Interview with Wiktor Dyndo
Patrycja Ignaczak: We live in a world where both ideas and human attitudes are becoming increasingly radicalized. Art, as if in opposition to populist, polarizing narratives and dichotomous simplifications, has always been a space where all boundaries are blurred, more ambivalent, never black and white. It is a space where one can boldly balance between truth and fiction. Do you think that in today's reality, which sharpens all divisions, an artist should take a clear stance through their work?
Wiktor Dyndo: The very idea that an artist should or shouldn't do something is far from me. Art is, and I hope will remain, very diverse; just as societies, individuals, or generations are diverse in the context of time. I believe that any good artwork, whether it takes an abstract or realistic form, politically engaged or not, takes a clear stance. It is its clarity that decides whether it resonates with the viewer or leaves them indifferent. Art defies clarity and predictability, which makes it a good escape from polarization and the one-pole simplification of reality. If the claim that the current reality sharpens divisions is true, I am not convinced that it has a real impact on artists taking more explicit positions. I feel that many artists distance themselves from this and focus on themselves, which is a safe escape into the currently popular self-acceptance or self-awareness. I take the risk of confronting the problems of the contemporary world.
PI: Since Jacques Rancière's famous publication, we know that aesthetics is inextricably linked to politics. Looking at your work, one can easily be convinced of this. Every decision regarding the chosen theme of a work is also a decision about what we extract from the discursive void and elevate to the status of a topic worth telling or showing. What is the relationship between art and politics for you?
WD: Politics, as an important part of reality, is very significant to me, even fascinating. That’s my temperament. I’m not tired of reality; on the contrary, I find it to be a dynamic, unpredictable, and inexhaustible sketchbook from which I can constantly draw. Through images, I express my reflections on the world around us, which is so surprising. This is the driving force that seems incredibly attractive to me. However, I always emphasize that equally important elements are formal matters—very fundamental to art, and especially to painting—such as color, composition, and rhythm. Only the combination of meaning with form gives me a satisfying space to work on the image.
PI: Where does the need to comment on geopolitical reality come from?
WD: I wouldn’t call it commentary; that word seems completely inadequate. By commenting, we enter the realm of propaganda. What suits me better is the word "reflection," although it’s technically a synonym. I can only guess where it comes from. I grew up in a home where geopolitics, multiculturalism, and discussions about the complexity of the world were everyday experiences. That shaped me. Besides, I travel a lot, which also has a huge impact on how I perceive the reality around us.
PI: One of your exhibitions was titled “May You Live in Interesting Times.” What do “interesting times” mean for a painter?
WD: I would like to point out that it is not a Chinese curse, as it is often considered. Personally, I like when a lot is happening. However, it’s a trap because, eventually, it leads to overstimulation. I don’t think about a painting spontaneously, based on the impulse of a significant event. My way of working is completely different. It’s a process that takes a long time. Moreover, I usually work in cycles, so the events that the world gets excited about become echoes reflecting in my previous works. Often, to my own surprise, events happening here and now are reflected like in a mirror. A painting created years earlier suddenly starts to resonate with the present reality. I must admit that this gives me great satisfaction.
PI: Often, on your canvases, you use not only state symbols but also images with strong cultural or identity connotations. How important do you think identity is in today’s world? What character does it take?
WD: I will refer here to my favorite thinker, Zygmunt Bauman, and his book Globalization, where he brilliantly shows what the concept of globalization means and its consequences. One of them is precisely locality, the search for identity. This is the paradox of today’s times. The universal availability of everything everywhere, at the same time, causes exactly the opposite tendencies, namely strengthening the identity you mentioned, which increasingly transforms into nationalism, religious fanaticism, or economic protectionism. No one says anymore that capital is without nationality. The world experienced this most acutely during the pandemic, when it turned out that breaking supply chains makes it impossible for us to function normally, and governments cannot ensure citizens' safety, including military security (just think of the lack of chips produced in Asia). Conflict, including cultural or religious conflict, is an important point of reference in my work. The identity you’re asking about, which is often rediscovered, is the result of the most important phenomenon we are currently facing—migration. This is a problem that doesn’t have a solution. In the same book, Bauman writes about migration, saying that people’s movements are perfectly rational. It’s hard to deny poorer and weaker people the right to move to places with better economic or climatic conditions. Yet another paradox arises because we have to deny others the right to move freely, to the free movement of goods and capital, which not long ago seemed one of humanity’s most significant achievements and a guarantee of growing prosperity. We are faced with dilemmas that result in a crisis in many areas. These tensions, or, to speak more broadly in visual art terms, contrasts, are relationships from which I often draw ideas for new paintings.
PI: Just like 19th-century artists, you use certain props related to the so-called “Middle East” in your paintings. What distinguishes your painting from romantic orientalism? Have you ever felt that you are balancing on the thin line between portraying and exoticizing?
WD: Contemporary orientalism is one of my favorite themes. The Middle East, or more specifically the Arab world, is very close to me on all levels. During my studies, I had a scholarship in Cairo, and for the last twenty years (sic!) I have been there every year, feeling a deep emotional connection to this part of the world. 19th-century artists provided a very specific image of these areas. The exotism of that time, particularly understood in a paternalistic manner, manifested in a fascination with everything that was unknown and mysterious. We all know the elements—carpets, lamps, scenes from hammams… Surprisingly, not much has changed; only the scenography and props have changed. I still often encounter a very paternalistic approach to this part of the world. Moreover, frankly, this racist attitude is not only focused on Middle Eastern countries but on every area outside the so-called West. Imagined oriental, magical lands in social consciousness have started to be perceived as a one-dimensional form, now reduced to a threat, of course without delving into any nuances. The Arab world, since the 1990s and the first Gulf War, has been associated with war, terrorism, jihad, and kebabs. These postcolonial representations are both fascinating and dangerous. They are, of course, politically exploited, as we know, managing fear is very effective. I try to depict not so much the Middle East itself, but rather the perception of it—delivered mainly through the internet, television, and news portals. This image of war, filtered through editorial decisions, is a broad subject. Information is a product; it has to sell. Susan Sontag writes about this in her important essay Regarding the Pain of Others. Watching misfortune has become one of the most essential experiences of modernity, all thanks to, as Sontag writes, specialized tourists—journalists. The image of war, which constitutes 95% of any information from the Arab world, is in our homes daily. As Sontag writes, “blood grabs attention.” This commercial nature of infotainment is full of aestheticization, even when it concerns (and most often it does) wars, natural disasters, and other world atrocities. The aestheticization of war is nothing new. I try to be very sensitive to this area of communication, which, surprisingly, has a lot in common with what a picture is, or more broadly, with art.
PI: Many of your works feel almost like report-style paintings. What do you think of this comparison?
WD: As I said—what interests me more is the art itself than reporting or documenting, so it’s like the next step. I also like the category of literary reportage, where the artistic value—in the case of literature, the value of words—is also significant.
PI: What fascinates you about realism in painting?
WD: Oh, I don’t know. I’ve often wondered why I work on a painting the way I do. I’ll probably never answer that question for myself. It’s not that any artist had such a strong influence on me that I started following their path of portraying reality. I feel that this way of painting developed unconsciously but naturally, at least that’s how I feel. Apparently, it comes from my personality.
PI: In contemporary humanities, including art, there has been a trend for several years of moving away from grand, often linear histories in favor of micro-narratives or, in Ewa Domańska’s words, unconventional histories. However, in your works, you propose macro-narratives. You refer to monumental, politically and socially significant events. What makes you adopt such a perspective?
WD: I agree with your diagnosis. As you say, this has been going on for several years and it will probably change eventually. If we were talking at the beginning of the 90s, when the main topic was critical art, your question would probably be phrased differently. Again, it’s hard for me to answer why my painting is like this and not otherwise. Apparently, I find myself best at the center of events, not on the periphery. I love huge cities—megalopolises, or, on a European scale, capitals and largest metropolises. I can't imagine living in the countryside.
PI: Many of your paintings draw from war iconography and media representations of violence. What kind of responsibility do you feel as an artist when processing such images?
WD: It’s burdensome. I have to be very careful not to cross the line of literalness, which is an additional challenge when using a realistic approach to depiction. Perhaps that’s why, in almost all of my works, there are no representations of people. What remains are the effects of their actions, filtered relationships or imaginations: clouds of smoke, ruins, war vedutes. And once again, we return to tension and anxiety, or more broadly, to crisis—key concepts, in my opinion, for describing the contemporary world. I do this through the medium of painting, which is my conscious choice. It’s not obvious for this type of subject matter, but it’s in painting that I feel most comfortable and derive the greatest satisfaction. I like the error that’s inherent in the technique itself. Moreover, painting is an art of silence and stillness, which, in today’s world—where the number of stimuli in the form of videos, films, sounds is enormous—is a value in itself. It is precisely painting that has the power of stillness and silence, which I find incredibly valuable and facilitates distance and reflection. War is the worst thing that can happen. After Russia's invasion of Ukraine, it has come closer to our lives than ever before. Michael Houellebecq provocatively but aptly said in one of his interviews that it’s better to watch war and football on television. It's hard to disagree with him.
PI: Do you see yourself as an artist-archivist?
WD: No—absolutely not. I hope I never reach that point.
PI: In many artistic and institutional environments, the line between art and activism is increasingly blurred. By painting, you remain an observer. What does remaining in the position of a detached commentator give you as a painter?
WD: I don’t think I have enough courage to go to the front line or act in an activist form, although during the PiS government, I participated in many initiatives opposing these disastrous governments and their ideas. I was, together with a friend, the initiator of a protest under the Bernatowicz’s CSW. I was quite surprised that I took part in that. However, I don’t feel the need to merge these two worlds; it probably doesn’t lie in my nature.
PI: On one hand, your paintings respond to very current, dynamic social realities, on the other hand, the creative process itself is long (due to, among other things, the large scale). Does the time required by a composition allow you to look at the depicted matter from a greater distance?
WD: Exactly, it’s exactly as you say. As I mentioned earlier, my reaction is not quick or automatic. It’s a process that often takes several years before I take on the analysis of a given issue, even one as important as the Arab Spring. In fact, I dedicated only one small painting to that event. I never know how the spectacularity of reality will translate into the attention I will give to a given issue. Often, I start with a color that appears in my mind, and only after many months do I come across an event or a frame that becomes a response to this emotional, fascinating composition or juxtaposition. As you’ve mentioned many times, I paint realistically and precisely, often on a large scale, so the creative process takes quite a long time. Before I begin working, I spend a lot of time preparing—conceptual sketches and analyzing how and in what order to tackle individual elements on the canvas to achieve the intended effect. This is an "analytical" stage. It takes a lot of time, but of course, it’s only during the actual work on the painting that I spend the most time. I’ve always felt best working with oil painting on canvas. It’s my favorite technique, which I stick to. Although it requires time and patience, it’s the one that brings me the most pleasure.