Restoring
Dignity
“I’m still looking for those journals today where I wrote: “You cow, they’ve turned you into a restorer. You dumb fool.” And that was how my craft was launched, and in the mean time I was always, like, limping over to the other side and…”
In a sense, although I did not seek it out as the culmination of an artistic career, I was interested in what it meant for many graduates to work as restorers. In connection with this, I gave a lecture at UMPRUM (Academy of Arts, Architecture and Design in Prague) in the context of the "Feminism in Art" cycle. By the coincidence of these circumstances, I looked at the AVU graduates' experience through the prism of feminism, and I found what was, for me, a very surprising and supportive structure of how to perceive restoration in relation to dignity and, consequently, in relation to subordinating one’s essence to patriarchal cultural heritage. To accept restoration work as a source of income was, and is, a very common way to remain in the art sphere, if there is no other opportunity to support oneself with activities associated with one’s own free creation. I wrote the essay for this lecture as the essence of the 50 interviews made for this study.
1 Například francouzština je v tomto ohledu výmluvná: kulturní dědictví je francouzsky patrimoine.
2 Esej je přílohou této práce.
In the 1970s and 1980s it was common for AVU graduates in art to could earn money as restorers. Painters restored historical paintings, sculptors restored statues. These historical artworks were owned by the state, and the work was performed throughout the Czech Republic. The Union of Fine Artists, whose committee was prosaically headquartered in the Manes Gallery building, assigned work to fine arts artists and did not require any justification. It seems that the practical skills of artists were thus deliberately used to employ art school graduates in some way. On the one hand, this made it possible for them to earn a living, on the other hand, the intensity of work over a period of a few months completely pulled them from their own context, especially if it was necessary to relocate somewhere for the duration of the work.
3 Absolventi, se kterými jsem dělala rozhovor, byli ve velké míře činní jako autoři vlastních
architektonických děl a
velkou měrou byli také zaměstnávání jako restaurátoři historických uměleckých děl. V pozdějších generacích bylo
častější
pracovat jako malíři kulis pro film nebo počítačoví grafici (90. léta). Od let nultých do současnosti je
nejčastějším
výdělečným zaměstnáním pedagogická práce v uměleckém školství.
4 Libuše Moníková. Fasáda:M.N.O.P.Q. [Die Fassade]. Překlad Jana Zoubková. Praha: Argo 2004.
This seemingly related field controlled, paralyzed and pacified many potential artists.
As a restorer, a person could apply all practical technological skills, which, however, made it necessary to suppress their own personality and invention. One graduate who alternates periods of restoration work and working on her own works in life, describes it like this:
“Well, the time flies by terribly fast now, and a person no longer has as much strength. When I was young, I always came back, always I came back. But just recently it happened to me, and this is strictly just between us, I got into a situation where I just couldn’t get unstuck, yeah. I just can’t. Before I just simply got myself together, within ten to fourteen days, and started doing something. But now, no matter what I do, I just have …. (2) this absolute feeling …. (5). For one thing, I don’t feel it’s important (very quietly), so, I just don’t know, it just doesn’t work. There isn’t enough strength. It all just takes a lot of strength. It seems like it’s no work at all, that it’s more like fun, but that’s not how it is, you need a certain strength, and before, I never experienced it the way I do now, now when I have a feeling of an absolute loss of my powers. A certain breaking point comes along, and I’m expecting that it’ll pass with the beginning of spring, but …, but it’s just a very unpleasant feeling.”
5 Absolventka popisuje, jak obtížně se vrací ke své umělecké práci po delším období restaurátorské
praxe. Některá období v
roce jen restaurovala a často se tak dělo mimo domov. Musela se za prací přestěhovat. Po návratu domů měla opět
například několik měsíců čas na svoji uměleckou práci,
ale potíž byla v tom, že bylo obtížné se k ní vrátit.
It is therefore obvious that if it is necessary to suppress something within yourself repeatedly for a long time, it will affect your self-confidence. Restoration is a very passive service to the cultural heritage, and in general, it paralyzes an otherwise free-minded spirit. From a feminist point of view, this institutional subjection of only some qualities of a person, and demanding complete submission, has insidious consequences.
I am interested in how to break down the phenomenon of restoring dignity to make it comprehensible.
I perceive it on several levels as a theme that is personal, artistic, craft-oriented and social.
| PERSONAL |
ARTISTIC |
CRAFT |
SOCIAL |
Serving what I admire, what is close to my heart.
Discretion.
Intimacy.
Relatable subjects.
Familiar environment.
Non-alienated work.
Paid work.
Restoring dignity
from unrecognized
qualities to recognized qualities
Skills separated from inventiveness.
Resignation.
|
Uznávané
Acknowledged.
Artistically superior.
First rate.
Selected for restoration.
Unassailable.
Created exclusively by men.
|
Dovednosti technologie a řemesla dané k dispozici.
Skills technologies and crafts made available.
Knowledge of material, even from the perspective of the history of art.
Suppression of authorship.
Revitalization of the work.
Collective work.
Guild.
|
Cultural riches.
Own history.
Patrimoine – Paternal Heritage.
Inclusive. You are a part of it.
Impersonal.
Subornation.
A higher purpose.
Revitalization of something that would otherwise disappear.
Restoring the dignity of the nation.
What will be preserved and what will not.
You’re helping to create history. That which will remain.
|
On a personal level, it is basically about the treatment of psychological injury, as a method of healing, which aims to rehabilitate a person with a healthy sense of self-confidence. A graduate of free art leaves a school with an extremely individualistic approach to creation, making that person vulnerable if there is no interest in his or her work. Working as a restorer dampens this individualism and leads to transformation into the position of more of a guild artist, as we know these from the past. This involves switching to another type of existence as an artist. For some, this position is liberating, and sufficient, while for others it is constricting with the feeling of resignation. This opens another theme, which is: Resignation through restoration.
6 V praxi psychologické péče je tento jev odborně nazýván intrapsychická ztráta ,anglicky intrapsychic
loss. Tedy stav, ve
kterém osoba trpí psychickým zraněním, jehož příčinu přisuzuje svojí nedokonalosti. Obviňuje tak sama sebe,
pociťuje
stud, a proto o svém trápení zpravidla nechce otevřeně mluvit. Nevyhledá tak ani pomoc. Jde tedy o dlouhodobou
újmu.
What I would therefore like to highlight is the positive effect on a person who, after graduating in fine art, begins working as a full-fledged restorer (working on restorations). This relates both to the title of this chapter – “Restoration of Dignity”, and the phenomenon of the so-called “Second Act”.
Of the 50 graduated artists surveyed and visited by me, there are four who view their change of career as fundamentally a success, and a very good resolution. Since it was not apparent whether it would be possible to make a living with fine art in their “post-school” period, and whether it made sense to even try, if offers for exhibitions and acquisitions were not coming in, the opportunity to restore presented itself as an interesting new discipline that carried with it a certain prestige.
Graduates thus simultaneously worked on the rehabilitation of their personalities, which had been somewhat broken by a sense of failure in the art world. Whether they strongly felt the need to suppress their own creativity and entirely subordinate themselves to the work being restored (a frequent phenomenon, though only for women), or whether they reflected on the fact that the art they were restoring was usually never created by women, while women were usually the ones performing the restoration (a fact considered by just one respondent), then the fact that they were viewed as experts and received commensurate pay gave them a feeling of being special. Here is where I see the reason why many of them stuck with restoring and thus achieved a level of respect in the environment in which they moved.
In later generations, when graduates worked as film set designers, graphic designers or art teachers, this second profession no longer carried such weight, and did not have that kind of effect and influence on their personal feeling of dignity.
The title of this book references the fact that restoration work opens many questions relating to the integrity of the personality of someone who studied fine art. On the one hand it is viewed positively and on the other as a concession, or compromise, or even the result of a painful resignation. The artist in question then works concurrently on the repair and recreation of a whole when working on a historic artwork, but along with this, he or she continuously demolishes and reconstructs his or her feeling of dignity. As one graduate described in an interview:
A painter is, actually, always painting, even when he or she isn’t painting. So, from this, one can infer how a painter ends up. Only a foolish person who somehow ekes out a living this way has won out, because from time to time a job comes along. And he takes it ... me, I'm not able to create anything “to order” anymore. And for me it’s unpleasant to encounter this person... (3) To talk about it... (3). Restoration work is somehow kinder. Someone brings a painting that’s been torn, or on which the paint is cracking. It’s almost like being a doctor, you know? I help that painting.
Restoring makes me who I am. Along, of course, with a certain responsibility and care, which was hammered into our generation. You can’t fudge restoration work – it’s simply a harpy that totally drains a person. That relentless vampire, the obligation to the craft, that just completely wrecks a person. I never hid the fact that I don’t enjoy it and that I only do it because I must do it to make a living.
As an example of how I attempted to open this subject, I would like to describe in more detail one part of the research exhibition Vůbec mně nezajímaly výstavy/I Haven’t Been Interested in Exhibitions at All. I assumed that it would not be appropriate to ask questions that would be overly suggestive in the interviews with the graduates, which might attest what is already an established opinion. Therefore, I did not directly ask about the influence of one’s original education and direction – the influence of an artist’s education on working as a restorer, but I did want to induce a situation in which I could potentially bring unarticulated feelings to the surface. I asked four women and five men to take me directly to a site where they were restoring a work. All of them viewed themselves as full-fledged restorers. Their own personal artistic ambitions had been sublimated. Up to that time, I’d only had one interview with each of them in accordance with the BNIM rules at a location they themselves designated. In one case, this was in a functioning restoration studio, otherwise it was usually a living room, and in two cases a room furnished as an occasional studio. This means that there was an easel with an already finished painting on it, more as an aesthetic accessory. At that time, I had requested to visit a site where I knew the person in question was in the process of restoring.
I suggested that they could choose the specific restoration work we would visit themselves. Three male artists eventually agreed to the proposal. The places we visited were in one case a small chapel, a studio in which we had a lunette in front of us – a canvas on a frame, taken from a house, and the recently discovered Chapel of St. Wenceslas, which the artist in question had entirely restored years ago.
Upon arriving at the sites, I would request, without any kind of preamble, if they could put themselves into the situation of when they had been actively restoring the specific work, and for a while just “pantomime” their work process. I’d already had the previous experience that just talking about something compared to actually doing something, and thereby evoking memories through movement and the body’s own memory, are two markedly differing approaches.
One of the artists I approached found my request laughable, but in the end agreed to try it. Another one I asked to do it started several times, but kept slipping into just talking and using his hands to illustrate what he was talking about. It seemed that he primarily wanted to communicate information on what the work entailed. But I requested that he work as he had originally, to reproduce the scene, being as faithful to how it had been at the time as possible. The final participant in this performance found it very difficult to begin, while only imagining using the tools and implements. In the beginning, we had to spend some time to establish the specific situations. I asked therefore, what tools he used, and where he has these tools prepared. We both imagined this. He spread out around himself on the side tables the canvas stretching pliers canvas, blind frame rivet pliers, a swatch of painter’s canvas, scissors, water-based paints, a rag, a sponge, various brushes, etc. Once everything had been prepared in our joint imagining, he could begin working.
I myself had no idea at the start how the situation would develop, having no previous experience with this approach. I was attracted by the idea of injecting something tentative, unexplored, playful, artistic into what was otherwise a rigid, professional activity. We were, you see, shooting a video together. In two cases I would say that this experience had a strong effect on the artist himself, and it was not necessary for me to defend my plan in any way. It was clearly an emotionally powerful moment. Besides the fact that the artists in question were proud of their restoration work, here and now they were experiencing a situation similar to how it was before, but different after all. This difference was the artistic component, the fact that I asked them for cooperation aimed at creating a work of art. I was interested in finding out how they would act, to what extent they would be able to call up within themselves that what makes them exceptional, makes them the ones capable of working with imagination and absurdity, to try something in the first camera take that they had not rehearsed beforehand. That is, all the things they could not take the liberty of doing as restorers.
With one of the artists I engaged with, I got the feeling that he had a “no time to play around” attitude, that he considered this specific restoration work so important that there was no room for anything other than a strictly professional approach. It is also true that he was the only one able to articulate his thinking and considerations, and at the same time, he is, even today, a highly-respected restorer of architectural monuments, fully pursuing his second career.
Resignation Through Restoration
An audio recording in headphones. The fundamental motif of the audio-text is the consideration: with the passage of time and subjection to outside pressures, many graduates of the fine art studio gradually became restorers – what effect did restoring have on their ambition to build a stable position and achieve recognition for themselves as fine artists. The recording is as follows:
The way my life is inscribed in the role of artist.
I was never sure whether my education was giving me something or, rather, taking something away.
I was encouraged to create my own personal view of the world. This world of ours is accepted by most people as something that is a given, but I got used to interpreting it. Everything is important to me and I read all things as codes. I created a dictionary of the visual language. And yet – I’m not happy with anything I create, I’m just grateful that I can devote myself to it.
To create the future and define it.
Art is supposed to inspire and change things for the better, but it binds the artists themselves. The art is to point out problems in society, but nobody wants to see the fact that it is a problem in itself.
Creativity is also a cultural construct; there are no words to talk about something we are exceptional at.
Someone just asked me: what makes me work, and what did school give to my life?
How am I supposed to answer that?
After finishing school, harsh reality hit, and I also went through many years of starvation. My relationships fell apart, everything began to slowly collapse and lose meaning. Nobody in this society cared for my capabilities. And imagination was only for children. I saw around me, how hopeless it is, because nobody can imagine anything, let alone imagine a political change to something new, something that just hasn’t existed here yet. No courage. Mainly I was to take no risks of losing what I had. That just couldn’t satiate me, I’d rather die. That was the worst period of my life.
It was looking like I’d turn my back on art. I had stopped being interested in exhibiting long ago, anyway – at least under the prevailing conditions. Every show just made me poorer. And standing by, just watching as the number of people coming to these shows, and for whom they really meant something, dwindle, just devastated me. What’s more, it was hurting art itself, the fact it was losing engaged viewers. It was not developing. It stagnated. As if it was not possible to overcome the stereotype where artistic thought can only exist materialized in the form of sculptures and paintings in galleries. It is absurd to study with the idea that exhibitions mean success.
Five years after school, I was done with art. I stopped going to exhibitions and stopped reading about them.
Everything started like this… me and the classmates from my graduation year decided to put on an exhibition at Atrium in Žižkov.
I took charge of trying to get a grant from the city district to rent a gallery. This I managed to do about two months before the planned opening. After some time, we all let each other know we’d meet up to install. Out of ten of us, three of us eventually ended up installing works. Two Pragers including me and a classmate from Písek. Within a week and running behind schedule, we brought in everything that what was still missing. It cannot be said that the gallery was just waiting for someone to put up a new exhibition, and after not having exhibited for three years, it even seemed more magical to me completely empty. I imagined how invisible workers worked on everything. Electricity, sockets, and that row of sockets above the door frame, how they had probably thought about it at the time. The terrazzo floor and plasterboard wall, which created a strange detail as it met the floor. Did it surprise anyone back then? Did they meet to discuss it?
We installed for three days, which was maybe too long, because we got hung up on something we didn’t know how to resolve. Should we install in the places where the wall was not entirely continuous, or not? We had more than we needed to cover the nice areas. For two days, there was peace before the opening. Then I came to the gallery and found my pictures had been re-hung, and no one had even called me…………… They were hung in an odd cascade above each other, to create a background for a sandstone on a plinth they’d delivered in the morning on the day of the opening…………. I probably could have discussed it further there somehow, but the opening was in half an hour and this had drained all my enthusiasm and strength. I packed up my paintings and left the gallery space as such…. if not forever, then at least for a very long time.
I vanished for everyone and, in a way, it was a relief for me.
But what now…
I didn’t paint, and it seemed to me that it was these painted frames that just begged to be hung in galleries and that they were responsible for my disenchantment. I decided not to make any more. I was not the kind of person that would become embittered and fell into complaining about some injustice.
I began thinking about what was left to a person when they stopped painting.
I was expected to interpret the world … to create … to work with my imagination. So many beautiful and noble resolutions. These raised great expectations in me. That was a beautiful time, when I think back to it now, forty years later. I saw it differently back then. It was the only thing I knew how to do, I couldn’t even apply to another school. I was so determined in the beginning, I would be constantly drawing, drinking beer and eating nothing. The people around me had to keep me in check.
And then this work – the restoring – that was made-up concept… a hybrid style, to employ us somehow. There were too many of us with fine art diplomas. A blind alley, a maneuver to distract attention from the fact that society will not be counting on artistic thinking in the future.
In the end, I started restoring, just like the others. To vigorously keep old art alive. It was hard work, a complete martyrdom. Endless scratching … retouching ….
I then heard from colleagues that Slánský eventually admitted that even works of art should have a chance to die, anyway. That was the irony of fate.
In the beginning, I resisted as much as I could, taking it as a necessary evil, but after some time I got used to it, and in the end, it even gave me pleasure. Only I could intervene in such an important work, I felt privileged. I could even change it, modify it. Finding underpaintings and deciding which layer to reveal, to preserve.
We would step back, not only to check the whole, but also to remind ourselves that we were here with this extraordinary painting. With something that we thought morally outweighed us, and so it was desirable to suffer a little of the laborers’ work.
We practically rid those works of their past. That was the principle. If there had been no demand, none of us would have thought of approaching and reviving these works. But you couldn’t think of it like that … I worked like a robot. My brain shut down completely. We were overwhelmed with work, we were practically always up on the scaffolding.
After the first restoration, there is no way back. Every new decade it is necessary to restore anew, because neither the patina nor the aging are authentic anymore. Restoration takes place more frequently and at shorter intervals. Nobody will have the chance to immerse themselves in a work anymore and comprehend it, its unique atmosphere is gone. It’s the same as retouching models in the media. A fight against time.
For us, time runs slowly. It is often difficult to imagine the end of a job. Sometimes I spend the whole day on one square centimeter. We work from morning to night, every day, a month at a time.
And in addition to that … those buildings and facades are moving, they did not used to grout with such hard mortar so everywhere there was free play, flexibility … that’s something that fascinated me – how everything worked differently before. When I worked on things, I was amazed how meticulously everything was done. How the craftsmen did it with pleasure, putting their all into it. They believed in their work.
Trained restorers despised us in the beginning, because we were taking their jobs and, what’s more, we were better at it than they were. We didn’t follow rules, but rather our intuition. Then it broke, because the committee at Mánes began to be controlled by restorers, and they pushed the artists out. They began sending us out to Moravia and all the places they themselves did not want to go. That practically meant moving to Moravia for three years, for example. It was absurd but, in the end, it didn’t matter to me, there was nothing keeping me in Prague.
Sometimes I say to myself, what is it I’m actually restoring – history, frescoes, or maybe even my own dignity…?