When I was a little girl, the moon was a strange phenomenon for me. I talked to him. I went to dance class and played musicals. Sometimes I replaced the stage and podium with the audience. I sat and watched the performances of other talented people. One evening, a young woman came on stage and began to present a poetic text. It was not a recitation, it was a deep experience of the most sincere emotions. She charmed me so much that things suddenly resonated in me in a completely different way.
And so I started talking to the moon differently. It went by itself, naturally. Poetic. If I wasn't spending time with the moon, dancing or writing poems, I was constructing various installations in my father's studio, or I was with my father somewhere in a gallery at exhibitions. I watched the colors dance. How the brush strokes move and how hands shape the clay mass. My first sculpture was a clay portrait of an alien on a cube, brightly colored. Still, the sculpture stands in my father's studio. When I look at it, I realize how much enthusiasm of a little girl can grow into someone with ambitions, dreams, visions, challenges, and achievements.
I continued this journey. A dream high school that I would never change. Then The Academy of Arts, Sculpture and Free fine arts. I was deciding whether to go for painting or sculpture because I enjoyed painting. However I told myself, I can paint in any other field. And so it happened. Poetry, painting, and spatial media became my friends and also found their way to me at work. I work as a restorer of historical monuments, mostly architecture, and its elements. I've always enjoyed doing more than one thing at a time, and my job allows me to do that. Art, history, philosophy, space...
And then I got ill. When a person lies in bed and feels like he is dying, a million things go through his head. He thinks about what he has already done in life and what he still wanted to do. He will realize what is important in life. Cancer seems to show it. The more things get complicated during my treatment, the more I think. About myself, about life, but also about people, about art, about ways of life. About how I can help humanity, how to inspire it, and how to improve this world. I´ve always dealt with the aesthetics and philosophy of art, with various questions and relations between man and art, individualism vs. company.
As I follow contemporary art, artists, and especially contemporary media and social sites, I deal with the question of to what extent the media is necessary to make the artist and his art visible. The artist's privacy becomes his glory, bad and insolent manners are considered excellent. The question is, what is wrong? Who determines whether it is bad or good? What does bad art and inappropriate artists´ behavior look like, and who and what determines these definitions? Gallery, curator, society, media, or the artist himself as an individual? Maybe it's the fans who dictate to us what art should look like. Like it, don't like it. As if education and the value of artwork did not matter, as if the life history of the artist and his creativity did not matter. These definitions have been turned upside down by society with a subjective comment that this is how it should be, because this image talks about, for example, climate problems, the economic crisis, or gender equality.
Sometimes I get criticized that my portraits are not realistic. That they have meaningless colors and are superficial. I ask, is art there to show us what we already know, or to reveal a billion possibilities of expression? Why should we use realistic coloration? It was already used by fauvists, expressionists, etc. Why should we limit ourselves to one style and create the same subject and content over and over again? It's too limiting. And art is not here to limit us. Not even cancer. And this is why we are still fighting. For a better life, for a better world, for art.
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