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Matyáš Chochola, student of scuture at the Academy of Visual Arts, Brno, was in Prague for the summer. When the Sculpture Grande exposition was set out on Wenceslas Square, Chochola had a lot of time on his hands. He befriended some homeless people who’d been living on a Vltava river island. They found material from containers and used a lot of tape. One day they decided to go install the whole thing. The sculptures held together for a couple of days, and photographs were presented at the department of macromolecular chemistry in Prague, where there is a gallery called Makráč. To be continued…
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If you know your way around, you might discover that every month and maybe even every week you stand the chance to receive money for your cultural project. Successful applicants have enough money, average applicants have enough to keep their mouths shut, and the unsuccessful ones are kept in check by the chance that they might get lucky in the future. One natural result has been the emergence of…
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The editors of Umělec have decided to come up with a list of ten artists who, in our opinion, were of crucial importance for the Czech art scene in the 1990s. After long debate and the setting of criteria, we arrived at a list of names we consider significant for the local context, for the presentation of Czech art outside the country and especially for the future of art. Our criteria did not…
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There is nothing that has not already been done in culture, squeezed or pulled inside out, blown to dust. Classical culture today is made by scum. Those working in the fine arts who make paintings are called artists. Otherwise in the backwaters and marshlands the rest of the artists are lost in search of new and ever surprising methods. They must be earthbound, casual, political, managerial,…
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Nick Land was a British philosopher but is no longer, though he is not dead. The almost neurotic fervor with which he scratched at the scars of reality has seduced more than a few promising academics onto the path of art that offends in its originality. The texts that he has left behind are reliably revolting and boring, and impel us to castrate their categorization as “mere” literature.
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