Artists: Alena Kotzmannová, Anna Hulačová, Basim Magdy, Dalibor Chatrný, Daniel Pitín, Dominik Lang, Dominika Dobiášová, Eva Koťátková, Ewa Partum, Igor Hosnedl, Ján Mančuška, Jan Šerých, Jaromír Novotný, Jirka Skála, Jiří Thýn, Josef Bolf, Klára Hosnedlová, Michaela Thelenová, Olga Karlíková, Selmeci Kocka Jusko, Tomáš Vaněk, Viktor Kopasz, Zbyněk Baladrán Title: A Whole Different Animal Curators: Laura Amann Marín, jen kratochvil Venue: hunt kastner, Prague
Photos: Jan Kolský
You know how you’re supposed to write your dreams down as soon as you wake up, or else you’ll forget them? Well, this is me doing that, because by now I’m not sure what really happened and what my cold-medication-fuelled mind made up. In my dream, aka yesterday, it’s finally the big day: HK’s long-awaited birthday party. I arrive a little late, already slightly tipsy, with a mix of emotions that hasn’t really left me since the pandemic: mild horror at the prospect of social anxiety and tedious small talk, and a tender, joyful anticipation of hugs, laughs, and deep conversations about this never-ending existential crisis we call the 21st century. I step into a damp and animated atmosphere, hang my hat – or maybe my whole head – on a nail, and choose which carnival mask to put on. Parties always make me feel like a court jester, and you never know which one you’ll get: the truth-teller, the joker, or the sad clown dealing out self-deprecating jokes like playing cards. Then I take a first peek into the room full of people and… decide to leave. i can’t do this now. outside. through the windows. i notice a bunch of gravity-defying plastic bags. american beauty all over again. except the wind. and kevin spacey not allowed anywhere anymore. Speaking of closeted gays and disgraced stars, I wonder what everyone is gossiping about these days as I watch them pretend to watch the art while mostly watching each other and… …and so the artist informs the politely listening crowd that their father’s advanced age leads to conversations about war and the end of the world as we know it at every single family gathering. “So how can one rejoice? How can one sing songs of love and happy days to come when gloomy gloom glooms through the rooms? Yet now,” continues the artist in their proclamation/confession, “perhaps more than ever, we have to understand that joy and desire have become practices of resistance and of protest.” I see some roll their eyes, others nod in agreement, the rest unsure whether the artist is being serious or cynical. Next to them, a yucca plant and an assortment of half-empty glasses, cups with lipstick marks, vases with fresh flowers, and all sorts of carafes, bottles, and decanters filled with colourful liquids has grown into a full-blown fantastical landscape. I make my way to the next room and, to my demise… i get stuck in a vortex of thoughts, flashbacks and the most peculiar imagery relating to times so far away in the past that i almost forget they actually once formed my reality. eh. drama queen/drugged fairy mode. neo and the oracle and trinity and and and. lost youth. or what. why did they ever even try to follow up on that. and here we are living through it, some strongly believe. batteries – excuse my language – my ass. candelight. festive. east and west unified. and in the next room, put aside again. in the most symbolical fashion imaginable. and across, the war which made us doubt who the empire and who the rebels are. is a map a territory? is a satellite a friend or foe or an invisible dragon spewing flames one should try to slay? the good old naive questions, from the good old simpler times. the cat wisely left the room. as they usually do. where do we go from here?… …upstairs, I guess. But first… let me catch my breath… or powder my nose. “Curiosity killed the cat”, I hear someone say. I make my way to the toilet; on the way I pass the kitchen and spot some strange gelatinous compositions. “If one had to decide which food is closest to poetry, it would have to be Sulz” my Austrian grandmother used to say – dense yet transparent at the same time. And what is it called in Czech? I forget. sulc. before eat pray love it used to be love space peace or was it salvation glory and honour? who knows, each era to its own. no matter how many years you count, it is always a fun time though. we grow younger each year anyway. parallel temporalities. and as in the bathroom mirror we praise emptiness. back in the office things again fully defy gravity, clouds and piles of silver and gold, up and down, rollercoaster across decades. all shined on through endless mirroring…
Okay, I’m getting a little dizzy here, need some fresh air. I manage to extricate myself from any in-depth exchange by shyly waving at various people in the room (or at least that’s what it looks like) and make my way out into the garden. Deep breath in, deep breath out – is that a mouse I just saw? I imagine a version of Pixar’s Ratatouille, but instead of rats it’s mice and instead of haute cuisine it’s contemporary art, and the mice do slow, awkward performances using traps as metaphors for something, snort coke in tiny bathrooms, and endlessly hustle to raise just enough cheese for their next project. Mon Dieu, Earth is calling! Žižkov, we have a problem! And suddenly I’ve arrived on a new planet: the garden shed/former storage or, as we say in the art world, the project room. voilà. the sun rises over a new world. or dawns. or. who knows. the sun being an architectural intervention (a sister to one downstairs), and a display solution for the show. animals and their collectors heading towards it, while the hay (or is it wheat?) field calmly rests motionless in changing winds meeting to form a tornado. all watched over by a boy and cat of loving grace, a counterpart to the girl with her dog reappearing on the walls downstairs. only a head of stone and countless weights hold us to the ground, anchor us to reality while flower petals take a diagonal exit towards the unknown universes way above our heads, our visions, our pay grades. uh la la. dots. leave it to dots. no polka needed, to calm one down. à demain. thank you. I look at my hands, left and right, almost as if to double-check if I am really there. or if i actually stole any tools or not. Somehow I was at the party, but for once I let myself be drawn from work to work instead of person to person. Let’s pretend it all was true.
