How a man sows is how he’ll reap, even if he was born in a barn or raised by wolves uncoutH
Oh, let my first memory of Martin Zet distort some restriction or obstacle sO
Why, after all, couldn’t a text emerge – a performance dealing with the symbol, a shoW
It’s his ability to reshape with his unambiguity originally intended for an unintended work of lexical calculI
Enclosure in an ordinary frame demarcates and accentuates, pressing on the frame of the symbol, and a uniform threads the mind’s eyE
Nullify the call for truth because we like to demarcate it most of all in our plaN
Coats of men and suits of ladies, folding screens behind them, from the side the fronds of potted palms gawk and arC
Only that we shall still have the mechanical frame formed by OpenOffice’s trap and the line which fell thereintO
Unknown how much happier each additional performance makes the man Zet, to ask him directly would be no snafU
Normally before his artistic performances he acts like a swell guy, just walking iN
Taking a look in the courtyard to goggle at the pig roast happening there, he takes a sniff, but his train departs in a biT
Even though he’s a vegetarian and non-smoker and teetotaller, it’s the meat, tobacco, and alcohol of art in particular that constitute his abstinencE
Relentlessly he works the garden of his mind filled with inedible blue carrots shaped like spirals off kilteR
Exact some change in his world, I always say to myself, as he changes mine, or at least toss him a bit of sausagE
Dashing, an athlete running the hundred metres past the long jump pit, high jump mat, shot put circle, and a relaxing Chinese laD
Managing, as a restorer, to let a goblet of pure gold catch the tin pest and decompose ad funduM
All the people I ask about Martin resignedly wave somewhere behind them: Over there, fellA
Right away I realise I’ve once again overshot the location of his hidden performance, where he’s stuck in one of his traps or anotheR
Though not confusion, but a kind of knowledge bypassing walls upholstered with a stone foam sheeT
Iask then, why the work contains an arrangement from a failed act performed by amateur magI
Now, Zet is a man whose name sounds like a pseudonym quickly devised when into the cold you were throwN
Zealously you shout: Hit him with something! when you spot the obvious provocateur among protestors abuzZ
Evidently a single symbol evokes complete meanings, which should be known before judging my narrativE
The applause following the performance smacks of empathy, which is perhaps why Zet warns beforehand: Today expect no excitemenT
From what time does this member of the flock of freeloaders attend the vernissage catered only with water with lemon and savoury breadstufF
Relevant question, but bear in mind that there are also artists who look like a second course to the circling freeloadeR
One such artist is Martin Zet, standing on the side of good, with I, myself, on the side of evil, incognitO
Martin, good old Martin, if you finish cleaning out your studio within the next decade, I will devour my yet unborn iPad – yuM
And if performers abandon the art world, it will be like when our favourite lummox leaves the factory for the office plazA
That winter coat is what I envy Martin the most, followed closely by his movements reminiscent of a man with a suitcase full of counterfeit looT
Oy vey, the establishment remains unaffected, the underground learned nothing, the ultra-Left is fucked, only Zet laughs, ho hO
Zipping now into reminiscence, as long as I have my head framed thus, which I don’t want to acknowledge, so let’s waltZ
: :
After hearing the racket, I thought someone must have fallen into that disused elevator shaft, some klutZ
Briskly I ran, full of concern, to the end of the long cellar space of the defunct Karlín factorY
Catching a glimpse through shaft’s opening at the nonsense within, I could only stand and stare, as if under a heX
Deeply wedged between variously crossed pipes was a guy with a smile reminiscent of aW
Evoking Dostoyevsky’s idiot crossed with a cleanly hobo, a bloodless improV
First, someone snapped a photo, but I, a pipe already in hand, proposed extrication in lieU
Gallery owner Ivan Mečl, with whom I had set up an exhibition in the cellar, stopped me and began to interpreT
Hold up, that’s no accident – it’s a performance. He tossed those pipes there and jumped in after them. No worrieS
Ileft the guy hanging there and prepared break down the half-day exhibition before it was consumed by the cellar odouR
Judicially, and though I didn’t want to, I had to speculate about the value of the performer’s IQ
Know it must higher than a representative of the general populace, like an ape only concerned with rutting and sloP
Looking out the corner of my eye, after a time I saw the guy crawl out of the shaft, and with ambivalence I watched him wander to and frO
Moderately I hoped he’d leave me be – perhaps, I mused, his dream performance is one with a truly unhappy, but in no way embarrassing, conclusioN
Necessarily awkward, why do all their shows have to be necessarily awkward, I muttered, losing even more of my calb
Oh well, in my defence, at that time wasn’t yet enamoured with performers like some snobbish fooL
Peripheral glances confirmed that the guy was perusing the exhibition and wasn’t as stiff as, say, the painter Vosecký and his ilK
Quadrennials are a bearable format – the thought quickly flitted through my mind – seeing everyone once every four years, or why not once in a lifetime like a hajJ
Reacting to the fact that Mečl was leading the guy my way, a quiet sigh escaped my bronchI
Suppressing a groan, I prayed that he wasn’t some little artist looking to score points in the Eastern bloc and trying too mucH
The kind that assumes the whole world speaks English, just like every woman is equipped with a spot markedG
Unctuous he was not, to my relieF
Verified now, that the performer was a local, with no nicetomeetyous our introduction flowed without a wrinklE
What was it in his smile that made me forget the words he used to comment on my briefly exhibited brainchilD
XY we say today, Mečl and I nicknamed Zet Mr. XY, aware that the alphabet is a cage paratactiC
Yvetta Simonová comes to our aid in this penultimate line, though luckily the end is near as I’m suffering like JoB
Zip me an email, Martin – at sdch@seznam.cz – to let me know what you thought of my exhibition back then or just to say: HolA
SdCh
Translated by Brian D. Vondrak
Special thanks to Hynek Dörner, Matylda Dörnerová, and Leoš Motl.
Shouted by Martin Zet
¡LOS ARTISTAS, UNIDOS, JAMÁS SERÁN VENCIDOS!
