Fairy-tale Entangled Marie Hladíková

In the forest of the winter kingdom there is a princess who brings animals to life out of whitened bones. A monkey pottering around finds a red rose in a snowdrift. The monkey comes within an inch of being hit. Hordes of bloodthirsty angels attack the kingdom. First two princess are maliciously slain. The petrified princess tries to flee but is also hit. Dying in agony she rips her heart out of her chest; the snow turns red. A heroic rabbit sets out to fight against the heavenly evil. However, he tarries on his journeys too long. He is a symbol of that never arriving help. After having sacked all, the angels depart. They do not know that the monkey survived, and will rescue the princess. The monkey inserts the red rose into the chest of the princess, and takes her heart found in the snow. That is the end of the ten-minute video by Marie Hladíková.
This is the only fairy-tale she has brought to conclusion so far. As a true story-teller, Hladíková does not explain the cause of the events occurring in her narratives the way it is in fairy-tales. She is the sort of fairy-teller who mixes magic and love with fire and blood. She does it so sincerely that it becomes much too dangerous for her. That’s the same courage that the paintings and sculptures of Veronika Drahotová brought the art scene of the late 90s. Work that speaks openly about feelings is not an easy approach; it is more vulnerable than the conceptual. There are not many who were not discouraged, or did not become illustrators or decorators.
If Hladíková does not tend towards any of the tempting contemporary styles, she’ll become a distinguished alternative to the “hip” currents as well as to the “post-production” of the majority of young artists.
Most of her other works contain fragments of her own fairy-tales. Some verge on blasphemy, such as a monkey flying a crucifix as a kite—that’s a way to return Christ to heaven, home. Some tales are set in limbo or purgatory. Humanized bats dance above a “black hole,” and stags drink from a pool of blood, and swans with unicorn heads, who form the familiar symbol of a heart—and pierce each other’s necks. People do not disturb their stories. The stories thus resemble sad fables of how the desires of the mighty reflect a profound helplessness, how pain redeems pleasure in fables of shrewdness, naivety, or friendship. Still, they contain enough hyperbole to save them from sentimental cliché.
No form or material has appeared that would be a technical failure to Hladíková. Drawings, woodcuts, installations, and videos declare precision and mastery over technologies. As with any fairy-tale I would plead for more sensitive musical accompaniment.

01.01.2005