You're a producer at the Telegraph Gallery and you also curated the Good Boy exhibition, so you were there from the beginning, I assume. How would you evaluate this exhibition in retrospect? What was the most important thing for you in its preparation and how did the exhibition evolve towards the making of the film?
The exhibition was called GOOD BOY and the film is named the same. The title carries a message and polemic of the author - who is actually a "good boy"? Why are we trying to become one? Do we want to be better just because of pressure from society, family or social networks? This mixture of difficult questions is anchored by a series of paintings of corpulent men (good boys) who move with ease in the gallery space. I would not like to call this series the most important, but it is the one on which the whole concept of the exhibition was built. Overall, I would sum it up as an interesting project with three levels - the good guys, the environmentally tuned works and the house, which acted as an unusual object in the middle of the gallery.
How did your collaboration with Andrej Dúbravský begin in the first place? How did you first meet, and how did his exhibition at the Telegraph Gallery come about?
I have been following Andrej's work for a long time with my colleague Miro Macík, with whom I co-curated the GOOD BOY exhibition. The exhibition itself was planned about two years in advance. In addition, the owner and founder of the Telegraph, Robert Runták, has a large number of Andrej's works in his collection from various periods - I think from his college days. So we can say that our cooperation with Andrej has been long-lasting.
Have you ever encountered criticism from more conservative circles in the gallery because of the artists or subject matter of the exhibitions?
During my time at the Telegraph Gallery, we worked with a number of artists whose work may have been harder for a more sensitive audience to accept, and occasionally met with misunderstanding or minor criticism. However, these were not works related to sexuality, LGBTQI+ or political issues. Interestingly, their common thread was more the theme of death. I remember, for example, the exhibition of the Czech artist Mark Ther and his sculpture of a corpse in a villa set in the 1980s in Germany, which created a kind of difficult labyrinth for visitors. Other examples were the dead animals by Ukrainian artist Margarita Ivy or the work Trabant by British artist Jake Chapman, which depicted a scene of a family committing suicide.
In the film you act as a narrator representing the Telegraph Gallery's view, right? Usually you're more behind the scenes - what was it like for you to be in front of the camera and actively participate in the telling of the story?
Being "off the set" this time was something new for me. Generally, it's not entirely comfortable to be in front of the camera, even if you're talking about topics that are close to your heart. It's an activity one doesn't do regularly, so fear and nervousness are not uncommon. In this documentary, I don't just talk about Andrej, but also about my views on current political events, and I guide the viewer through the whole storyline. The strangest thing for me was to realise how much responsibility I carry when talking about such sensitive topics.
Many politicians or opinion leaders often see this responsibility only in relation to themselves, and so prefer to play with the weaknesses of society. They are aware of the weight of their own position, which makes power and manipulation play a major role in communicating with the public. That's why I tried to approach my role as honestly as possible - with respect for both the subjects and the audience. I am grateful for this experience because I was able to contribute to raising important social issues.
The Slovak cultural scene has recently undergone significant changes, which have provoked strong reactions among artists and society alike. How do you perceive the current events in Slovak culture from the perspective of someone who comes from Slovakia but lives in the Czech Republic?
The feeling that I'm kind of on the border between these two countries is strange. I have the opportunity to look into both worlds and also be part of the artistic communities in both countries, both of which are very important to me. The Czech Republic is a much more stable country at the moment and I'm sorry that the once good political relations between the two countries are almost a memory. However, the artistic scenes are interconnected - many Slovak artists live in the Czech Republic - and therefore I have the impression that the causes and problems of our country also affect Czech artists.
The problems in culture caused by the Ministry of Culture, its leadership and other people in key institutions are shocking. I don't think any of us ever expected to be so worried about what would be left of institutions like the Slovak National Gallery after its devastating leadership. But it doesn't end with culture, we are unfortunately seeing the crisis in other areas as well.
But I am grateful for the large number of people who are not afraid to go to protests and are vividly demonstrating their vital interest in saving the values in culture and the character of our country. Great support is also visible in the protests organized in the Czech Republic.
Can an artist today remain "apolitical" at all, or is it currently impossible? What do you think is the artist's responsibility in times of political crises?
The artist's responsibility is primarily to create. I don't want to go into strict manuals on how artists should behave during political crises - the decision is theirs. Many artists create politically engaged work, and it's just as okay to do that as it is to create apolitically. After all, they can also express their position in other ways than through the work itself - for example, by participating in protests or other forms of civic engagement, such as the relay strike in front of the Slovak National Gallery or the exhibition at the Free National Gallery. Each person is free to decide whether to express his or her opinion or to keep it to himself or herself. We are all part of a system that is shaping itself in an unfathomable way, and it is up to us whether we want to take an active part in improving it and protecting the values we consider important.
Art undoubtedly often serves as a form of resistance or reflection of society. Do you see "Good Boy from Slovakia" as a political film, or do you not want to frame it as such?
I wouldn't want to explicitly frame it as a political film, but I won't completely avoid it. The original ambition was to make a film about the work of Andrej Dúbravsky, following on from the GOOD BOY exhibition. However, in consultations with the whole production team, we came to the conclusion that politics had to be in it - we took it as a necessity. Andrej, like many other prominent artists in Slovakia, has become uncomfortable with the current leadership of the ministry and, for me at least, is an important figure of resistance.
Slovak society is deeply divided. Do you think that art - and this film in particular - can realistically influence the perception of the issues depicted in Slovakia? What kind of response would you expect from the Minister of Culture? And if you were to present the film to her, how would you describe it?
I sincerely hope that the film can open some viewers' eyes and contribute to the development of critical thinking. Our goal was not only to tell the story of Andrej Dúbravský, but also to document the current cultural decay and to inform as wide a spectrum of people as possible about this issue. That is why we are pleased that the film is being screened at many festivals and cinemas - we believe that it will reach those who do not normally follow politics or blindly trust the representatives of the current coalition.
In April this year we had a premiere in Bratislava, to which we invited all the participants of the documentary. The Minister of Culture Martina Šimkovičová also received an invitation, but we did not receive any response from the Ministry and no one attended the screening. With the way the minister communicates with journalists and the public, I don't even want to imagine what kind of reaction the film would have provoked - although we can imagine it.
I would describe the film to her simply - it's a mirror.
It seems that documentaries linked to exhibitions find their place in the Telegraph. Do you plan to continue this work and make more films?
I feel that documentaries have become a natural extension of exhibition work for us at the Telegraph Gallery. We see them as a great tool to build the gallery's long-term memory and as a way to have an open dialogue with the contemporary art scene. Unfortunately, it is not possible to create a documentary for every exhibition in time, so we have to choose carefully - although each project has something to offer.
Currently we are working on a documentary treatment of the art scene of the 1980s in Czechoslovakia. In doing so, we are drawing on our exhibition Signal IV, held at the turn of 2024 and 2025, which maps works of this period from the collection of Robert Runták.
