Unknown neighbour. The Polish outlook on Lithuanian photography The first exhibition in Poland presenting a wide historical overview of the Lithuanian photography.

The fact that ‘Lithuania. Two Centuries of Photography’ marks an inaugural show in Poland attempting to tackle this subject is extremely astounding. It seems that the Polish institutions should have concentrated on this area much sooner owing to a multitude of historical and cultural connections. Fortunately, celebrations of the 700^th anniversary of the foundation of Vilnius are not limited to the Lithuanian territory. Poland is actively participating in these celebrations, for instance through two temporary exhibitions in Kraków: ‘Wilno, Vilnius, Vilne 1918-1948. One City — Many Stories’ in the National Museum and ‘Lithuania. Two Centuries of Photography’ in the International Cultural Centre.

Labirynth

Adam Mazur, the author of the exhibition’s concept and plan, along with the curators, Vilma Samulionytė and Natalia Żak, faced a challenge of synthesizing a multifaceted phenomenon, which would be largely unfamiliar to the Polish audience. The scale and complexity of the subject inspired the concept of a labyrinth that starts in the atelier, continues through the juxtaposition of urban and natural landscapes, and ultimately finishes in the realm of corporeality and guides the viewer towards “the path of the clouds”. From this point onwards, the labyrinth branches out even more – its pathways are as numerous as personal memories and points of view on Lithuania. It is worth noting that instead of focusing on a linear history and chronology, the strategy of narration is dictated by selected notions as a pars pro toto for the Lithuanian photography, and as such it effectively operates as a tool for bringing this bicentennial and vivid phenomenon closer to the audience.

Atelier

An important aspect of the history of Lithuanian photography is the fact that the aristocracy was the first social class to fall in love with the camera. Drawing on the example of the Kossakowski estate in Wojtuszki, one can clearly see that for the upper classes photography was much more than just a pastime. Not only did Stanisław Kazimierz Kossakowski take some witty photographs (e.g. girls growing out of flowerbeds like flowers), he also used this medium to make an inventory of his manor, atelier, and even ordinary people living in the vicinity.

The other significant aspect of photography’s ascendency was the portrait. Abiding by the romantic convention, the photographs of Adam Mickiewicz, Jonas Basanavičius, Antanas Baranauskas or Mikołaj Konstanty Čiurlionis played a considerable role in strengthening the national consciousness of the 19^th-century Lithuanians. 

The unfortunate désintéressement of the Polish audience when it comes to the history of Lithuanian photography is well illustrated by the self-ironic project ‘Photosurgery’ by Robert Kuśmirowski. The artist created a mock atelier featuring imitations of 19^th-century Lithuanian photographic archives. Artificial intelligence filled the void in the Polish consciousness about the art history of its neighbour reflected by e.g. a paucity of museum collections.

From the city to the jungle

The fact that Daguerre’s invention reached the magnate estates first is attributed to the lack of large urban centres, which is characteristic of Lithuania. Even the capital city of Vilnius captured by Józef Czechowicz in the 1970s seems like a sleepy little town. The walls of Vilnius, harmoniously blending into the local post-glacial landscape, are an inexhaustible source of inspiration for photographers – from Jan Bułhak, who romanticizes temples and streets, to Moses Vorobeichic, who experiments with constructivist views of the ghetto, to Antanas Sutkus and Rolandas Šimulis, who take a sneak peek into life under communism. Especially captivating are the surrealist collages portraying the enormous apocalyptic monuments in Vilnius created by Mindaugas Navakas in the 1980s. In one of the most recent works by Andrej Vasilenko, the city is subject to a deconstruction as if it were returning to its point of origin, namely nature. Moss engulfs the crumbling walls, and the earth spontaneously forms a mound obscuring the settlement.

Mounds, or rather kurgans, are ubiquitous elements of the Lithuanian landscape. The mystery contained in their ancient quality compelled Balys Buračas to follow their trail already in the 1930s. In the 21^st century, the tumuli provide a setting for revived pagan rituals in the pieces ‘Power of the Earth’ by Artūras Raila. Lithuanian identity is based not only on the unique bond with the forest and native landscape, but also on the recollection of the latest baptism in Europe, which only took place in the late 14^th century. Furthermore, Lithuanians believe that their country was born out of rain and that every person has their own cloud, which they can name. The series ‘The Book of Clouds’ by Algimantas Kunčius, created between 1985 and 2001, documents the search for one’s own cloud.

The Lithuanian outlook on Lithuania

Lithuanian photography is rife with jocular, and often ironic, self-portraits. Setting aside the Witkiewicz family from the Žemaitija region, one could explore the energetic and ingenious practice of Domicėlė Tarabildienė from the 1930s or ‘Drazdauskaitė, Budvytis and I,’ the series created by the trio of photographers in the 1980s.

The camera was used not only for the sake of entertainment or artistic expression. In the totalitarian regimes of the countries occupying the Lithuanian territory in the 20^th century it was the tool of invigilation and oppression. Violence was photographed when crimes were committed in Ponary in 1941-1944, as well as during the battle for the Vilnius TV tower on 13 January 1991. The tragedy of the Lithuanian people is reflected by simple, yet incredibly powerful images. For instance, the series ‘Surveillance,’ (2016-2018) by Valentyn Odnoviun consists of the microphotographs of viewfinders in the KGB cells, while in the years 2009–2020, Indrė Šerpytytė built models of former execution houses, which she then photographed in an aesthetically pleasing fashion — the scenes of crimes seem like toys, just like the bodies of victims were to their executioners.

‘Chain of Freedom’

The people of Lithuania fought for their dignity and humanity. Their resistance is represented by the social gesture. Photographs by Aivars Liepiņš from 1989 depicting the chain of freedom document a great moment in human history. The lesson stating that change is possible seems particularly relevant today, when war and unrest are once again present in East-Central Europe.

The exhibition ‘Lithuania. Two Centuries of Photography’ has an open ending, which gives the floor to the participants of a nation-wide happening, namely the common people of Lithuania — e.g. the subjects of the series ‘Cleaning Ladies’ by Ramune Pigagaite. 

The initiative of ICC is exceptionally valuable to the Polish viewer, who was unfamiliar with the subject. Naturally, a show presenting two centuries of artistic achievements in a few thematic sections should be considered introductory. Nonetheless, the lecture prepared by the curatorial team is accessible, and the “labyrinth” is fairly easy to navigate. Hopefully, the Polish imagination will dispel the mirages reminiscent of the ‘Photosurgery’ project by Kuśmirowski and replace them with a genuine understanding of its neighbour’s photographic legacy.

Written by Robert Domżalski

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‘Lithuania. Two Centuries of Photography’

International Cultural Centre

16.06-24.09.2023

Exhibition concept and plan: Adam Mazur
Curators: Adam Mazur, Vilma Samulionytė, Natalia Żak

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