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Greetings From Tomorrow, solo show, Galerie SPZ, Prague
Curated by Piotr Sikora; photos by Tomas Souček
Greetings from tomorrow
The food is good and the people are nice
It’s a pity to leave – it’s a pity to stay as we have no place to return to
The fragile tissue of the present flutters in the breeze just like Indian summer which reminds me that out of all the visions of tomorrow, we are most attached to the one that isn’t much different from the current state of affairs. To make it slightly more approachable and appealing, we could consider depicting it – tomorrow – in an old-school color palette with slightly blurred frames, bleached colors, and clothing from past eras. After all, the way teenagers are dressed today has been influenced by patterns from two, three, or even four decades ago. Feels like being back at the primary school, surrounded by emo goth kids with colored hair. The discreet charm of the past overshadows the future, just like the warm sunlight flooding the landscape on a postcard from Balaton Lake in 1970.
It’s hard to say if I truly belong there, or if I’m merely haunted by the idea of a collective memory deeply ingrained in me through the relentless influence of visual culture. That summer of 1970, like all others, returns to me in dream-like fragments of a distant era I can’t quite recall. It’s all a mirage of the past that has wedged itself into my phantom memory, yet it continues to shape who I am. This past doesn’t rightfully belong to me, but somehow, when I immerse myself in it, I find a strange comfort in the notion of belonging. The distant sound of schlager music, the aroma of fried food lingering in the air, Casper the Ghost’s enigmatic smile from a weathered poster – everything becomes heightened, more real, under the scorching heat of the sun.
Yet every summer conceals something, and every carefree day of boundless boredom serves as a stark reminder of impending mortality. Like a ping pong ball that mysteriously disappears just before the camp tournament, I’m left pondering: will it never happen again? This summer is as overwhelming as ever, yet I can’t help  thinking it is going to happen again. – Piotr Sikora
Untitled (UFO by G. Adamski, 1951), 2023, pigment transfer, acrylic on canvas, 130x180 cm; source: UFOs So rund wie Untertassen, Weltbild, 1992, DE
Untitled (Aquarius, 1975), 2023, pigment transfer, acrylic on canvas, 80x140 cm; source: The Pink Panther, No. 30, comic ad, 1975, US
Untitled (Estetika, 1968), 2023, pigment transfer, acrylic on canvas, 120x120 cm; source: G.W.F. Hegel, Estetika II, Epocha, 1968, CS
Pink Panther, 1975, 2023, pigment transfer, acrylic on canvas, 80x80 cm; source: The Pink Panther, No. 30, 1975, US
Untitled (Ghost, 1977), 2023, pigment transfer, acrylic on canvas, 100x120 cm; source: Casper in Haunted House for Sale, comic ad, 1977, US
Share the Fall II, 2023, digital print on polyester, 100x375 cm​; source: Stanisław Werner, Fizyka, 1975, Warsaw
Beer mats, 2023, digital print, ed. of 200, Ø10 cm
© Mark Fridvalszki 2016–2024