- Exhibitions and programme
- For media
Have you ever suddenly paused and realized that you can’t remember the last two hours, as if time had just disappeared? In the video Exemplary Defects (Příkladné nedostatky) created specifically for the Gallery of Modern Art in Hradec Králové, artist Tereza Velíková focuses on the theme of time loops as it relates to… loss of memory. She draws inspiration from her own experience and the experien-ces of people around her. Although the artist is not exploiting a trend or theme which is in vogue, the video she presents proves that the themes she is working with are relevant today. Being overloaded with work (or other things) has become a phenomenon of recent years, as an increasing number of people have been trying to find a way to replace their, often unnecessary, productivity with something more meaningful. Velíková does not offer an answer to this issue – nor does she want to. She only wishes to employ the brevity of visual expression to capture the feelings many of us have faced lately.
The video is accompanied by an older work, Grandma (Babi, 2009), which the Gallery of Modern Art in Hradec Králové acquired in 2021. This earlier work already explores illogical connections, which the author continues to work with in newer works, including Exemplary Defects. The exhibition is another iteration in a series of installations presented in the Black Box which puts on display new acquisitions to the video collection of the GMU comprising current works of select authors.
The title of this site-specific exhibition for the White Cube alludes to the marketing term “sales funnel”, which refers to the effort to push a product through the widest possible channel to its destination in the shortest possible way. The bitter current situation of rising prices, growing geopolitical conflic…ts, the omnipotence of the media alerting us to the global crises, on top of the constant balancing of the individual between procrastination and overwork, leads Jiří Pitrmuc towards a need to observe our routine activities which we gradually, as time passes and new technologies evolve, make easier for ourselves by using tools and machines. The author repeatedly asks himself, however, if this advancement is truly progress.
The blending of humans and machines and a fascination with the everyday are also the prin-cipal themes in the works of sculptor Ladislav Zívr (1909–1980). The rounded, organic shapes of his sculpture Woman with Microscope (Žena s mikroskopem, 1947), and Miner (Minér, 1948–1949) from the GMU collection, which Pitrmuc incorporated into his exhibition, depict figures connected to machines at work, and also capture that moment of concentration in which human and machine grow into a single organism. The artist also depicted women as scientists, which was revolutionary for his time. In the 50s, during the time of socialist realism, Zívr experienced a crisis. He sought respite by re-turning to nature. The sharp outlines of machines in his works thus started to be in conflict with other amorphous shapes. He reduced the machines to their most basic forms and, thanks to this, their depiction is timeless.
Pitrmuc’s works next to the sculptures of Zívr create a dialog in reaction to the current situation and offer the viewer a new perspective from which to regard the world we live in.
Sometimes, something or someone passes through our lives. These encounters do not need to take the form of dramatic twists, like those from Hollywood films. They’re usually just small moments — a brief meeting of the eyes, a ripple in our attention, or a touch, such as someone brushing past us, or some…thing clinging onto us. These aren’t clear signs, but rhythms of suddenness and waiting, of being close, or of being reserved. It is precisely these encounters which fulfill Proust’s great novel about small things. And it is this sensitivity and these values which art attempts to express. The work Miloš emerged from the author’s meeting with a stranger — he appeared to her as the back door of a tram opened. He stood, relaxed, without a hint of discomfort, pensive, with a plastic bag clinging to his left leg.
PAVLA SCERANKOVÁ (born 1980 Košice) is a sculptor, pedagogue, and mother of Anton (born 2020) and Julia (born 2016). Pavla Sceranková studied at the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague between 2000–2006, where she also completed her doctoral studies in 2011. She received a stipend to intern for a year under Prof. Tony Cragg in Berlin. In the years 2010–2015, she worked at the Department of Arts and Textile Production in the Hradec Králové University. Currently, she runs one of the Ateliers of Multimedia at the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague (together with Dušan Zahoranský).
Pavla Sceranková’s work is characterized as much by
lightness as by serious subjects, spatial composition and craft, intellectualism as well as a distinctive sense of humor. She is able to touch viewers with a humanity which is hard to describe, as well as with empathy, and is able to approach universal themes and focus on interpersonal relationships.
The gate of a picket fence in the painting Old School (Stará škola, 2019) by Alice Nikitinová remains slightly cracked, just enough for one high school girl to slip through. The pictured buildings are plain blocks depicted without real light, shadow, filth, decoration or architectural ornamentation, while regula…r rows of windows give each floor the same rhythm. Unacquainted spectators might hesitate as to whether they are looking at a prison, hospital, or an office employing one of Kafka’s heroes. A school may be the most unlikely option to occur to the average viewer. All these institutions are organized according to internal rules which reflect the social norms of criminal justice, healthcare, or education. Surprisingly, however, the impetus for this painting was not an effort to create a critical depiction of authoritative, gatekeeping institutions, through which the author progressed in her youth and where she spent days and weeks drawing classic busts or live models.
Alice Nikitinová returns to the high school in which she studied, rid of the need to connect it with the academic rigor which Ukrainian education is known for. Since the Renaissance, the teaching of classic drawing, which consisted of copying the works of instructors, imitating old masters, preparing anatomical studies, and working with a live model, has been a backbone of the arts school curriculum. The Czechoslovak, Soviet, and Ukrainian policy of socialist education after 1945 was oriented primarily towards realistic and naturalistic tendencies of the 19th century. Starting in the 1960s, Western academies gradually began reducing this shared basis of the visual arts in reaction to the rise of Neo-avantgarde movements. Contemporary works of art and theory began transforming teaching methods and entire school programs. Anti-art, high-concept art, or any daily activity presented as art doesn’t require drawing, and neither does photography, video or forms which include language and text. In the Czech
context, drawing as a basis of arts education declined later, in the 1990s. It disappeared from schools in conjunction with the post-1989 liberalization of the arts scene, which is now based in a pluralism of approaches and considers this “shared basis” as a historical throwback to a bygone era.
Dissatisfaction with the loss of a once shared basis for the visual arts, which would be communally cultivated, may lead us to a revision of our view of modern art, to its partial or utter rejection (see Mikhail Lifshitz’s The Crisis of Ugliness), or to a renewed celebration of the “shared,” through the formation of drawing and painting groups in the studio or outside, which deny both the bourgeois idea of the artist’s solitude at work and the condition of the spectator’s uninterrupted, solitary contemplation of the artist’s work. These are shared pillars which Alice Nikitinová may have in common with the Radical Realists, who understood the basis of realism as a political critique of the social hegemony.
It seems, however, that Alice Nikitová does not situate this shared basis (the training and mastering of academic drawing and painting) nostalgically in the past, nor does she repeat and improve on an academic pattern from the past. Rather, she tests how an, at times imperfect, academic basis which she has mastered, creates a vehicle for creating (shared) work with her son, in art therapy, while illustrating children’s books, with students in art classes, with friends and colleagues outside or while painting with others in the studio, within the conditions of today’s ateliers. If this basis is presented as “mastery,” it creates barriers between those who have learned it, those who are still learning it, and those who aren’t talented and will never attain it. Nikitinová therefore uses it in an anti-masterful way. In a simplified manner, she shows those who co-create it: the painter, teacher, student, the canvas on a stand, and the live model or classical bust.
In the cycle Art Education (Výtvarná výuka, 2019–2021), the artist draws back the curtain in real time to show what is happening inside a school building full of art students. She captures the appearance of drawing classes in contemporary schools. The images from the contemporary class are conspicuously evocative of Baroque engravings. The art student stands with his (or today also her or their) back or profile to the spectator and looks over the canvas stand at the classical bust which he, she or they are copying. This “holy” trinity of art forms the skeleton of several of Nikitinová’s paintings. It also appears on all the canvases of the GMU’s depository which the artist decided to place in dialogue with her own work as part of her exhibition. On two of them (by Jaroslav Paur and Petr Dillinger) we see a woman – architect or woman – portraitist before her canvas at work. The fact that the shared basis of arts education is cultivated on communal grounds is shown in Painting School (Malířská škola) by Ludvík Kuba, who vividly captured a group of painters in a studio.
In several paintings, Nikitinová also focuses on the students’ academic progress in drawing and painting courses. She gave herself a fairly ironic task – to deliver a condensed, painterly abbreviation of the painting attempts of art students. The drawing as the once-central object in academies has now shifted to the periphery of the art curriculum – to high schools and so-called preparatory schools which overlap with the first year of academic training. In Nikitinová’s paintings, the shared basis circles back, because she places the act of drawing at the center as a theme of her paintings which thematize the creation of a realistic depiction in relation to the model. Here, we return to the archetypal relationship between the artist’s perception, the depicted object, and its representation. It is not presented, however, as an illustration of a philosophical problem or concept but simply as education in progress.
The dichotomy between subject and technique has been the main target, attacked from various angles, of the critique of academic drawing and painting. According to the director of the Bauhaus School, Walter Gropius, the emergence of engaged art, including works which are socially critical, or subconscious (surreal) art, did not justify the stagnation of painting within the narrow confines of reproduction, which it had been relegated to in old-fashioned, specialization-segregated, schools. In his view, non-avantgarde painting lost its ability to participate in the construction of the shared basis of society along with other artistic disciplines, among which he emphasizes architecture. The “simplification” which Alice Nikitinová works towards also contains echoes of these avantgarde debates about form, composition, and color.
As has been intimated, the teaching of drawing in preparatory schools in the epoch of rising individualism can be viewed as a kind of physical performance of communality, a collective process whose actors stage a shared ritual of representational art in a time when it has long outlived its central aesthetic function. It is a process antithetical in many ways to the selfie. Unlike a click which lasts a fraction of a second, learning how to draw is almost unbearably slow in the context of our time. It takes years to learn and a single drawing or painting can take weeks to complete. In constructing faces, Nikitinová resorts to abbreviation and schematics and thus avoids any distinct features which form the identity of an individual. Such standardization belongs to the characteristic signs of historical realism, in which a hero, heroine, or situation is always regarded within a broad social framework as a representative of a certain social archetype, class, or conflict.
At first glance, Nikitinová’s series of paintings showing shop windows and magazine covers (2019–2021) drifts away from the theme of depicting the ritual of creation of representational art. In it, the artist freely rearranges images from memory that grabbed her attention on walks. She arranges yellow balls against the black background of a children’s theater. Floating inflatable animals by Libuše Niklová drift in the air. We see the gray winner’s podium on the top of which huddle several hands with painted nails. Alice Nikitinová connects the shop window with the theater stage, by adding steps leading to them or draping the background in black. The heroes and heroines performing here are goods. Rather than a perfect representation of each object, the author is taken with their arrangement, in which the goods seem to compete, on a scale from randomness to deliberate placement, for the attention of passersby. If a shop window can be a theatrical performance frozen in time, then the passerby can be transformed into a spectator. If we search for the etymology of the word “exhibition,” we will arrive at the Latin exhibitio, which was a term for the arrangement of goods in markets in the Middle Ages. This connection reached new levels of prominence in the second half of the 19th century where, thanks to industrialization, shops underwent a transformation. Their hallways (created, as W. Benjamin explains, from arcades) became indoor promenades, meeting places, spaces of self-presentation, and of evaluating others. To a public which until then had not been used to paying attention to art, these “images” in shop windows may have served as a creative impetus, and a democratically-accessible entry into the kind of seeing offered by art.
In the Silesian German spoken around the town of Broumov in the Sudeten region of the Czech Republic, the word “alight” is translated as lejchte. We might perhaps imagine Mark Ther carefully screwing in a light bulb and, with palms facing up in an elegant, but comical, gesture, stating that the original light bo…rrowed from a first Czechoslovak Republic villa for an exhibition at the Gallery of Modern Art in Hradec Králové, is alight. The Czechified spelling of lejchte, a word which, in standard German, would be leuchtet, points to something grammatically incorrect. This deviation from the norm is also testament to the emergence (or perhaps betrays the emergence of) a specific cultural identity, in this case that of the Sudeten region.
Mark Ther experimented with television aesthetics of the 1980s and 1990s and, at the turn of the millennium, was among the first contemporary Czech artists to combine this medium with questions of homosexual and transgender identity. From about the year 2010, he has focused on issues connected with the German Sudetenland and how the idea of this region solidified in Czech culture. He works with this theme through intentional cinematic dramatization. Ther’s installation at the Hradec Králové gallery demonstrates how he uses large gestures and overacting to push boundaries and expand ideas about what is natural and about the historical legitimacy of various identities. He always does so with emotional and anxious conflict between fantasy and reality. “It’s a very terrible thing to be oneself, because it’s a question of trying to understand something you can never really understand,” is a quote by Maria Callas, which Ther used in an installation in 2021 at the DOX Gallery, dedicated to the opera singer.
As is typical of Mark Ther, the display of two of the artist’s videos in the Black Box of the Hradec Králové gallery goes beyond merely presenting the two films and becomes an
installation of its own. The older film, Kim (2002), from the gallery’s own collection, which features an Asian manservant, not unlike Cato from the Pink Panther films, is an intentionally exaggerated homosexual fantasy, told through overacting and cinematic clichés, while employing the film techniques available at the time, which today only add to the film’s charm. A later film from 2004, Pick a Wedgie, also from the Hradec Králové gallery’s collection, is based on a gesture known as
a ‘Wedgie’, an English-language concept of the prank of pulling someone’s underwear up from their backside. In this piece, the author developed the genre of commercial or, rather, short clip aesthetics, complete with their typical rhythmic accompaniment, which was at the time unique in the realm of videoart. Similarly to the vogue dance, which emerged from the gay and trans community of Harlem and which consists of a series of exaggerated theatrical poses, the theatricality of Ther’s films is an expression of freedom and the possibility of freely constructing one’s identity. At the Hradec Králové gallery, both works, however, are intentionally miniaturized and placed within an installation which consumes them, but also further deepens their meaning which, with open humor, always oscillates between dramatic tension and comedy.
Mark Ther employs references to the eclectic nature of modern Sudeten architecture, with its, possibly unintentional, resistance to functionalist cleanness and naturalness, which is to say its fake “historical” elements. These also fit into the author’s theatrical strategies, which oppose the ideal of the natural. This is what forms his constant effort to exaggerate the scene and the genre in both magnitude and detail, literally “overdoing” it, like a comedy sketch or a dance gesture, and thus, without fear of inauthenticity or self-ridicule, pushes its boundaries further. This is also reflected in the intentional set-like quality of the mint-green walls, the fake appearance of the two windows, and the ever-present disproportionality and provisionality of the setting, which further deepen the sense of the intentionally set-like space. The pleasure of constructing identity is further strengthened by an excursion into the old-fashioned works of Czech Sudeten painters (such as Alois Kirnig, Augustin Bedřich Piepenhagen and Alfred Justitz) from the collection of the Hradec Králové gallery, whose works Ther incorporates into his exhibition. Hopefully, no one will take offense at the assertion that these works are, from the perspective of the development of painting, second-tier pieces. Their rusticity and pathos are enjoyable, however, in the context of Ther’s installation where they once more stand in relation to our own national identity, which almost always resists pathos, only to often hopelessly succumb to it. Ther, however, isn’t afraid to go even further, either to the rustic kitsch of ceramic figurines or, as in the case of the “pretzel,” to some kind of animated cuteness, which spins the entire scene into the next level.
Though Ther is always working with theatricality, unnaturalness, and some kind of comic nostalgia for something that never really existed, what we see is not just a sophisticated mannerism-like game with symbols and meanings, but also a serious testimony about personal and historical identity. It’s as if overacting serious themes were mutually enforcing, like the simultaneous presence of sweet and salty tastes. His work therefore consists of a constant subversion of internalized rules and set identities. It can’t be denied that he often has a sexualized or, rather, in the context of play, an eroticized edge, but never pornographic or politicized. Ther never seeks refuge in a programmatic stance but, rather, escapes the rules of normativity of any type again and again, even in cases where such refuge might be expected, as in the normativity of his own identity. He does not assume a lecturing or critically oppositional position but, rather, reflectively denies any genuineness. He does so in a very functional and flexible way, even in conjunction with the issue of the Sudetenland, its irrecoverability and its status as a projection, fantasy, and political manipulation. And perhaps that is also the source of the artist’s continued fascination with fictional histories and pseudo/historical figures in ambivalent dramatic and romantic situations, as is the case in his latest film (Golo, 2020).
This exhibition explores the phenomenon of original works of art and their various falsifications, from copies to intentional forgeries. The period under investigation covers the first half of the 20th century to the present day. The exhibition is methodologically divided into six sections, according to techniques, p…rocedures, and approaches to creating forgeries. Each section consists of paintings, drawings, graphics, and sculptures, as well as photographs, conceptual works, and new media. Because falsifications are dependent on the market for their “survival,” the exhibition explores them not only through the lens of art history, but also from a legal perspective, allowing a broader inquiry into falsification as a social phenomenon.
Alongside the six main sections, there are two additional,
special sections: The first focuses on appropriation, in which artists use another artist’s style or a concrete work to create their own, original works of art. These new works may quote parts of a work, their style, or be a true 1:1 copy, in which the meaning lies in transferring a work of art from its original context into a new one, creating a new frame of thought.
The second special section deals with the mechanisms and contexts of art dealing and the art market. It will familiarize visitors with, among other things, the distribution of forgeries through the anonymous online market, like virtual auctions and marts, which often sell works of art acquired from unverified sources.
Featured artists: Petr Stanický spolu s vybraným autorem. For this exhibition, Petr Stanický has created an entirely novel site-specific installation which, through the imaginary Window of Zlín and Flowing Through, opens the closed space of the part of the gallery referred to as White cube. This space cannot …be penetrated by daylight and reflects the clash of these two utterly different worlds. These changes in optical characteristics simply through the use of light or choice of angle have become the point of departure for this exhibition. In his other installations, just like in all of the author’s work, we find a distinctive sculpting style that communicates with the surrounding space from which it draws inspiration.
As part of his choice to be in dialogue with another from the collection of the Gallery of Modern Art in Hradec Králové, he chose Hugo Demartini and his Relief, 1967–1968.Demartini’s chromed reliefs and objects (1965–1974) are the publicly most well-known of his works. He limited a sculpture to a relief of highly reduced and abstract shapes – orbs and half-orbs organized into interrelated structures. He creates everything from prefabricated objects on the basis of a procedure which he likens to organized labor.
The Yes No Yes exhibition takes its inspiration from questions connected to the environment and circumstances leading to the emergence of the moving image. The aim is to follow a range of effects (sometimes called “special effects”), the manipulation of the image, and spontaneous gestures which influence them i…n their making. The inspiration for the exhibition came from the first Czech video artists, who often used video technologies in very intuitive ways. The video as an object in and of itself carries historical significance related to the development of the audio-visual arts, while simultaneously being connected to contemporary ways of grappling with what is known as the moving image, not only in the context of cinematography and visual arts but also in, say, music, fashion, and other forms of pop culture. The exhibition borrowed its name from the video Yes No Yes (1992) by Radek Pilař – a painter, illustrator, experimental animator, videographer, arts organizer and pedagogue. In the 90s, Pilař participated in the foundation of a workshop focused on electronic animation at the FAMU film school. He also worked shortly at the Faculty of Fine Arts (FaVU) at the Brno University of Technology, where, in 1992, he became the first director of the atelier for electronic multimedia art – today’s Video Atelier.
VIDEO ATELIER FT. MARTIN MAZANEC & JAN ŠRÁMEK
In the 2021/2022 academic year, the Video Atelier of the Faculty of Fine Arts (FaVU) at the Brno University of Technology in Brno is home to 23 students in the Bachelor’s and Master’s programs. Dialogues about projects and themes are led across the atelier, and each project is then coordinated by a larger or smaller group of artists. Some of these projects include the concept of the cinema and gallery Bat Cave Cinema (Café Pilát Brno / Galerie TIC, Brno 2020–2021), the performative exhibition Mixtape (Institut za Aplauz, Belgrade 2019) or curation of the exhibition of works by graduates of FaVU in Brno called 29 (Dům pánů z Kunštátu, Brno 2017).
The following students study at the Video Atelier: Simona Duďáková, Martin Hurych, Jaroslav Kaláb, Martin Dominik Kratochvíl, Maria Lopatyuk, Lukáš Prokop, Daniel Rajmon, Kristýna Sidlárová, Ondřej Silný, Matěj Sláma, Adam Smolek, Adam Smrekovský, Tamara Spalajković, Jan Staniczek, Marek Ščudla, Jan Šrámek, Risto Ilić, Nikol Urbanová.
Starting in the 2017/2018 academic year, the Video Atelier of the Faculty of Fine Arts (FaVU) at the Brno University of Technology is led by curator and moving image historian Martin Mazanec, together with visual artist and illustrator Jan Šrámek.
The central motif of this exhibition is a single work – the lithograph Woe (Hoře) – by Jan Zrzavý, from the year 1918, which is in the collection of the Gallery of Modern Art in Hradec Králové. An allegorical, heavily stylized head is placed diagonally onto the space of the canvas, with a round white shape …on its forehead, half-closed eyes, a sharp nose, and a teardrop on its left cheek. Figural motifs dominate the work of Jan Zrzavý. He was interested in humanity, its feelings and experiences. When Zrzavý drew landscapes, he did not stay out in the open to sketch them, like most painters, but took inspiration from his own imagination. We find this same stylization of invented landscapes and emphasis on inner worlds in the work of Bronislava Orlická. She believes subtlety is one of the most compelling aspects of Zrzavý’s work, and is something which renders it relevant to this day. The space of the White Cube is ideal for the uninterrupted interaction of both artists and their common story, which transcends the confines of the picture frame.
BRONISLAVA ORLICKÁ (born 1989, Karviná, Czech Republic) graduated from painter Jiří Sopko’s atelier at the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague (2009–2015). She has a number of exhibitions in her portfolio, including Prince.exe Megahit, Berlínskej model (Prague, 2016), Lovci bouřek (Galerie Industra, Brno, 2016), Podobat se jedna druhé (Panský dvůr gallery, Veselí nad Moravou, 2020), Krása je zastaralá (City Surfer Office, Prague, 2021), To vše (Hrob gallery, Uničov, 2021), Kdybych neměla tělo, mohla bych být všude (Karlin Studios, Prague, 2021). Last year, she moved to Hradec Králové and opened her own tattoo studio, Ahoj tattoo, where she tattoos her own original designs. This activity develops her minimalist, clean painting style, which she blends with drawing. Through stylized shapes made with closed lines, she seeks to create illustrations without text. Her approach to painting is generous, and she works with carefully selected color pallets.
For most of us, intimacy is the most distant corner and deepest content of our private lives. In communication, it is facilitated by the highest form of trust. The prickly Latin word intimus means the “most secret” and “most inner” as well as “most intimate”. It is an important issue of our historical and cultural co…ndition that these most hidden, most intimately relayed, truths are the main focal point of artistic expression.
The exhibition Late Intimacy (Pozdní intimita) is a reaction to the pressure we all face to share our private lives. This pressure is present not only in mass media but also on social networks, which are programmed to leverage our need for acceptance and reward, and are present as both overt and covert documenters and analyzers of our behavior in both the physical and digital space. We are also increasingly aware that the main goal of this pressure is to gather information which can be monetized or used to gain power. This is why the importance of how responsibly art handles privacy and intimacy has become more urgent.
The central goal of the exhibition is to explore the range of strategies which contemporary photographers use in portraying relationships and intimacy. Their approaches reflect the delicacy of the subject which they have decided to focus on, and the exhibition itself follows the space between intentional lack of literalness, careful strides, metaphors, and respect for that which is hidden and incapable of being fully known.
The Gallery of Modern Art in Hradec Králové is displaying the latest work of Tereza Severová (*1979) at the Bílá kostka (White Cube) exhibition room. It is a three-channel video projection called Tree in the Middle of a Landscape (Strom uprostřed krajiny, 2021), in which the artist concludes her ongoing exp…loration of the theme of trees as significant elements of the Czech landscape, imbued not only with environmental but also symbolic and political meaning. Severová’s work focuses primarily on photography, moving images, and their digital manipulation. Through these mediums, she tests the meaning of traditional social values like freedom and democracy, the evolution of the perception of freedom and democracy, their loss of content, and how their meaning changes over time. Recently, the artist’s attention has been turned with increasing frequency towards the relationship between the individual and the landscape, especially the post-industrial landscape, which we have, to a certain extent, been taught to see as a mediated image, which we cannot alter. Thus, the landscape, utilized as a projection screen of (un)realized visions, longings, collective and personal rituals and creative gestures, becomes a meeting point for an unexpected layering of dialogue between the author and generationally-distant but, in certain aspects of their work, surprisingly related artists – Ivan Kafka (*1952) and Dalibor Chatrný (1925–2012).
For this exhibition-in-dialogue, the gallery borrowed a collection of photographs by Ivan Kafka called From a Tale of Fluttering I., II (Z povídky o vlání I., II., 1976) and For Personal Maxi-Use, 1979 (Pro soukromou maxipotřebu) from the collection of the Moravian Gallery in Brno, which documents the author’s first nature photographs, created in the second half of the 70s, and six manipulated photographs by Dalibor Chatrný (Manipulated Photographs I.–VI. / Manipulované fotografie I.–VI.) from the years 1978–1985 from the collection of the Gallery Klatovy / Klenová.
In a world of aspirational images, enterprising young women and magic spells, monsters, body parts and machines emerge from and dip back into animated surfaces of saturated color. The camera sways to a rap beat, scanning the landscape from horseback, where vaginas grow through rock while children’s voices s…ing of neverending debt. In the solo exhibition Frugo, Marie Lukáčová uses her highly developed artistic language to present image as a tool for the production and control of desire within global capitalism.
The phenomena of the present—fantasy genre, online commodified pop culture YouTube such as adds and viral videos of Lil Nas X as a cowboy—are only a departure point for the artist’s exploration, which she then processes in her distinctive way, of creating a narrative collage interspersed with her own hand-drawn material, stories, and songs. In her film A nail torn from the invisible hand (2021), drawings and installation created specifically for the Gallery of Modern Art in Hradec Králové, these elements serve as a conscious exploration of how the female body is represented and the entangled relationship between the circulation of images, money and sex. For Lukáčová, imagining an alternative social order starts with personal, everyday relationships and transactions, populating them with monsters, magic and polyamory, where image is the main currency.