Jelení : Markéta Kubačáková

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To

  • 19. March - 14. May 2011
    Le Guern Gallery
    • Suspended mythologies

    Suspended mythologies

  • 24. March - 12. April 2011, HotDock Gallery
    • Czech Republic Prague Galerie Jelení
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    Among the most interesting recent work of Markéta Kubačáková belongs her work made by a classic technique – watercolour, which is however due to the way of installation and the backgroung of thought placed into the context of contemporary art. Some of them were shown at the beginning of the year in her exhibition in Fenestr Gallery „„After Battle of Bílá Hora cubit – four fingers, five grains and a dot“ or in the exhibition she had together with Václav Magid „Up to the top of superficiality, down to the bottom of shallowness“ at the turn of March and April in 35m2 Gallery. New watercolour paintings will be also exhibited in Jelení Gallery. Part of the installation is a book „Tvarochodi“, written and illustrated by Markéta, inspired by the stories of people living in Horní Jelení in Eastern Bohemia.

    Artyčok.tv presents
    Polkák and Plocha
    Polkák danced and jumped in circles on Plocha's canvas.
    She was drying and starting to crack, but hadn't yet caught her Tvarochod.
    The cracks in her white surface material were growing bigger every day.
    Polkák's little feet were soft, and made for dancing.
    Since he was small, they told him he was made for better things
    than turning in circles or throwing smelly bags of his life on himself.
    He was something different.
    So far, not many Tvarochods understood him.
    He was already creating the new Plocha's language.
    One that was scrubbed and freshly painted. One that kept the memory
    of what had lived on her surface without it marking the canvas.
    Memories soaked through the tired material on Plocha's surface.
    Polkák sank into them to scrub them and pour on a new layer.
    He'd then cover it with the glue of new experiences and they held tight.
    He was getting the glue from Plocha.
    Once a week in the evening, he separated from his community of Tvarochods
    and went to the edge, almost behind the frame.
    There, on the corner of the right side and Plocha, they met.
    Plocha whispered new instructions in an earthy voice and away he went.
    But today, it would be different.
    He is about to tell her he doesn't want to only carry out her plans,
    that he would also like to discuss his own proposals.
    The book is the result of a long process.
    I was collecting stories in the village of my grandma and great-grandma.
    These personal stories were then transformed into beings
    with strong personality traits.
    Something came to life where the original source wasn't visible.
    However, they gave me the impetus to create a book featuring Plocha,
    its inhabitants...
    At the same time, it's not set in reality.
    I didn't want to write a social novel.
    It's a very imaginative thing, but closely connected to the watercolours.
    That's why I'm showing these two together.
    As soon as it got dark, his heart started to beat in alarm.
    He walked from one edge of Plocha to another and couldn't stop.
    He knew that if he'd stopped, she'd reach him.
    While he was moving, no one could address him.
    Unless Plocha was bad-manered, but she wasn't, she honoured traditions.
    He was walking slowly from one edge to another, and then it cracked.
    He got stuck in a slit he hadn't noticed before.
    He fell into a hole as though it were a mammoth trap.
    "Dammit!," he thought. "What to do now?"
    Yes, I'm just about to tell you.
    I didn't want anything to disturb our conversation.
    "Ha, ha, now I scared him," said Plocha to herself.
    He can't be thinking he tricked me.
    I don't know his plan is, but I must seem to be a step ahead.
    Although it took me two days of study to come up with this plan.
    "Hi, Plocha," said Polkák shyly.
    Stuck between canvas and wood and having difficulty breathing,
    he realised he should be getting back to finish the work he had promised to do.
    If she decided to keep him here forever, he would be in trouble.
    He would seem unreliable.
    He was becoming angry at Plocha for what he thought she was going to do.
    At first, he gently rolled his eyes and eyebrows,
    then his pulse quickened and his thoughts started galloping.
    Before Plocha decided what her next strategic step would be,
    Polkák became very nervous.
    "I need to go soon, I have an important task," he said in an angry little voice.
    "You don't mean to say you're better than me," said Plocha suddenly.
    Polkák was boiling. "Of course I am," he thought.
    But my parents forgot to tell me whom I was better than.
    So how should I to know if it applies to Plocha as well.

    Here you can express yourself.

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