Drawing from Cricoteka’s unique collection, this special display invites us to explore the liminal space where costume becomes sculpture, and object becomes body – a theatre of memory, materiality, and metaphysical presence. Costume Sculpture Body – Kantor’s Theatrical Objects, held from June 21 to August 31, 2025, as part of the Sibiu International Theatre Festival (FITS), brings a rare and profound encounter with Tadeusz Kantor’s visionary theatrical universe to the Romanian public.
We spoke with Bogdan Renczyński and Justyna Droń – curators of the exhibition, and Aldona Mikulska – originator of the “Cricoteka in Romania” project, as they join us in Sibiu for a landmark exhibition hosted at the Brukenthal Museum. As such, we delve into the curatorial vision behind the exhibition and reflect on Kantor’s radical legacy through the lens of the objects he left behind.
Alex Mirutziu: Kantor described costumes like Minora as “sculptures in canvas” and Goplana as “anti-costumes.” How do these forms resist or subvert the traditional aesthetic hierarchies between sculpture and theatre in your exhibition design and interpretation?
Aldona Mikulska: Kantor is a representative of the twentieth-century avant-garde. In this context, he expanded the boundaries of art, unsealed the usual patterns. He was a painter by education; he considered himself a painter rather than a director, claiming that the term “painter” is validated by centuries of art history and the names of masters. He considered the director to be a new profession, not as noble as the profession of a painter. On the other hand, when we look at his international position, it was in the theatre that he gained recognition on a global and timeless scale. Let us remember, however, that in the theatre he thought in images, and this is how he approached the costume, which again became an object of art in his world, not a prop to be thrown away or reused after the end of his stage life.
The starting point for Underaged object is something that Katarzyna Fazan, a theater scholar researching the Kantor’s work, calls “shell for actor’s metamorphosis” – on the one hand, it is a biological object, in its shapes, emphasizing female physiology – on the other hand, it remains a foreign body, already a very strongly defined form, which only on stage merges with the actress, helping her to build a role. When separated from the stage, it remains a figure – a ready-made sculptural object shaped from a fabric, seemingly non-sculptural material – like the sculptures of Magdalena Abakanowicz or the figures made of felted wool of the duo Małgorzata Mariewicz and Katarzyna Depta-Garapich in contemporary Polish art.
Goplana – a work created during the German occupation in 1943 – is a costume that repeatedly breaks conventions not only of the costume itself, but of the theatre. The shape directly refers to the Bauhaus (Kantor was fascinated by Schlemmer’s Triadic Ballet), abstraction and constructivism. The actress playing Goplana, on the other hand, did not wear this form, but was hidden behind it. To make her voice resonate with the character, she spoke the text “into a metal bowl” so that the tone remained metallic, sounding like the shape of a “costume”. The performance was produced illegally, as in occupied Poland, the theatre was forbidden and “dangerous”, and everyone who carried out this project risked their lives.
Goplana in Juliusz Słowacki’s Balladyna is a fairy-tale nymph, ethereal and in love. In times of wartime hardships, she became a cold iron form. What a few years ago could have gained lightness on stage or in art was, at the moment, dominated by the coolness of metal. The human figure was discredited. In this sense, it became an anti-costume, resisting the actor and reality. In every sense, it is the negation of the costume, yet it saves the costume’s function at once, by defining a given character, complementing its features or allowing it to enter the role.
The exhibition showcases the diverse approaches to costume – each time bursting the frames adopted in theatre. Rather, the actors are endowed with works of art, carrying autonomous content – usually related to the idea of the performance.
Justyna Droń: Exactly – Kantor made a break with the traditional form and function of costume. The artist used some costumes to create autonomous works of art. Others, previously used in the Cricot 2 Theatre, were put on frames and made into near-sculptures. For Kantor, the costume was a form meant to break with representation. He intended the costume to depart radically from representation. Underaged was, indeed, as Kantor put it, “sculpted in canvas”.
Bogdan Renczyński: As mentioned, another example of a form with a metaphorical function was Goplana. This object acted as a kind of “anti-costume” for the actress. When Kantor created it, humanity faced what he saw as the greatest threat in its history – the civilisation of war. This costume was meant to conceal the body, to protect it from the outside world, from danger, from death. Thus, Kantor’s costume was never created for aesthetic reasons. Rather, it told a story about what is real and unreal, dead and alive, individual and collective. Because for Kantor, a costume carries responsibility; it allows us to look at who we are.
“Kantor’s costume was never created for aesthetic reasons. Rather, it told a story about what is real and unreal, dead and alive, individual and collective. Because for Kantor, a costume carries responsibility; it allows us to look at who we are.”
— Bogdan Renczyński
A. M.: Given that Kantor’s “Theatre of Death” is deeply rooted in an iconological logic – where the actor becomes an image, a figuration of death – how did this inform your choices in displaying photographs, costumes, and physical remnants from performances?
B.R.: Kantor’s performances – and, by extension, his costumes and objects – were his language of communication with a world woven from failures, fears, and defeats. At the heart of his work was the human being, and his creations, filled with melancholy. This is the extraordinary power of Kantor and the Cricot 2 Theatre – and, at the same time, its fragility, because life is inextricably linked with death.
A. Mikulska: The objects presented at the exhibition belong to different periods. Amongst them, we find, of course, those from the stage of the Theatre of Death. Their theatrical provenance makes it easier to treat their situation in space as an installation, rather than a museum exhibition in showcases. They stand side by side like actors at a backstage meeting of Underaged from Lovlies and Dowdies (1973), The Water Hen (1967) and characters from Ionesco’s Rhinoceros (1961). Next is Unce Stasio from Wielopole, Wielopole (1980) and The Infanta from Today Is My Birthday (1990). Each of these characters carries the drama of twentieth-century history, with its wars and totalitarianisms. Objects intertwine dynamically, gaining new contexts.
A. M.: How do you understand the concept of theatrical mimesis in Kantor’s work, where the actor oscillates between being an animate presence and an inanimate object? Did this affect how you presented the costumes and props as “living archives” in the exhibition?
A. Mikulska: In a sense, Kantor’s theatre has never been mimetic. Both the dramaturgical constructions of his performances and the final performance of the actors were devoid of any imitation of situations and behaviours of real life. This meant that the actors were no more subjective on stage than the other components of the performance. In a way, it really brought them closer to the objects. The mannequins sat on the benches next to the live actors in The Dead Class. In the Brukenthal, we show a boy on a bicycle from this play. These mannequins were figures activated by living actors, creating stage duets with the same subjectivity in this set.
Of course, in a sense, in this exhibition, as in the case of any exhibition presenting the work of Tadeusz Kantor, we cannot put a live actor. This complement is a projection in the last space – the recording of The Dead Class. It shows the actors in relation to the objects and serves as a kind of appendix to the story developed throughout the exhibition. On the other hand, the curatorial duo of Justyna and Bogdan tries to revive what is inanimate by definition – the costumes from various performances are invented in a way that suggests movement and life, as if they were still filled with the actor’s living body. They are still trying to play out some of their spectacles in this space. In this way, the archive comes alive.
J.D.: When Kantor founded Cricoteka, he envisioned it as a living archive – a place where his theatrical ideas could endure and serve future generations. While working on the exhibition with Bogdan Renczyński, we spoke a great deal about this – about Kantor’s influence on the present day and whether his work still resonates. And we do see his imprint in the work of many young artists – in their attitudes, in their approach to art. Kantor remains strikingly relevant, and his archive is still very much alive. For Kantor, memory was a kind of kaleidoscope — something we can look through repeatedly, from different angles, in deeply personal and individual ways.
A. M.: But Kantor’s “live effigy” has been understood as a mimetic figure that disrupts conventional representations of life and death. How did you approach the curatorial challenge of exhibiting theatrical objects that, in performance, functioned as uncanny extensions of the actor’s body rather than autonomous sculptures?
J.D.: Kantor was a revolutionary in every sense of the term. The Cricot 2 Theatre, which he founded, kept transgressing the traditional boundaries of stage work. He believed that for the memory of Cricot 2 to survive, the objects from his performances should be recognised as works of art. He claimed that “they contain enough tension to become works of art”. Kantor did not want his objects to be treated like regular theatrical props and destroyed as such. Wishing to protect them, he sought their acknowledgement as works of art. For that purpose, he founded the Committee for Assessment and Valuation. In 1984, the artist compiled a list of 24 objects with a special status. These objects and costumes were thus entered into the catalogue of artworks as sculptures.
However, Kantor’s costume was profoundly corporeal. It functioned as an extension of the actor’s body and, at times, as a separate entity that wrestled with the performer. The dramaturgy and essence of stage presence in Kantor’s theatre were built upon the confrontation between the actor’s physicality and the “physicality” of the object or costume. For this reason, exhibiting these objects today presents a unique challenge. From this perspective, co-curating the exhibition with Bogdan Renczyński – one of Kantor’s actors – was essential. He provides continuity of memory and guarantees its authenticity.
B.R.: Costumes and objects were partners for the actors. This served the realisation of a complementary vision within the stage, and this gives them a completely different, unique significance. Aesthetics or visuality is just an illusion; what really matters is what the theatrical object or costume is and what fills it, which body left its mark in it, its aura, and emotions. Many of these costumes have their own scent, which is, in fact, very personal. Kantor integrated the idea of the costume, clothing, and the actor’s body into the space of the stage. I performed in Kantor’s plays, and for me, functioning among objects is completely natural. The costume was my partner. It determined my movements, my emotions, and my presence on stage. It wasn’t me playing the role; it was the costume playing me. This exhibition is, in a way, a summary of over forty years of my acting and curatorial work, among these works that accompanied me every day. For me, these are not just objects; they are also fragments of my own biography, witnesses to my experiences, emotions, and transformations, which took place both on stage and off it.
A. M.: And in your exhibition, how do you negotiate the tension between the performative “presence” of the bio-objects on stage and their post-performance “afterlife” in the gallery, particularly considering Kantor’s resistance to theatrical mummification?
B.R.: The dramaturgy and essence of stage presence in Kantor’s theatre were built on the collision of the actor’s body with the “body” of the costume. When a costume or object appeared, the space began to fill with spectres, characters, images, and colours…
When a theatrical work disappears, passes away, what remains are remnants – objects and costumes – the only evidence of its existence. Kantor fought for the artistic identity that would protect the costumes, in his understanding, the works, from destruction, the fate that often befell set designs. For Kantor, it was crucial to preserve these elements and somehow ensure their survival. The risk of their destruction led Kantor to create his own museum to safeguard the collection that would remain after he was gone.
Thus, the museum became not only a place of storage but also an active space meant to inspire, provoke reflection, and evoke emotions. In the museum or gallery space, Kantor’s objects and costumes collide with the gazes of the viewers, finding a place in their imagination and provoking deeply personal experiences. The exhibition we are discussing serves as proof that Kantor is still “active” and profoundly relevant. Kantor once said, “One does not enter the theatre without consequence.” This statement is not only about the theatre but about art in general. With every exhibition, with every confrontation with an artwork, the viewer becomes part of the process. Thus, one does not enter a museum or gallery without consequence either.
J.D.: The function of Kantor’s objects has changed over time – they served one role in the performances, and now serve another as they tell the story of the Cricot 2 Theatre. Today, Kantor’s objects and costumes are preserved and displayed under museum conditions, as in Cricoteka or the Brukenthal Museum. Yet they resist traditional exhibition methods. They break free, escape categorisation, and demand the most absurd form of presentation imaginable. They possess such energy and force that they cannot be simply hung conventionally – they cannot be annihilated, tied down, laced up, or locked in a display case. They have their dynamics, biographies; they emit sounds. In this sense, they are still very much alive – they have a performative “presence”.
A. M.: Speaking of Cricot 2. Given that Kantor’s performances there often privileged objects over text, and ritual over narrative, how did you ensure that the exhibited objects maintain their theatrical “agency” and don’t simply collapse into museum relics?
J.D.: The significance of materiality in Kantor’s work is unique. The objects on stage are not merely “remnants” or “fragments”, as he often described them, but also narratives about the human condition, transience, and presence. Theatrical objects and costumes became sculptural forms, balancing on the edge between body and space, between idea and physicality, between collective memory and individuality. Costumes that lose their human shape – or those that imitate it – transform into fully-fledged works of art. Yet they still possess extraordinary power and evoke memories. They connect the viewer’s imagination with Kantor’s own vision.
A. Mikulska: And the arrangement of the exhibition attempts to convey the theatricality of the objects – they remain in motion or arranged scenes. They are supposed to resemble an installation rather than a museum exhibition. This is how the exhibition that is the starting point for the current one was built – the Personal exhibition curated by the same duo at Cricoteka in 2022, when the costumes rose to the ceiling, losing their weight and materiality. The paper costumes for Where Are the Snows of Yesteryear have this lightness inscribed in the material, but in addition, the way they are attached shows a certain etherealness. As a group of objects, they are also treated as murmuration – they form an installation – it is up to the viewer to interpret whether they are birds of life or death.
It is not accidental, but correlated with our thinking about Kantor and his theatrical legacy, that we present the exhibition during the two largest theatre festivals in Romania: the International Theatre Festival in Sibiu in June and the National Theatre Festival in Bucharest in October. Parallel to the exhibition, we present themes of Kantor’s work that resonate with contemporary impressive Romanian theatre. We bring Kantor back to life through threads, e.g. working through difficult memory, which is of comparable importance for Romanians as for Polish artists and audiences.
“The arrangement of the exhibition attempts to convey the theatricality of the objects – they remain in motion or arranged scenes. They are supposed to resemble an installation rather than a museum exhibition.”
— Aldona Mikulska
A. M.: Kantor’s use of object-characters was rooted in a deeply metaphysical reflection on transience and presence. How did you, as curators, work with or against the impulse to monumentalize these ephemeral forms within the museum context?
B.R.: Kantor allows us to feel the presence of what is no longer there. The same can be said about the work of Christian Boltanski, an artist we frequently talk about with Justyna and to whom we dedicated the exhibition Private. Kantor’s Theatrical Costumes at the Cricoteka in 2022. His installations particularly refer to passing, fading away, and the materiality connected with it.
What connected Kantor in his Teatr Cricot 2 and Boltanski in his installations was a similar approach to the body through costumes or clothes as a symbol of absence. The used clothes in Boltanski’s works evoked thoughts of death, as they recalled memories of the absent subject. Clothes retain the scent of the person who is no longer present, and their texture bears the imprints of someone’s body. This is an absent presence, mediated through worn clothes, the biographies of objects that passed from person to person. For Kantor, the costume was important, first filled with the actor’s body, and then by the memory of it – “the breath of death”. Both artists activated the space of memory – their own and collective memory – through absent biographies. Their works are filled with melancholy and longing for the human being.
J.D.: When a theatrical work disappears, fades away, only physical remnants remain – the sole evidence of its existence. Beyond the individual symbolism and metaphysical meanings each object holds, together they create new meanings. In this context, particular attention should be paid to the paper costumes from cricotage, Where Are the Snows of Yesteryear, which are presented at the exhibition in Sibiu as a site-specific installation.
They form a spatial composition resembling a cloud, rising from the floor to the ceiling and ultimately “taking flight” toward the sky. This arrangement causes the costumes to overlap and engage in relationships and dialogues with one another. In this way, a polyphonic narrative emerges, where each element gains new meanings and creates surprising connections. Together with Bogdan Renczyński, we wanted the objects to be seen up close but also for their presentation to pulse with energy and actively engage and immerse the viewers.
A. M.: And what role does the photographic image play in the exhibition, particularly in light of Kantor’s shift from literary-dramatic pretexts to “photographic plates of memory” in his later productions? Do photographs serve here as documentation, artworks, or mnemonic devices?
A. Mikulska: At the exhibition itself, photographs remain the element that is perceived intimately and directly. The photos are not hung on the walls behind the glass, but the prints are left for inspection on a table for the viewer to connect directly with the archives. We wanted to maintain some context of personal experience through this situation – you flip through the prints and recall images from life or your subconscious. It is a kind of bridge between an attempt to bring some basic information closer to the Romanian audience, for whom Kantor and his art are probably unknown, and the efforts to convey the essence of his work, based on the clichés of memory.
This, by the way, resonated very quickly, because on the day of the public opening in the Brukenthal Museum, after a few days of assembly, the cleaning staff, who mopped the floor, looked around and said that ‘‘this exhibition reminded them of their childhood’’. Our supervisors from the museum told us, surprised that it was the first time they had so openly expressed their interest and appreciation for any exhibition. So this transfer into the past does work.
J.D.: Exactly. The exhibition is complemented by unique archival materials from the Cricoteka collection – a recording of the play The Dead Class performed in Venice in 1991, after Kantor’s death; a short documentary film, Tadeusz Kantor directed by Andrzej Sapija; as well as photographs from various performances by Bogdan Korczowski. These materials reveal how the objects and costumes functioned on stage and were present within the performance space. For Kantor, the stage material – composed of intense images, metaphorical objects, and the living body – became a field of experimentation as well as a reflection on passing, memory, and death.
A. M.: Mischa Twitchin speaks of Kantor’s theatre as an “avant-garde of death”, one that turns theatrical memory into an aesthetic of survival and haunting. How is this paradox – between archive and performance, memory and disappearance – addressed in the exhibition layout or accompanying materials?
J.D.: The paradox that Mischa Twitchin writes about – between archive and performance, memory and disappearance – is fundamental to understanding both Tadeusz Kantor’s work and the way his legacy is presented today. This tension is not easily resolved. Yet it is precisely within this ambiguity that the power of his theatre lies. Kantor did not archive the past in a museal way; instead, he transformed it into a living, constantly deconstructing performance.
The exhibition presenting his oeuvre deliberately embraces this ambiguity. It does not attempt to provide clear-cut answers or reconstruct canonical performances. Instead, it offers the viewer an experience — an invitation into Kantor’s world, where memory acts like a ghost: it haunts, disrupts, and animates. This is not an archive in the traditional sense, but a space where the viewer becomes an active participant. A part of the exhibition is a table with tactile objects — authentic fragments of costumes and stage props, as well as their replicas and photographs. This physical contact with the material remnants of theatre works like a summoning of ghosts. It allows for an encounter with absence through materiality. It is a form of the “aesthetics of survival” that Twitchin describes — not merely preservation, but the restoration of presence.
A. M.: And to what extent does this exhibition stage its own kind of “dramatised séance”, as Twitchin terms it – a space where absence becomes palpable, and where spectators are confronted not with roles or stories, but with remnants and revenants? How did you intend viewers to engage with this theatrical ontology of remains?
J.D.: Kantor, in his theatrical language, created the concept of the “dramatic seance”. He did not use terms such as spectacle, performance or play. The Theatre of Death was a groundbreaking phase in Tadeusz Kantor’s work. It was initiated by the 1975 production of The Dead Class, considered by many to be a masterpiece of 20th-century theatre. This year, we celebrate the 50th anniversary of this “dramatic seance’s” premiere, which is especially significant for us, as it prompts a kind of revision of Kantor’s influence on global theatre.
The Dead Class represents the final stage of Kantor’s theatrical creativity, lasting until the artist’s death in 1990. It’s with this performance that we conclude the viewing of the Costume/Sculpture/Body exhibition at the Brukenthal Museum. Each visitor, through their own cultural and emotional memory, “reactivates” Kantor anew. In this way, the boundary between archive and performance is not so much erased as creatively intensified – as if Kantor’s theatre once again slips beyond the frameworks within which we try to grasp it.
“The boundary between archive and performance is not so much erased as creatively intensified – as if Kantor’s theatre once again slips beyond the frameworks within which we try to grasp it.”
— Justyna Droń
Curator of Costume / Sculpture / Body
Kantor’s Theatrical Objects
21.06 – 31.08.2025
Brukenthal National Museum, Sibiu, Romania
Aldona Mikulska – Head of the Popularization and Events Section at Cricoteka, the author of the Cricoteka in Romania project, which includes the exhibition Costume/Sculpture/Body curated by Justyna Droń and Bogdan Renczyński, as well as the programme accompanying the exhibition during theatre festivals in Sibiu and Bucharest including scientific sessions, educational workshops, and expert meetings.
Justyna Droń – a theatre educator and curator of contemporary art projects, with a focus on intergenerational education in museums through participatory methods. Co-curator of Costume / Sculpture / Body. Kantor’s Theatrical Objects exhibition in Sibiu and Bucharest and accompanying programme based on the Cricoteka collection. At Cricoteka – Centre for the Documentation of the Art of Tadeusz Kantor – she leads the institution’s educational programme and community art initiatives.
Bogdan Renczyński – worked with Tadeusz Kantor from 1980 to 1990. An actor in Cricot 2 Theatre, performed in Tadeusz Kantor’s productions The Dead Class, Let The Artists Die, Wielopole Wielopole, I Shall Never Return, and Let the Artists Die. Curator of numerous exhibitions in Poland and abroad, co-curator of Costume / Sculpture / Body. Kantor’s Theatrical Objects exhibition in Sibiu and Bucharest.
![Jan PAMUŁA (1944-2022), Colour Collections [chromatic] 1976 / III, 1976, acrylic, canvas; 91 x 111 cm. Couretsy of the Wallspace Gallery.](https://contemporarylynx.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/02-PAMULA-442-WALLSPACE-GALLERY-Edytuj-1024x842.jpg)