Tag Archives: reflection

Do you speak ‘Twitter’ ?

What can I say? Blogging is a privilege, but blogging is also a luxury, which few can afford. Blogging means ‘time’ and a ‘longer meaningful statement’ – both goods more pricey than pure gold.

Few years ago, thousands of those caught in the Web for good were thrilled by this very opportunity – to be one’s own publisher and editor. Dozens of hospitable platforms hosted amateur and serious writers, journalists, thinkers who quickly found ingenious devices to gain more and more public, and to make their online hobby profitable or even – a sort of a permanent occupation.

Blogging-world has been, right from its birth, a faithful reflection of the market as it evolves everyday – it’s got its ‘celebrities’ and ‘niche’ authors, its outstanding examples of intellectual ballet and creativity, as well as the pools of pure spam. Blogging has changed the way humans think and express their everyday experience. Blogging was and is all about the challenge, beauty, mystery, wonder, torment and curiosity of living ‘here and now’.

Then something even more groundbreaking has occurred. Social networking services like “Facebook’ (FB) and recently “Twitter” failed to become, as their critics predicted, online hangout places for teens with lots of strong language and weak sense of any significance whatsoever… If any of us has ever dreamed about the supernatural power to know the thoughts of people as they spark – here it goes… Take “Twitter” – one can easily follow a scientist from Washington, a politician from Warsaw, a journalist from London, an unknown brilliant x from y who brights up a day by his ideas… One is able to share all the worthy, meaningful bits and pieces of one’s online and offline experience as it goes with friends and strangers. And this very common, hyper-democratic spirit and habit of free-sharing of one’s humanity – thoughts, emotions, beliefs, tastes, choices is possibly the most important, most positive and amazing aspect of this comparatively new Web development.

Generally, one could write essays and books about these phenomena (and many do). As a member of an art-world I’m simply overwhelmed and enchanted by their potential, especially when considering theoretical and practical benefits that art and artists may gain. If art is all about communication, about projecting our humanity – what happens online now is like a new, never-seen language in making – fractured, grass-rooted, highly experimental code of communication that a man of 21st century chooses to express himself in.

Does contemporary art speak this very language, does it follow closely enough? Or maybe – IT IS the thing per se – from time to time I cannot escape the impression, that by making my own mind a public venue, by contemplating the same condition from a distance thanks to others generosity – I take a part in a deeply artistic experience. What’s the difference after all, for a contemporary of Rembrandt to see his/her world reflected and transformed in his canvases to a point of alchemical strangeness, and – for us right now – to experience the same when literally – ‘reading minds’ of ‘real’ people in a virtual realm; the effect is the same – uncanny illumination of one’s own power and futility – the essence of all art.

Land that plane on Hudson…(Whilt 13)

Peter Bruegel, Landschaft mit dem Sturz des Ikarus, c. 1560, oil on canvas

(The work of art depicted in this image and the reproduction thereof are in the public domain worldwide. The reproduction is part of a collection of reproductions compiled by The Yorck Project.)


I hope it will leak to the everyday language as a form of a proverb/saying, just the way : “Cross your Rubicon” is…

“Land that plane on Hudson…” – would mean – do attempt nearly impossible, and not merely ‘attempt’, but do this in the best possible way; and do this now, each minute counts …

As many of you, I’ve been following the crush landing on Hudson river (from 15th Jan. 2009) with the growing amazement. What emerged as a perfect ‘news’ story of a drama, heroism and ‘happy ending’ (bet – the movie-makers already have the scripts of a blockbuster ready in their heads) continues to stupefy and will keep, I guess, in years to come. In our neurotically disintegrated reality of conflicting meanings and shaky values – a man in charge does just the right thing in just the right way – something that keeps us open-mouthed would be called merely ‘a routine fulfillment of duty’ a hundred years ago.

And I cannot help marveling at the sheer beauty of that landing (now available online from all major broadcasters) – the art of flying, the art in itself embodied – just the only way it was meant to be in technical terms, but it comes very close to the sublime quality,  considering all the circumstances (just imagine – that so simply- looking, smooth, controlled, successful dive is still regarded as nearly impossible to achieve by experts)…

Looking at that comparatively small, white ‘bird’ falling off the sky so beautifully and dramatically, with the world ‘watching’ around helplessly – I thought about the Icarus’s poignant story – a boy, who wanted to be closer to the sun, and fell of the sky in the waters – no one has ever paid any attention (as Breugel’s great vision form above captures it; just try to find Icarus…), just as it remains mostly unshaken by one or another dreamer being crushed to death (social, cultural, personal, economical, actual defeat) due his/her daring pursue to get closer to the sun…

Yet, it’s all worth to try – and to try in the best possible way, there is – as Capt. Sullensberger’s example shows…

And this is what I have learned today (Whilt)…


Art is no more… (Whilt 12)

Art is no more. It doesn’t matter any more. Few decades from now on, without any new input of any new visual expression would do us all great. We are all over-loaded, the world is over-saturated with pictures.

Conservators and museums do their best, and in 2500 the human race still marvels over Massacio, enjoys Matisse, gets confused wrinkles over ‘Mr. Important Conceptualist’.

In 4500 the most sophisticated communication between the members of the population flows in a continuous river of the perfectly balanced impulses from the brain-installed implants. No dream-catchers are needed, no thoughts brokers and emotions dealers allowed. Experience of living is a powerful, never-ending climax of meaning, yet no need/desire to use any kind of the ‘conventional’ language ever reaches that multiverse of sense and beauty.

I’m having now two simultaneous streams of images/concepts going through my head; one is obsessively evolving around the contemporary paintings I saw recently and the theory of art I have studied; the other flashes with a vivid recollection of Gaza war chaos and drama, some great death-escapes (as a heroic pilot lands the broken plane safely on the water), some very ordinary challenges of the everyday existence. And these two worlds seem to form two different orbits – visible for each other, yet never really meeting or interacting…

I would say, in theory it’s getting closer, in practice – you see art today, you think about your work, and you have that overwhelming feeling – the real stuff happens elsewhere.  Art in general, my art (in particular) is like a granny trying to break in a wild horse, its language and politics – no matter how ‘contemporary’ – are not exactly there yet, pretentious and impotent… And ‘yet’ is a key-world here. Since why to bother with all that after all… art is the null, but it’s got that privilege of being the ‘great null’. Its DNA is that of the Black Holes of the Universe – it compares to nothing from the world you know as a common bread-eater. By its superior genetics art is the space of a transformation and becoming, it can transform into its own antithesis…

And that is my lesson for today… Night, night…


Review of the week… (1)

What kind of work will be bought in 2018 ?
Happy Christmas, dear Art Club Members and Art Club Caucasus Readers ! I wish you some nice days with your family and friends, enjoy your time, relax from the “quite difficult” but still very good 2008.
Here is a question to you to think about, if you are in the mood for that:
What kind of art will be bought in 10 years from now ? Will it still be paintings, prints and drawings, or something else ?
Will it be digital media, video ? Will it be just an USB Stick with a work ?

Think, that the future collectors generation now growing up, look often to painting as some kitschy old fashioned thing, almost ridiculous and stoffy.

Will there be huge flat screens in houses, (on the places where now the huge paintings are), where are our works digitally displayed ?

Will it even be so, that collectors buy a whole blog like this, lets say for 250.000 USD ? But who should get the money then ? We share it proportional to the amounts of posts each of us did ;-))

But how to buy a blog ??

It’s very easy, 1st we take the money, 2nd with 2 clicks we make the buyer the Admin of this blog 😉
Will it be, that collectors rent artists for a certain contract/project ?

Will big media companies like Google pay groups of artists, just to play around and develop new visual concepts ?

We must invent the future by thinking it. We must prepare to the changing world around us and influence the changes itself.

Best regards, Hans
Today’s post by Hans Heiner has been re-printed from The Art Club Caucasus (you can find the original here) as it launches my new series – Review of the week.
I think that we – private online ‘publishers’ should support each other by links, comments and lending a bit of our own space to promote work by other bloggers and artists. Quite often one can find excellent, inspirational articles on the web, much better than those in the ‘proper’ papers – which are read by a handful of friends and accidental visitors only. Let our thoughts and works circulate in the web-space, let them be seen and appreciated as they deserve to be.
My reviews will display the original texts/images, with the appropriate links and credits given to the  authors.
Though the posts are meant to publicize the quality material and to serve the writers/authors, they can be removed at any time, if the original publishers wish it.
Katarzyna Skonieczna

Studying Art – Diary (12)

There is never enough of them – do you know this feeling? Books. Books. Books. You would spent your life in the libraries and your savings on purchasing yet another title with a delight, that an art collector enriches his ‘stable’ with yet another beautiful, desirable piece of an artwork. It usually starts very early in a childhood – once being firmly and passionately ‘hooked’, one can sense it over time, that there is hardly any w07ay/chance of escaping (and rarely one is attempting it either) from this quite unique, vast world of words, stories, concepts, titles, authors.

I remember time of a pure addiction when I had to have my room filled in tightly with the piles of books and I would never read one at the time, but four or five of different titles enjoying the interweaving of the themes, stories and styles the way the cocktails aficionado marvels at the minute transformations in taste/smell/colour of a drink once the one or another ingredient contributing takes over the rest. But there was also a rebellion time when all the questioning of the written word (or ‘word’ at all), its sense and purpose took place – I believed that one casual conversation is worth more than a dozen of invented stories. That was obviously a passion-boosting fight between two lovers and quite quickly I found myself simply unable to keep my hands of the printed pages and my mind of that very strong, existential need to devour their contents feverishly and with a wild enjoyment.

What is more important in terms of a self-discovery and my artistic research  is that I’m becoming increasingly aware of a strong link between my condition of being a still-born writer (or – never truly born yet, from different reasons) and my ambition of pursuing an artist’s path. It seems that I’m trying to approach and master that beloved universe of the human spirit – described, analyzed, transformed, invented anew and ‘written down’ in all the books I read (and tried to write in vain) from another – the visual aids-based angle. In this sense I share that struggle with many other artists/painters, who chose (or have been destined to) the liminal/boundary and cross-disciplinary spaces to function and work in, rather than to focus mainly/predominantly on the purely aesthetic, fine-art based exploration and display.

When I look at paints/art materials I see ideas to be embodied, when I listen to my work on its way of a development and a metamorphosis I sense its intense desire to become, to come to existence, to get the ‘face’ and a very distinctive, believable story – just the way, the would-be characters of my fiction have had… “Give birth to me”! “Help me to be!” – they would haunt me in a sweetly-sour manner, the same is true to my paintings now… the blessed curse, the cursed blessing of the life-giver, a creator – to be a midwife, a womb, a medium and to be entirely and for ever responsible for what has been helped to happen…


Words, Words, Words… Whilt (4)

This chat would my favourite of all for a long time…

– What do you read my Lord? (Polonius)
– Words, Words, Words (Hamlet)
– But what is the matter? (Polonius)
– Between who? (Hamlet)

Being in my teens I would tease my partners in a conversation – ‘words, words, words’ – this is all, what we are saying, we are – in  a fact – making noise using them, they are meaningless… They would look at me like being slapped in the face – they were never ready to accept the provocation and to start to play – but who was to blame, after all? We were and we are being brought up taking the profound purposefulness and logicality of the language perfectly for granted, we talk to communicate – don’t we – why we would bother, otherwise?

But what the Prince it trying to express ? – why does he refuse to make a ‘proper’ dialogue and answer the question as he was expected to do? Most probably, for the same reason he says (after being named a ‘son’ by the murderer of his father): “A more than a kin, and less than kind” referring to Claudius, who – being a stepfather and an uncle is double-related to him, yet – not really his kin or ‘kind’ – words always denote common understanding – hearing ‘uncle’ we are programmed to think ‘kin’, ‘family’ – But, does our understanding of a term really goes with the actual meaning/sense of it that Hamlet could have had, after meeting his father’s ghost? Hamlet knows from his tragic experience, than ‘words’ are only ‘words’ – they are being used like a knife – in a double-sided way – to cut the bread and to kill; their power – both positive and negative – comes from their powerlessness, for their notorious and deep inadequacy to signify the true essence of things continuously agitates the human mind…

Yesterday I bought an ambitious Irish daily newspaper, I tried to find an article, a story, anything worth my time and money – I searched in vain… Words, words, words – ladies and gentlemen… But it could have been worse – they could have  filled in the entire edition with images – equally pseudo-important… Thankfully, the image doesn’t bore, lie and/or deceive that easily, not yet…



To avoid any misunderstanding – I don’t regard bombarding cities in Gaza Strip as a story ‘not worthy’ my time (or money); but one cannot praise the news givers for ‘providing’ the news in themselves, for the human tragedies/attrocities as well as great events  just are and happen, regardless of our ability to grasp them and to convey in a meaningful way… But I do mind multiplying publicly expressesed ‘opinions’, ‘reviews’ etc. which add nothing to the phenomena in themselves, except maybe the authors names and the confusion of all that wishy-washy patronizing talk…

Studying Art (11) – Studio Work or Chaos…

Please note:

Photos presented feature the below-mentioned efforts in my studio from September-December 2008. For my statement, concept, more images/descriptions – please visit “My Work” and my Flickr page.

It had started during the summer months – a sort of a rather noxious fermentation darkening slowly over time. On coming back to the college in September it has been intensified to an explosive degree 04by some rather complex personal troubles – one small trigger has freed all the anger, doubt, confusion and a sorrow. And I launched this academic year in a rather audacious manner (my big sorry to all of you there), by sending a clear message to my tutors and my friends: Do keep away.

Then I took off with a ceaseless frenzy of attacking my studio and corridor walls with a flood of images and all sorts of artifacts I managed to drag on a spot. Paint (oil) was used merely as an excuse to stick even more random pieces on it. And I took a pleasure in questioning and destroying all the artistic attempts I regarded as ‘successful’ to some extent, mocking and wasting away my ‘capital’ I managed to gain through the last year of study. To my surprise – the more anarchistic battles I provoked with art and with my surroundings, the more rudely I attempted to annihilate the commonly-accepted boundaries – the less and less opposition I felt, and more and more excited, positive response I got.05

Some of my viewers refused to stay at bay, where I put them, and I heard “Rauschenberg”, “DaDa”, “extravagance” – I shrugged my arms – So what? That my work was similar to that of one of the artistic idols (actually, I adore Rauschenberg’s myself) was of the least importance to me at that time – I was trying hard to make sense of the world around, of my entire life; and there was something really sad about that, that what my great audience had read as an exciting, artistic effort was, in a fact – a confused expression of a personal despair.

It took me weeks to gain some theoretical, sensible insight into my activities – and it all,  luckily for me, has ended in a self-assurance. Thanks to my background – the classical education and still respected values it proved to be impossible for me to ‘lose my mind’ – even if I would have made a lucid decision to do so (for a 06self-protection); so – there was always a clear method in that  ‘madness’, and even from the longest, the most scary and lonely spiritual journey I made I was able to come back on my own – stronger and smarter than before, or so I choose to think…

Though, it all would be much more difficult to achieve without the loyal, so understanding and wise support of my friends – manifested in various ways (so, do accept my gratitude, all of you, who know, what I’m writing here about – I’m indebted to your noble patience and the above-average openness of mind…) By the way , I must make this point – for an artist, especially the beginner or the one in a crisis – there can be nothing more precious and desirable than the intelligent audience ready to take on and even – to acclaim – all sorts of oddities, provocations, anti-art behaviours and silly games, the individual is pervertedly happy to display…

Those were truly stimulating months – and even if there were things I regret now and wouldn’t do having a chance to move the clock back – in general, I would have been disappointed with myself choosing any easier option. Through struggle and a passionate building up of a negative language I’ve reached to some of the ideas and ways of expression, which are well able to nourish my studies for some time. And the work that finally emerged showed me the art once again – in its most universal and glorious epitome – as a primordial force able to initiate, control and tame chaos of the both – the physical and the inner reality…


Studying Art (10)- The Crisis

Crisis (Oxford Dictionary 2008):

a time of intense difficulty, trouble, or danger : the current economic crisis | a family in crisis
• a time when a difficult or important decision must be made : [as adj. ] a crisis point of history.
• the turning point of a disease when an important change takes place, indicating either recovery or death.
• the point in a play or story when a crucial conflict takes place, determining the outcome of the plot.


critical point, turning point, crossroads, watershed, head, moment of truth, zero hour, point of no return, Rubicon, doomsday

Well – you have it all considering the definition alone – you are in a trouble, yet – it’s a fertile ground, even though it may look like a disaster-in-happening. But – in a crisis, in this alter ego of any serious artist – there is always something redeeming… You have your Rubicon to cross – the dice to be thrown, a pathway to be chosen, a truth to be faced/accepted/rejected… New life – out of chaos is to be conceived… It’s a powerful element, which forms/displays the true character of humans; the only time when even ancient, sanctified delusions of ours can be annihilated… Though it may be confusing and/or painful like hell, you’re much better off accepting your struggle the way your child accepts the everyday piece of bread from you – something as natural as the life itself. But don’t be fooled by this apparent heroism of mine… If I had to point out the mistakes I’ve made during the last few months… well, here it goes:  self-indulgence to a point of a narcissism, self-avoidance, lack of a self-imposed, healthy discipline, letting the personal to overwhelm and to command the work, excessive expression, pretense and so on, and so on…

What else? Maybe only this, that it seems to be the tabu-word in today’s career/success-orientated world… the ‘crisis’ – say it out loud in our Western, Anglo-Saxon ‘winners’ ‘club’ –  and you’ll meet with a disapprobation, a distrust, at best – with a pity. It’s OK to weep publicly over the drama of a world-wide recession, yet – to admit – my private recession is not less acute – that would be reckless – just like to plant explosives on your own threshold… O c’mon people – fellow artists – the aristocrats of the spirit… being noble doesn’t necessary mean being flawless…But to say – out loud and out of honesty – ‘I’m just a pretentious, little bastard/ I lost my way/ I have nothing to say/I’m doing this cos I still believe in this exotic, dying flower – the integrity of an artist…’ and so on – that sounds right in the right, critical time, doesn’t it? There is something in the air nowadays that silence the great, the exceptional, the above-average; a man is more afraid of his lightness than his shadows… He is afraid of his own innate nobility, greatness, genius… it looks like the democratic system in its full swing discourages the truthful expression of an individuality the way the communists regimes were designed to do.

Well, it becomes incoherent a bit – I’ll better finish this strange post, the post of a crisis… But – you there – don’t you be afraid to think the nonsense… Was it Wittgenstein who wrote, that if we were too scared to proclaim nonsense, nothing smart would had ever been said?…

The Art of Deception




I’m strangely attached to those photos I’ve made few weeks ago in a one gorgeous day when traveling by a train from an island when I live to the ‘mainland’ (frankly speaking – what a silly idea, to connect an amazingly wild part of an island with the rest of the land by … the railway; you can see the steel construction cutting up the waters of the harbour in half…)

They display clearly what an art of deception may be – what you are most likely to spot immediately in those images is the reflection of a view from an opposite window (which is, obviously, not visible there), the actual view being seen and photographed is either too evident or too blurry (as in a case of the last photo) to catch our eye and attention.

My intuition for today is that the art of deception understood in the above-mentioned way is probably the Art per se. Because what the Art is suppose to ‘show’ is that ‘something’ and ‘everything’ that tends to remain invisible and unaccessible in an immediate contact. That art projects what is the most important onto that what is plain to see and undisguised, and more significantly – it makes that invisible so clear and attractive that we lose ourselves – our perception and feelings just for that. Why is it deceptive, why the art of the ‘deception’ ? I’m not that sure – maybe we are not able to accept some aspects of our humanity and the world around in their absolute pureness and strength, maybe they will ‘blind’ us once seen or endanger our sensible powers and the rational sense ? … Maybe we naturally adapt self-defensive psychological mechanisms to protect ourselves from going ‘too deep’ , to not to struggle too much? So we make our way through our life convincing ourselves and/or letting others to convince us that, once our existence is more or less ‘meaningful’ and comfortable we are not bound to look for anything more, we can just ‘enjoy’ being mothers, husbands, lawyers, artists, farmers (whomever)… All sort of condensed spirituality and throwing oneself into deep waters almost on a daily basis is the ‘job’ of monks, priests, mystics, madmen… Indeed, the entire existence of an average contemporary man is ‘the art’ of deception – but – but this skill conceals rather than reveals, simplifies instead of looking for a fuller view. There are deceptions that make invisible visible and those which shut up the entire worlds.

%d bloggers like this: