\",\"icon\":\"twitter\",\"link\":\"https://twitter.com/zyrocom\"},{\"svg\":\"\",\"icon\":\"facebook\",\"link\":\"https://www.facebook.com/ZyroCOM/\"},{\"svg\":\"\",\"icon\":\"instagram\",\"link\":\"https://www.instagram.com/zyro_com/\"}],\"settings\":{\"styles\":{\"align\":\"\",\"justify\":\"center\",\"position\":\"6/7/7/11\",\"icon-size\":\"20px\",\"icon-color\":\"var(--colors-dark)\",\"icon-spacing\":\"space-around\",\"icon-direction\":\"row\",\"icon-color-hover\":\"#3a3a3a\",\"space-between-icons\":\"32px\"},\"useBrandColors\":false}},\"qPHndJS5mp\":{\"type\":\"GridTextBox\",\"content\":\"
ADDRESS
\",\"settings\":{\"styles\":{\"text\":\"left\",\"align\":\"flex-start\",\"justify\":\"flex-end\",\"position\":\"5/10/6/13\",\"m-element-margin\":\"0 0 16px 0\"}}},\"sxCkG3hfdt\":{\"type\":\"GridTextBox\",\"content\":\"\",\"settings\":{\"styles\":{\"text\":\"left\",\"align\":\"flex-start\",\"justify\":\"flex-start\",\"position\":\"4/10/5/13\",\"m-element-margin\":\"0 0 16px 0\"}}},\"ttLFxzPfTA\":{\"type\":\"GridImage\",\"settings\":{\"alt\":\"\",\"image\":\"https://assets.zyrosite.com//mePjZ23zwBiypDvz/zuko-AwvZ5RkBDnTVB10m.jpg\",\"styles\":{\"align\":\"center\",\"justify\":\"center\",\"position\":\"1/9/12/15\",\"object-fit\":\"contain\",\"m-element-margin\":\"0 0 16px 0\"}}},\"xjRzbgIZ6r\":{\"type\":\"GridTextBox\",\"content\":\"CONTACT
\",\"settings\":{\"styles\":{\"text\":\"left\",\"align\":\"flex-start\",\"justify\":\"flex-end\",\"position\":\"3/10/4/13\",\"m-element-margin\":\"0 0 16px 0\"}}},\"hs1ffRNg0KX\":{\"type\":\"GridTextBox\",\"content\":\"1420 Willis Avenue
Jacksonville, FL 32216
Painting that was born and lived for a long time in the basement
In January 7-29, three halls of the Vilnius Vartai Gallery housed a display of works by Vaidotas Žukas. The exhibition bearing an intriguing title, “paintings that were never displayed”, consisted of paintings created in 1975-1986 and 1998-1999.
Canvases hidden in basements were brought to light, still in their authentic state. Unframed paintings that had never been exhibited, included a rebellious spirit and the dust of time; they did not deny the past, but neither did they stiff. These vital, tacky paintings had, perhaps, an even stronger effect than they had back in the eighties.
At that time, Mr Žukas’ work was foreshadowed by a convulsive existentialist art, which intoxicated most of the more flexible painters. Today his art emerges as a lonely pillar of fire in the torn apart landscape of contemporary painting.
V. Žukas’ painting fits under the expressionist formula: it creates a vision of the “suffering world”. However, the author does it with dignity, not chasing after the typical stimulants of Expressionism.
He paints the issues of the Far or Middle East, and chooses biblical scenes, i.e. stories which should make one excited or tearful.
The same can be said about the plasticity: it’s complicated, multi-layered process lacks obvious signs of depression, but it gets on your nerves as something that’s about to burst.
Not only does the exhibition, provide a rare opportunity to see quality painting, it also has a moment of intrigue.
Knowing the metamorphoses of V. Žukas’ life and his current journalistic and educational activities, many will be interested to explore the “pre-Christian” face of the author. A conversation with the artist should also clarify the circumstances of creating art in the past.
‘Why weren't these paintings “displayed”?’
‘For various reasons. Some paintings are leftovers which did not fit in the larger cycles, others I hid because of their “non-commercial” appearance. Some of them I used to carry to the Exhibition Palace, believing that they weren’t inferior to works brought by others.
But then they ignored me. I’ve heard there was a sanction: not to accept Žukas’ work in exhibitions for ten years. I remember a case when a portrait of J. Keliuotis painted by me got accepted. Unfortunately, just before the opening of the exhibition, it was visited by K. Bogdanas and L. Šepetys who upon seeing my name ordered that it be removed.’
‘What does the intriguing phrase “the basement period” mean? You used it many times when preparing for the exhibition.’
‘For me the basement was the beginning of my creative career, a stage of my life. For a couple years I worked in the basement. Clearly, this was harmful to my health. There was a lack of light (sometimes I painted in candle light), a lack of air, and the smell of paint made me choke. Later, Father saw that something might come out of his son and allowed me to bring my canvases home.
Here it was better, but what was painted during the day I had to breathe during the night – I worked and I slept in the same room... Works piled up, and then they were again taken to the basement. Many of them were destroyed when the sewer pipes broke.’
‘You call works that are displayed in the exhibition your “existentialist period”. How much is the suffering purely philosophical, and how much of it is real?’
‘All was real, a true experience, nothing was done on purpose. I’ve always been very much aware of the occupation – for me it was a very heavy burden.
I survived it through my creative process. For example, I sometimes would paint a nice and neat picture. And then I’d take the broadest brush, dip it in black paint and go over the faces and bodies a few times. Of course, I tried to do this in a way that was logical and aesthetic.
Such is the semantics of my work. For example, who were those naked children? They weren’t stripped and put on display for morally wrong reasons. Someone looks at them as guinea pigs – maybe the doctors or the military experts. After all, the stripping of a young man is known from ancient times – the Christian martyrs were stripped down for ridicule. A girl protecting her chastity would be displayed in the middle of town. Of course, there are beautiful legends about how her hair would grow long all of a sudden, but if you imagine the actual condition of this person, I think it’s similar to the human state during Soviet times.
For me, the creative process was excruciating. At that time I thought that everyone who wanted to seriously pursue artistic quality could achieve it. I sought art with brutality. For ten years, day after day, I would stand in front of the easel for ten straight hours. My friends Josefas Josadė and Rolandas Rastauskas would come every weekend only to find a dozen new pieces. But I destroyed many of them. Especially when my friends harshly criticized my art.’
‘What made you stop?’
‘ My life and work had reached such a degree of tension that it seemed easy to end everything. Those sick kids were my authentic experience. I myself lay on a deathbed several times. Everything I painted was connected to my personal life. In addition, my arrogance as an artist had reached its peak. There came a time when I felt that I could do everything, everything was in my hands. But what was next? Was this enough? I realized that something had to change.’
‘Looking from the side, this period seems not unlike a session of exorcism.’
‘Could be. Although I did not consciously formulate these things. I just worked and searched. I’m not very fond of the word “to search.” I have never done art “just for the hell of it”, so even my earliest
work cannot be called “searching.”
But, on the other hand, after all, a good artist is always looking for something – even if he is ninety years old. I think it’s funny that some of my older colleagues even wear beards the way they grew them thirty years ago. Don’t they get bored?
The same can be said about painting: how long can you use the same strokes, the same colors? I have learned to create hard, coarse, even screaming art: work that makes you want to run away, and attracts you at the same time. But the time came when I felt that it might hurt others, and I felt I couldn’t go on like this myself.’
‘Can good pictures, however, be harmful?’
‘Kęstas Antanėlis had bought a few rather strange paintings from me – I warned him that he had better hide them.
I do not want to mystify those things and think that the tragedy that took place in his home happened due to the paintings, but I sometimes feel that it isn’t good to be with them all the time and keep them in the environment where you come to rest. They suck your energy, they breathe, they require attention and are emotive.
That’s what I want, but I’m not sure if it’s good for others.
Yet many in Vilnius have my paintings – I’d say, there is about a hundred of them in different homes.’
‘Everything, you say, is very personal. Didn’t you experience any influence from the development of Lithuanian art and its topical issues of the time?’
‘I came to a Lithuanian identity through a different door than everyone else. And much later – when I did not have a workshop and was allowed to work in the folk art repository of the All Saints Church, and when I started to travel throughout Lithuania. Only then did the Lithuanian identity become natural to me. In the beginning, I deliberately wanted to move away from what is known as the “Lithuanian tradition.”
I really like the words of an Estonian painter and a good friend of mine Peter Mudist: “There is no need to look for your face.”
If you look for the creative product conscientiously and long enough, if you are not afraid of changes (and changing is very typical of me), the face appears automatically.’
Nijolė Adomonytė “Lietuvos Rytas”, January, 2000.
Cover painting: Stars-flowers. 1995-2015. Oil on canvas. 70x100
\",\"settings\":{\"styles\":{\"text\":\"left\",\"align\":\"flex-start\",\"justify\":\"flex-start\",\"position\":\"1/3/60/15\",\"m-element-margin\":\"0 0 16px 0\"}}},\"AKgaR0Bo5E-section-title\":{\"type\":\"GridTextBox\",\"content\":\"2002-07-04
Vaidotas Zukas has been dubbed by some the \\\"artistic conscience of Lithuania.\\\" A painter, journalist and one-time presidential candidate, Zukas has been at the forefront of Lithuania's intelligentsia since the 1980s. Ausrine Bagdonaite talked to him about his life, work and the similarities between the two.
Zukas is married and has six children. A large section of his family's flat was converted to an art gallery where Zukas exhibits his work. He also occasionally holds public political and cultural discussion session there, which attract students, artists, lawyers and politicians.
In 1989, Zukas founded the radio station Mazoji Studija (\\\"The Little Studio\\\"), part of Lithuanian Roman Catholic Radio, and was its program director for seven years. From January 2000 to April 2001 Zukas was the director general of Lithuanian National Radio and Television. He now hosts the radio shows \\\"The Winds,\\\" \\\"Summer Studio with Vaidotas Zukas\\\" and the talk show \\\"Face to Face.\\\"
How would you depict your works ignoring critics' interpretations?
Critical disapproval reached me only during the Soviet era. Now the criticism is more or less benevolent. Out of all the critics who tried to interpret my work, art critic Nijole Adomonyte was the one who most exactly verbalized the subjects in the paintings. Even those I knew only subconsciously. It appeared that she was telling what I wanted to hear, because the artist is often humble to talk about his works, then he purposely says something less clever or even purposely makes fun of his working process. Journalists take things seriously and write down exactly what I say. I'm a journalist myself, but I try to analyze the spiritual and emotional world. Journalists quote the artist but don't understand the irony, which may be hidden behind what is said. It would be an advantage, if journalists knew principles and subtleties of music, theater and art. (Tabloid-style journalism) has drowned the culture. But, anyway, being a journalist and an artist, I also think that real values may be infused into the mass culture in a milder way.
How do your ideas translate into realty?
I'm not into a quick creative process. I like the prudent method of creating. For example, I prefer Paul Cezzane to Van Gogh, who used to paint three canvases a day. Paul Cezzane sometimes produced one painting in two or three years. Another reason why my works don't come out often is my journalistic activities. I can peacefully paint only when I recede into silence. I'm for a serious, restrained and profound working process. I don't like setbacks and have to go from the beginning to the end although, at the end the work can sometimes look playful.
How has the nature of your work changed throughout your life?
(It has changed) very much indeed. At the beginning, before I entered the Vilnius Academy of Art, there was the discontent and search of a young human being. I entered the academy in 1974 and became an artist in 1976. Then my nose was up high, I wasn't interested in anything but art. I worked a lot - about 10 to 12 hours a day. That's because during the Soviet-era undercover people from abroad or the culture attachï from St. Petersburg or Moscow who was looking for informal modern art used to come to Lithuania, so my friends would bring those people to me. I wasn't directly anti-Soviet or a very religious person at that time, but I wanted to make interesting and good art in the international context.
You were expelled from the Academy of Art. Why?
I was a disobedient person in the Soviet system. I was scolded at the academy, but they couldn't (raise objections) because I had good grades. The pretext for expelling me was loud partying after the opening of the exhibition by students two weeks before graduating in 1979. But at that time I was a full-blooded artist and degrees were of no importance to me. I got the diploma later, in the independent Lithuania.
How did the expulsion affect your career?
On the one hand, the conflict with the former government had built some barriers. After I was expelled from the Academy of Art, I was barred for 10 years from taking part in official exhibitions. On the other hand, I was as free as a bird, because those who graduated had to do senseless work in factories and create proletarian posters. As for me, I went to the countryside and painted whatever I wanted, since I had given up everything.
When did you get interested in journalism? Where did you come up with the idea for \\\"The Little Studio\\\"?
When one of my teachers, Justinas Mikutis, died I was invited to speak on the radio about him. I enjoyed the experience, went to the head of national radio and told them I was interested in doing something. After several successful tries I was given permission to do the half-hour weekly Catholic program in 1989 (on Lithuanian Catholic Radio). There had been no Christian culture on the radio since World War II. Later we founded a separate studio - \\\"The Little Studio.\\\" That was an interesting seven-year period. We were allied with the Roman Catholic Church, but at the same time we were separate. We wanted to have a versatile church. Now I think that I demanded too much from the church, because maybe it didn't have all the necessary conditions for making some changes. I don't quite like what the studio is doing now, because they are not looking for anything new.
What role does religion play in your life?
When I was young, the word \\\"God\\\" wasn't often heard in our family. The most vehement creative period of my life was between 1977 and 1990. This wasn't only the search for the form but also the constant analysis of myself and going deep into the transformation of real life on the canvas or paper. Art asks to interpret life somehow, not to copy it directly. I thought that art was even higher than parents. I was a typical hard-boiled existentialist. After that period began this Christian period in my life. Looking back 20 years I can say that life itself and the creative process led to this turning point. Now the religious reawakening both in Lithuania and in my creative work has flooded back.
Do you feel you're more a journalist or a painter?
I feel like a father most of all. My oldest daughter is 25 and has her own family, and my youngest boy is 7 years old. Everything happens in our family like in any family but first of all we are friends. I like playing and being crazy with my wife and children. Also there's a constant choice in life - what is more important and what is not. At the same time you have to do many things, so you choose what is best. Intuition tells you how to behave.
Published 2002-07-04 on https://www.baltictimes.com/news/articles/6618/
\",\"settings\":{\"styles\":{\"text\":\"left\",\"align\":\"flex-start\",\"justify\":\"flex-start\",\"position\":\"2/3/58/15\",\"m-element-margin\":\"0 0 16px 0\"}}}},\"navigation\":{\"items\":{\"home\":{\"type\":\"Page\",\"subItems\":[]},\"8lg2h1I3-\":{\"type\":\"Page\",\"subItems\":[]},\"AQVid0u63\":{\"type\":\"Page\",\"subItems\":[]},\"CY3RDmbgX\":{\"type\":\"Page\",\"subItems\":[]},\"RNJJYIyZU\":{\"type\":\"Page\",\"subItems\":[]},\"RwhPUP6tH\":{\"type\":\"Page\",\"subItems\":[]},\"hkg9lxu5o\":{\"type\":\"Page\",\"subItems\":[]},\"p4Niv_R4P\":{\"type\":\"Page\",\"subItems\":[]},\"viSBOmfvD\":{\"type\":\"Page\",\"subItems\":[]},\"yXRLSK0LX\":{\"type\":\"Page\",\"subItems\":[]}},\"hidden\":false,\"itemsIds\":[\"home\",\"RwhPUP6tH\",\"AQVid0u63\",\"CY3RDmbgX\",\"yXRLSK0LX\",\"p4Niv_R4P\",\"RNJJYIyZU\",\"8lg2h1I3-\"],\"hiddenItemsIds\":[\"hkg9lxu5o\",\"viSBOmfvD\"]},\"blogCategories\":{},\"hasActivePlan\":1,\"domain\":\"zukasgallery.com\",\"user\":{\"fullName\":\"admin\"}}"