Karlin Studios / PRAGUE (Czech Republic)
15.12.2017 – 11.02.2018
The very principle of Dominik Gajarský’s works is the natural need for a vivid relationship between various art types and also pointing out the complexity of their interconnection, which is so easy to overlook. Gajarský is concerned with film, literature, theatre, fine arts, and music. Yet, I would be hesitant to call Gajarský a multimedia artist, since he lacks a certain innovative fury or hunger for experiment, which is inherently associated with it. It is typical of Gajarský to fight on multiple frontlines, while staying true to artistic genres and employing almost hygienic – yet all the more powerful and contagious – frugality of resources. Some time ago, I already complimented him in my text on one of his exhibitions on his purist mindset, observation shyness, and the ability to censor what still can be shown and, as regards that exhibition, what still can be written and published.
The exhibition titled Lyrics, which Gajarský created for Karlín Studios, is centred around fragments of his original song lyrics. The content of these language miniatures are delusions of daydreaming, states of a sensory stroke that produces motivational remarks about courageous feats, and a tendency to melancholic observation of and commenting on seemingly trivial situations. Here, the building blocks are distinctive details that prettify or revive nothing – they merely speak to their addressee through their presence, which seems ridiculously and pathetically inevitable just like the physical dimension in love poetry.
Gajarský’s lyrical miniatures are both a public and private matter, and this important circumstance also determines the way they are framed and read. Gajarský presents them to us as cult objects of intimate nature, the publication is which forbidden, and this form of publication cannot be perceived other than as a highly delicate event that takes place in a private chamber. Gajarský assigns them the status of rare originals, and so he presents them in the form of photograms. He leaves them legible, yet curtains them with careful protection. Here, literature escapes the curious eye and becomes a part of the illusory reality of a sensory world in the form of a net, muting on the surface of cheap lighters abandoned on gas barrels. The use of these objects evokes the ominous sequence of luring, absorption, and destruction. In spite of all this, the whole remains a source of hypnotic adulation, which grows in intensity, knowing that the black net in the dark space and the spark before explosion breathe new life into what we can never see but we perceive it as a challenge eternally present.
Text by Michal Pěchouček