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presented by AmC collezione coppol
No. 2 - JANUARY - MMXII
featured artist in this issue:
DANIEL PITÌN
he complexities of the commonplace
by M G G
Berlin-bsed curator and art critic
A
n attraction to the commonplace of engaging with the immediate sources, inspired by everyday themes and subject matter, is always a major challenge for today’s contemporary painting practitioners. Using motifs and sources (whether found or imagined) stripped of any immediately identifiable reference or narrative event compels the painter to think in a more creative and self-reflexive manner about the images he or she generates. A contemporary painter has to engage first with the painting as a painting, and need not be distracted by the a priori iconography of contextual allusion or storytelling. This is not to say that the commonplace or anonymous motifs necessarily refer only to the arbitrary world of things (material objects that have no apparent meaning) but that through the processes of painting what appears ordinary or commonplace (objects or subjects derived from the material world) are somehow freer and thus creatively transfigured. Arthur Danto argued that “a representation is something that stands in the place of something else”, which suggests it is no more than a sign of the original motif that emerges as a deferred or associative reality.1 Others, like Theodor Adorno, have argued that artistic images (painted or otherwise) are a form of dialectical mimesis (art speaks for itself; it is self-identifying), suggesting that representations are not mere signs but lead to materialised re-enactments as after-images creatively expressed as works of art.2 The young Czech painter Daniel Pitìn would clearly take the latter view with regards to the self-identifying contents of painting. His paintings are staged scenarios of the commonplace source material to the extent that they are fragmented architectural settings, interior settings of old and worn furniture, boarded remnants and pictorial assemblages, which are in some way always in a permanent state of rupture and visual constraint. Pitìn’s paintings are of constructed places that are in certain respects non-feasible anti-spaces, or better still imagined nonspaces, projected as a potential spatial reality but which immediately take upon themselves the amorphous qualities of pictorial unreality. In short they are paintings very much about contemporary issues of painting, for in what seems so commonplace a subject, there is also a complex mastery of composition and the painting process at work. Daniel Pitìn’s depictions of architectural settings or created stages which are both theatrical and fictional frequently operate at the boundaries of what constitutes our understanding of spatial architectonics, as with his paintings entitled Backdoor Backdoor,, Flying Office and Falling Falling,, which visualise fragmentary half-erected or half-destroyed buildings. A painting called Desert House has literally placed the fragmentary ruined construction on a stage as if it were a theatrical backdrop. Similarly, his imagined architectural sources (or models, for at times they appear as fictional models) evoke a feeling of marginal and/or peripherally constrained forms of wooden architecture, as in paintings called Circle and New Building Building.. There is, however, perhaps little in Pitìn’s fictional spatial constructions that alludes to today’s modern architecture, with the exception of a painting
like Oger Oger.. What we generally experience are invented or imagined constructions – edifices of the mind – that might just feasibly exist at the very edge of today’s architectural discourses, buildings like the hut, the shed, the shelter or the lean to.3 When human figures appear it is as an opaque living substance within Pitìn’s insubstantial structures and fictional imaginings, visual puncta that give some access but simultaneously make problematic any sense of finding determinate readings for the role they play in his paintings. There are, however, persistent renderings of stooping figures kneeling, such as Lost Architect and Lost Shoe. Shoe. In the painting referred to, the figure of Oger is massively out of scale as he beats his head against the modern edifice. It is difficult to say whether this is a form of commentary or a critique of modern urban life. But human figures almost invariably appear in this artist’s paintings in a posed state of unidentified and disassociated passivity, most often with their backs towards the viewer, suggesting that they exist in an introspective and enclosed imaginary world of their own. Yet their very presence also brings to mind immediate issues and questions of the finished and the unfinished, a crucial and central issue as to the meaning of material facture in contemporary painting today. For example in Pitìn’s work called Lake Lake,, a beautiful and assured painting, the group of largely male figures in the mid-ground appear highly finished, yet the female figure in the foreground on the right is sketchily outlined as a mere spectral presence gazing to our right outside the frame of the pictorial space. While compositionally this has the effect of drawing the viewer towards the central compositional focus of the image, at the same time it highlights the numerous processes and material properties simultaneously at work in the painting. We are constantly made aware that we are looking not so much at an image drawn from the world, but specifically at an intensely painted image; a painting that continually seeks to re-emphasise its status as a painting first and foremost. It is a clear demonstration by the artist of his primary concern with painting processes and with the role of creative mimesis, the so-called “congealment” obtaining between creative impulse and material form; an engagement with processes that are materially self-identifying both of and for themselves. Or, alternatively as argued, Adorno’s notion of an artist’s dialectical mimesis, “that which sets free in him the expressed substance,” and bears within it the memory traces of a mimetic psycho-phenomenology that must be expressed by all visual forms of art.4 The processes which make up the material impulse and expressive form in Daniel Pitìn’s paintings are complex and perhaps in the end more significant than the relatively anonymous non-referential subject matter that pertains to his paintings’ contents. If we take an example like Sleepy Hollow, Hollow, putting aside the painting’s literary allusion, what we see is a summary of Pitìn’s now familiar architectural vocabulary arranged collagelike with both superimposed and juxtaposed figurative elements creating a series of multiple viewpoints. But what is even more interesting, perhaps, is the diverse language of expressive marks that frame its actual personal sensibility. The artist uses drips, small rivulets of paint, mixtures of thick and thin paint application, oil-thinned wash, and sketchy outlines alongside some precisely rendered details. These marks of facture, which seem random at times, obviously delineate the internal processes of a deeply personal painting practice; they are the basis of an identifiable pictorial language that in another age might simply have been called a style. But in fact they are more than that, since they are an intentionally self-reflexive use of painting’s language amounting to far more than mere visual contents. It is not about the unity of part and whole (the overall compositional effect) as would have been the case in a much earlier age, but about the autonomy of each mark and its truth value as a painted mark within the context of the painting. In other words, each painted mark is quite literally speaking both by and for itself. If we take the paintings Cinema or Empty Theater Theater,, for example, we find that the deeper we look, it becomes less to do with the general contents and subject matter, and is in reality about the specific aspects of the creative language of making a painting. The warp and weft of the ground is made visible, the under-drawing is left in view, densities of paint are adjacent to thin paint applications, and surface splashes jostle alongside drips or seemingly arbitrary marks. A work like Island House makes this even more explicit, since the subject matter is all but submerged by the material aspects of mark-making. Ironically, through the window to the right we are able to discern and recognise the painting’s reference to continues
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B P , , Permanently exhibited at the Prague City Gallery in the “After Velvet” show
D P , Permanently exhibited at the Prague City Gallery in the “After Velvet” show
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L A V DVD Permanently exhibited at the Prague City Gallery in the “After Velvet” show Best animation movie in the Other Visions section of the film animation festival PAF in , Olomouc, Czech Republic
D P Permanently exhibited at the Prague City Gallery in the “After Velvet” show
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continues from pag 2 the sea and island landscape, but the interior of the room is no more than fractured ghostly figures and barely discernible objects. Rather than any of this being gratuitous or haphazard it is actually thoroughly thought out. What has evolved is an original autonomous language of marks by which we are able to recognise Daniel Pitìn. In other words his paintings epitomise an artist establishing the necessary language to make a contemporary painting about painting, and thereafter by natural extension to refer to his chosen subject of representation.
Distant but never detached
by A BB
Pris-bsed curator and art critic
F
or a number of years contemporary painting has been faced with the challenge of the subject. The force behind works by the new generation of artists no longer derives from formal questions, but from a constant need to live up to the spirit of the time. The figures that Daniel Pitìn sets on the world stage are as familiar as they are removed, as if they had emerged straight out of a play. They inhabit architectural settings which, like Potemkin villages, evoke film or stage sets where the actors enter and exit, not always through the right door. Painting is the preferred tool of this Czech artist who has slowly but surely been making his way on the international scene. His painting is masterful and tempered, brushed and washed, at times veiled and often accentuated, its atmospheres fed by distant recollection. The East lives with its ghosts, the twentieth century was traumatic and the new generations have not ceased to delve into and exorcise this past. Strangely, paradoxically even, it is through painting, above all figurative painting, that the subject may be approached with the required distance. Technically Pitìn is very adept, inspired even, but it is above all the subject which demands analysis due to its breadth and depth. Moreover, attention is drawn to this subject by means of ricochet. The consequences of the Cold War were experienced by the new generations as collateral damage, and thus seem as familiar as they are disturbing. Pitìn admits this himself in a statement published in 2008, avowing that if he is contemporary at all it is through his role as archaeologist, bringing to light a past buried in a collective memory bequeathed to him like a delegated power. His generation had no real first-hand experience with the former regime. Echoes of it filtered down to him through his parents and grandparents, but for Pitìn this history is neither a reconstruction nor an apocryphal development. Treated with the tools of the painter it is fictional, as much a vision as a fantasy. In painting, I attempt to expose the real significance of some forgotten experience that has been buried under the dense layers of the preceding years. This history is not at all revisionist: on the contrary, it functions well as therapy. To exorcise the past his generation had to undergo a very particular anamnesis: that of the heavy, dark heritage passed down to all those who were born under the former regime but lucky enough to grow up after the radical transition to the Western democratic model. The persisting afterglow of past ghosts, with its clichés and
1 Arthur C. Danto, The Transfiguration of the Commonplace: A Philosophy of Art, Cambridge, Mass., and London, Harvard University Press, 1983, p. 19 / 2 Theodor W. Adorno, Aesthetic Theory, English translation by C. Lenhardt, London, Routledge Kegan & Paul, 1984, “they retain their quality as plenipotentiaries of extra-aesthetic nature in the midst of art, except that they cease to be nature pure and simple, becoming an after-image of nature instead.” p.165. / 3 For an analysis of these peripheral forms of dwelling, see Ann Cline, A Hut of One’s Own: Life Outside the Circle of Architecture, Cambridge, Mass., MIT Press, 1977. It was symptomatic of utopian views of International Modern Architecture that it excluded primary habitations like huts, sheds and the lean to, even though they are probably the oldest forms of habitation known to man. / 4 Adorno, op cit., p.164
avatars, its grim contexts and Kafkaesque absurdities, returns ceaselessly in the works of Daniel Pitìn. But unlike artists from other former communist countries, he seeks to do more than reveal an atmosphere or list the features of this still tenuous connection with the past. Rather he draws on the memory of cinema and photo archives, and enacts his canvases like plays. Taking a closer look, most of the paintings show characters on their knees or crouching. Sometimes they paint, or they simply move about inside the frame, giving the impression that we are dealing here with references. One can easily imagine that the characters who paint represent the artist at work. But nothing else helps to back up this idea, neither the title nor any resemblance to its author. Nothing about the interiors gives any indication about either the location or the era the artist is evoking. But Pitìn's way of showing the horizontality and verticality of architectural space and his insistence on dispensing with the fourth wall – as if in a high angle or bird's-eye shot – reveal an intimacy which is not void of connotations to his country's communist past. Daniel Pitìn's paintings are narrative and intriguing, but not rhetorical. They are figurative but not realist, playing on materials and space. Their strangeness results from the choice of subjects, the empty spaces and the characters, their actions and gestures, or from incongruous objects and events. While evoking the communist world and its realism, the iconography also brings to mind the cinema of the 1960s and the theatre of the avant-garde. However, by incorporating elements of advertising it also harks back to Pop Art. The canvases are average sized, never large or strident, proposing a play of soft but self-assured colours. Daniel Pitìn's particularity resides in the fact that he adopts a critical, reflective approach, disavowing neither painting's modernist aspects nor its seductive material effects. His painting is neither cold nor slick, but rather is touching, intelligent and troubling, while eliciting innumerable references. The artist has a special gift for replenishing his creative arsenal in the realm of dream, sometimes evoking chimeras. He is not naturally turned to the past, but interprets it as if the archetypal connotations of dreams lay in our recent history. It is as if most of the scenes were covered by a veil, a kind of semi-transparency that returns again and again. This is aesthetically effective, and lends a sort of signature to the artist's works. With his style and his universe, Pitìn succeeds in forging for himself a singular, well-defined niche in the pantheon of the new generation of painting prodigies. The ambiance that presides in the Prague artist's works draws on Kafka and Freud, but is filtered by a very contemporary curiosity. It has taken almost a hundred years to come to grips with the fact that painting must henceforth take account of photography, which was initially subjugated to painting. Faced with the current inflation of images, we realise today that painting constantly poses the question of our understanding of the world. The works of Daniel Pitìn tell small stories, dramas and ordinary tales. Yet with his painting we feel we are confronted with a larger history, because in all evidence the artist takes history seriously, going beyond simple speculation. The narrative density that his unconsciousness unfolds in his canvases has a levering effect on the collective unconscious. There is something beguiling in his works – there is insinuation and doubt. Pitìn's painting does not denounce, it enunciates while retaining its ambiguity. His world is hazy and quiescent. The details are blurred, but in itself the pictorial material is not frugal either in its textures or its tints. If at first glance his compositions, although sophisticated, may seem incidental, turned out with rapid brush strokes, on closer scrutiny the paintings are as rich in chromatic spectrum as they are in technical virtuosity. Theirs is a very cinematographic realism. Pitìn's tour de force is his implication, his knack for being able to distance himself without ever becoming detached.
DANIEL PITÌN B P, // L W P, C R.
‘F , , . O . P , - . T – I . I , I .’ AC C C
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