event for the 1990s. All the same, they (the festivals) did help in shaping the art of the decade. One cannot however take a serious look at the era without one piece of pictographic information on the performances of Petr Lysáček, or footage from Surůvek’s cabaret in Ostrava (one can also select from a number of others). Since the second half of the 1990s perhaps the most agile and most aggressive representative of this genre is Martin Zet, even if his events take place, for the most part, abroad.

(5) Furthermore the photographs are incorrectly labeled, for this is obviously not the New Hall (Nová síň) in Prague, but rather the Kunsthalle in Baden-Baden

(6) We will not even find in the notes reference to Petr Nikl’s project, A Nest of Games, (Hnízda her) for the Rudolfinum Gallery dating from 1999. The joining of works of art with a concrete space and activity for the viewer actually culminated here in the premises of a large institution. The Hnízda her project, with its interactive element, established the reputation of Czech contemporary art and brought it to a crossroads. The ludic principle combined with communal activities represented the opposite extreme through the event, The International Day of Unfulfilled Ideas (Mezinárodní den neuskutečněných nápadů), put together by the magazines, Divus and Umělec. This event broke down a further barrier between art and the social space, without the use of institutional space. In other cases, such events took place in a more formalized manner during the vast part of the 1990s, i.e. in the Soros Center for Contemporary Art.

(7)Their retrospectives did after all take place during the 1990s. The free ties to the younger generation thus completely fell to the wayside, i.e. Kolíbal and Příhoda, if we cease to speculate on the relationship to the work of Kovanda. However, as has been proven in recent years, this author has become an important vanishing point for conceptualisation and also for the youngest artists (above all Dominik Lang, Ladislav Jezbera). Sýkora and others later find, thanks to the activities of theorists and curators like Jiří Valoch and Zbyněk Sedláček, acceptance among a visible, albeit not yet so important, segment of artists extending the lineage of constructive, rational art. (A mention of the dramaturgy of the Brno Art House (Dům umění) is not sufficient, the “Louny branch” did not die out.).

(8) Her contacts to young artists and the resonance of her portrayal of the body among up and coming authors in the Nineties played a fundamental role in shaping the artistic scene after 1989 – see the minor example: the joint exhibit by Merta and Černický in the Sýpka Gallery.

(9) Artists close to Milan Salák and Jan Kadlec adapted the artists’ concepts in direct discourse with David and this by both immediately and actively intermediating and creating the concept of reception of art, i.e the concept of the artist as the producer and comentator on the artistic operational system. See the ArtLab association and Artur magazine.

(10) In the chapter, Development of Personal Approaches, a New Group and Activity (Rozvíjení osobních přístupů, nové skupiny a aktivity), Ludvík Hlaváček himself calls into question the legitimacy of listing Jan Merta among the representatives of postmodern development. See The History of Czech Art (Dějiny českého výtvarného umění (VI/2), pg. 750). However, if such a work is mentioned once in this context (similar cases include Skrepl, Stratil and Kovanda), then it is, no matter how important and at least motivating, mechanically set apart in its uniqueness (whether it be socio-cultural or artistic) from the history of contemporary art and left to its own fate.

(11) Video records shared the same fate as similar photographs, which do not even make the merest reference to Zemánek’s essay on the specificities of the language of electronic media. However, by the late 1990s the appropriation of the media by the younger generation was obvious (Ther, Baladrán, et. al.).

(12) Martina Pachmanová, an art historian and curator, is characteristically mentioned in the context of her photographic work and in no way for her completely fundamental attempts to develop a standing theme of feminist-oriented critiques on the Czech art scene.

(13) The book’s text is a draft contribution from a catalogue devoted to younger Czech art trends and the presentation of this work at the Prague Municipal Gallery in 1998. The text was first printed in Umělec in 1997. The author fleshed out the text, but without taking into consideration the further development of individual artists and without examining the context of the entire art scene. Thus, the text did not really develop further. It stands as an interpretation of rather than a contribution to art history.

(14) This evaluation of the Jiří Švestka Gallery is an example of the worst type of journalism. This type of text has no place in the pages of academic history. Furthermore, I have no idea what sort of expectations anyone had for this gallery. Provided these expectations were not fulfilled, then I do not know what Karel Srp was writing about – the artists he ponders on all worked with Švestka (Dopitová, Kintera, Černický, Vincourová, Othová). Moreover, this gallery is the only one to function, from its outset, as a commercial gallery in the standard sense. The author’s conclusions in another essay entitled, Curator’s Art – Art in the Public Space (Kurátorské umění – umění ve veřejném prostoru) are similarly incomprehensible and populist. Quoting expansive passages from a survey in Umělec magazine is tolerable in some sort of argumentative article (rhetorically rendering ironic characters such as “they approached the act of selection with overwhelming seriousness”), but it degrades the text’s objectives in an expert publication, and thus discredits the publication itself. We won’t find similar tones, nor similar faux pas anywhere else.

(15) Detail magazine was in print until 2000, not 1999, as the author erroneously mentions.

(16) Legal status induces intentions, or is determined by them. The hybrid character of a number of Czech galleries and projects, similar to their positions, and the roles that certain individuals play, are characteristic of the entire 1990s. Under the conditions of a transforming society, in which the transformation of the cultural sphere still today lags behind, it was indeed this fact that inherently influenced the nature and reach of artistic activities, as well as their content and the disputes that accompanied them.

(17) I had originally omitted the ambitious, Morning of the Magicians (Jitro kouzelníků), but after further reflection, it seems to me to be an important attempt at an exhibit on an important topic. Let’s recall if anyone goes to the outstanding and inspiring exhibits of Brandl, Oehlen Wool in the Prague Castle Riding Hall (Jízdárna Pražského hradu), or to Fly – Disappear – Leave (Letět – zmizet – odejít) at the Prague Municipal Gallery, or even to smaller events, after which have remained painful scars and works in the National Gallery (a series of presentations in Anežský klášter – Kiecol, Zobernig, Pistoletto, Vercruyse, Larner).

(18) The exhibit, Insiders, put together by Pavlína Morganová in the Dům pánů of Kunštát Art House in Brno in 2004, was a basic attempt to capture this movement at the end of the 1990s.

(19) I did not register one mention of any attempts, such as the set up of the FineArt Company, or formation of private collections of contemporary and modern arts, or any other indication of how the acquisition policies of public institutions for setting up collections were carried out.

(20) Based on the logic of the matter, the author cannot fully understand, for example, the significance that can be “from a historical perspective” attributed to the Maxisklad project. The project involved the participation of curator, Vít Havránek, in 1999 and foreshadowed the shape of later activities of a number of artists and curators.

(21) In the atmosphere of large and unfortunately ethnically-tinged displays of Czech academism, the occurence of which Horová is unable to fully explain in other parts of her texts (they related among other things to the anticipated crisis and the clear attempt to accommodate the conservative public), she could have explained her defense of the illusive paintings as an about-face to conservatism (even politically). But we are, perhaps, now able to assess as well- and seriously-intentioned the aims of the apologists as an attempt to pause the never-ending and often all-consuming self-reflection of the modernists. This is a legitimate position.

(22) The earnest reader learns pretty much nothing about the previous or current existence of ties to the Slovak creative scene. However, at the beginning of the Nineties, this reality was revealed by a number of joint projects and later a number of regular exhibits by young Slovak artists in Prague (including the Ruce Gallery, the Václav Špála Gallery, in the Prague Municipal Gallery, and in Prague’s Municipal House). At the end of the decade this co-operation was renewed and a discourse rekindled between the now very different artistic scenes (in both countries).

01.03.2007