One of the great attractors for our move to the Czech Republic was to dive back into Europe's cultural... 'milieu'. In the hyper-commercialised kitchy society of Hong Kong we very much felt an urgency for genuine artistic expression: whenever we saw it we would erupt into lathery paroxyms of manic applause. Now, we feel we are included in one giant pan-European mechanism of free expression where integrity is king. On this continent there is a positive glut of artistic content and opinion, part-generated and part-encouraged by sincere public interest and a strong thirst for creativity that is impossible to slake. It also has a very long and well documented history.
It appears Europeans everywhere want to be artistically stimulated; they love novelty and, apart from the cheaper pop forms, they willingly seek out the many excellent ways it can be delivered – even if on the way they have to sidestep one or two large deposits of sloppy cack. On that last (cacky) point, before coming here we were a little unsure about the artistic gravity of our specific destination – it was already clear from our exploritory trip in December that the quality of performed music was high. We were delighted to see the amazing permanent exhibition of František Kupka at the Kampa Gallery on the Vltava River (partly because it was the warmest place to hang out during a freezing afternoon). But at what level the rest of the arts? Just how free is 'free expression' in our new and glorious Česká republika?
Czechs are very fond of reminding outsiders (read tourists from western Europe and north America) that their country is now firmly in the CENTRE of EUROPE. And, as you can see from the map above, they certainly have a point - most of Sweden and all of Finland and Greece are further east. It is self-evident that the old eastern bloc falsehoods set up from behind the Iron Curtain coloured opinion here, but we in the west were just as guilty of misguided views. To many-an uninformed mind eastern Europe is still be a cold place of rigid, unyielding authoritarianism, a dreary innovative desert devoid of the sparkly fashionable things of London, Paris and Milan (unless you liked fur coats) and the last bastion of inedible food and lethal, battery acid vodka. Back in the communist era there may indeed have been an awkward choice in proletarian artistic endeavours; the bland and officially-sanctioned 'folk' songs that heralded increases in tractor factory production, or the sombre tobacco-stained and subversive codified intellectual expressions that took the form of secretive novels or plays about freedom-but-not-about-freedom. But that was then...
It is, of course, still possible to see the echoes of the old ways of thinking. Many older people here know not one word of English (before 1990 Russian was the second language) and, though Czechs are undoubtedly polite, the decades of suspicion regarding mysterious and pesky western foreign types have left their mark in the curious sideways glances given by some at the supermarket checkout. But there are precious few that miss the old days, apart from the ageing party apparatchiks of yesteryear who were reviled, or at best sidelined, after the velvet revolution. The best that can be said of it all was that everyone's heating was cheap.
It was therefore imperative to get to see the best that this new country had to offer – the best available, that is, right here in this town. At one time Olomouc was an important strategic location worth defending, but its ring of impressive defensive walls and earthworks inhibited the town's organic growth and in the end other cities like Brno and Ostrava dominated Moravia as artistic hubs, focii for scientific endeavours and thriving commercial centres. All the better for us – Olomouc's character is its quaint, sleepy charm. But the quietude belies a bustling essence of creativity that can be seen in anything from studenty bands and studenty art to premieres of important seminal works and major retrospectives of internationally-renown artists.
Two recent exhibitions at the Olomouc Museum of Art demonstrated the exciting flavour and quality of high art in this town. The first, From Titian to Warhol, was a four-part retrospective of works held by the museum that demonstrated the nature of the local visual arts within a very turbulent four centuries. The exhibition showed how those born in these lands were able to execute sensitive painting and were sufficiently skilled draftsmen, sculptors and... well, could turn their talented hands to pretty much anything! The church commissioned many excellent pieces until egalitarian and nationalistic trends took power from the hands of theocrats and artists began making a name for themselves in the salon culture the mid-19th century. From then on into the first half of the 20th century the region produced exciting works that should undoubtedly be included in any review of romanticism, impressionism, cubism, surrealism or naïvism.
And then everything was torn apart by the second-world war. It is possible to say that Czech art struggled on after the communist coup, however artists were barely able to find innovative and unconstricted ways through the stifling state system. At least, that's how it appeared to me. Overall, the art of the 50s-80s didn't cut the mustard – there just didn't appear to be the same high levels of energy as before and everything lay beneath the surface. Since the Velvet Revolution things have obviously improved and current Czech art can hold its head as high as it likes.
The second exhibition, Jan Švankmajer - Dimensions of Dialogue was itself a retrospective of the highly influential artist's works in different media. This giant amongst living artists (he's 78, ya know) is best known for his strange, surreal stop-motion animation for shorts, such as Dimensions of Dialogue, and full-length films, such as Alice and Faust. Do check them out if you are unfailiar with them.
He also produced painted work, collage and sculpture that (and I know this is a critiques cliché) astounds with its audacity. Parts of dead animals combined with toys were the most spectacular and surreal – quite large works in glass cases – and mechanized masturbatory contraptions that also featured in his film Conspirators of Pleasure. I might just have to go back again: Švankmajer is a surrealist artist of the old school – lots of rich depth and dark humour.
Throughout the centuries many Czechs have enjoyed an artistic bent. The spectacular Holy Trinity Column in Olomouc, possibly the very best baroque column of its kind in the world, was carved by local boys – something about which Olomouc is rightly proud. I'll write more on this UNESCO listed monument another time. By looking at ancient buildings around town it's easy to see Czechs have also been excellent architects.
But Czech art is not just about looking at static monumental things. They're also quite good at music and dance, a little of which I already covered elsewhere. We delved into Czech culture right and proper the other night at a concert of Slovakian popster-crooner, Miroslav Žbirka. Miro has been doing the rounds since the late 70s, somehow obtaining permission to travel back and forth into the forbidden west for matters musical. To be fair, we bought the tickets for his gig without knowing a thing about him. This was the last of the selection of tickets for the Moravian Philharmonic's Dvořákova season we purchased earlier in the year and the lady at the Town Hall ticket office didn’t seem to think our going was anything out of the ordinary. We actually thought it was something classical: perhaps if we’d known we might have opted out, but in the end we’re glad that we didn’t.
The first alert that something was different was the venue, the
university’s Sports Hall – a venue outside the town centre next to the cut-price
Lidl supermarket. We wondered why this performer wouldn't be in a church or civic building
of some sort. The next indicator was the audience
gathering to attend outside the venue; a complete strata of age, sex and a
mixture of Czech society, definitely not of the politely applauding churchy-classical concert
variety seen at other concerts. Inside the large basketball venue, the busy crowd milled about by the entrance, queuing impatiently
for the toilets and handing in umbrellas and coats at the cloakrooms (a Czech
normalcy at any event). The stage contained seating for an orchestra, an area
for a band and screens to project the performance when the lights dimmed. What followed was a two hour mixture of a Cliff Richard audience, Eurovision Song Contest orchestration, excellent session musicians in the band and the Czech equivalent of Chris de Burgh warbling meaningfully into a microphone as he nonchalantly strummed. The Moravian Phil gave their best using decent arrangements of his best-loved songs (it's on a new album, ya know) and also worked wonders supporting his Hey Jude and All You Need Is Love proving once-and-for-all some essential cool Beatleness credentials. The audience loved it! High culture it certainly wasn't, but it gave a gamey flavour of local middle-of-the-road music in these parts and it was very well done.
As if that wouldn't be enough to make Olomouc (and by extension the Czech Republic) as artistically vibrant as anyone would like, we also took in some contemporary dance. This. Was. Spectacular! The three female dancers used mostly upper body movements to convey depth of meaning and engaging vivacity. Kick-started by Andrea Miltnerová's astonishing Dance of the Magnetic Ballerina, the evening blew my socks off! Contemporary dance is often a set in a fairly tragic mode – lots of miserable people unhappily running about an empty stage without ne'er a sock or shoe in sight, but this was very different – and exciting! The first piece took the form of a series of Ms Milnerová's repeated arm movements modified and gradually exaggerated to a powerful repetitive soundtrack created by Jan Komarek. Dancing in a fluttery tu-tu surrounded by very skillful and sombre lighting (also by Jan Komarek), each precise movement became even more dramatic, of which you get only an inkling from the Youtube clip below.
Part of the Tanec Praha (Dance Prague) series of events, this event's second half featured two performances by Korean Howool Baek and Cypriot Lia Haraki. NOTHING for body, the first of these at first felt a little whimsical, an almost Disney-esque undersea journey with inching wormy fingers and fluttering fan-like hands, but the meaning became deeper as the performance extended. This is also embedded because it is too good not to share.
Finally, Lia Haraki's abstract Tune In was simply breathtaking. Her rhythmic and repetitive arm and hand movements brought unlimited gesture to the fore to brilliantly convey the unconscious. Beginning and ending with heartbeats in the dark, she unconventionally and intensely explored what it means to be human. As it said in the bumph, "dance without ego, body without thinking, experience without assessment."
Of all of these events, the last perfomance answered the question posed at the beginning of the post, just how free is 'free expression' in our new and glorious Česká republika? The answer is crystal clear – more free than we could have imagined: varied, exciting and excellent!
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