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July 20th, 2008
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Controversy follows him

Critics love to hate National Gallery Director Milan Knížák

By Ondřej Bouda
Staff Writer, The Prague Post
April 23rd, 2008 issue

JAN PŘEROVSKÝ/THE PRAGUE POST
Knížák, 68, has long been a controversial figure in the art world, first as a 1960s anti-establishment artist, and more recently for his decisions as head of the National Gallery.
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COURTESY PHOTO
Knížák became an enemy of the state for pushing the edge of the envelope with his avant-garde art.
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The Knížák File



Born: April, 19, 1940, in Plzeň, west Bohemia
Interests: Painting, sculpture, architecture, music, poetry and his six Chihuahuas
Occupations: Artist, academy rector, National Gallery director

National Gallery Director Milan Knížák has been a controversial figure for more than 40 years.
He is the man that critics love to hate, from the start of his artistic career, when his work was deemed “dangerous” by the communist government, to his current job.
Now, 57 well-known artists, art critics and art teachers have sent an open letter to the culture minister to call for a plan to hire a new person for Knížák’s position.
According to the letter, the activities of the National Gallery are “substandard, given the opportunities that today’s world provides.” Those who signed the letter call the gallery “isolationist and self-centered.”
“Some people we asked to sign the letter refused because they felt that it was too weak and that we should attack Knížák more directly,” says Lenka Lindaurová, an art critic who co-signed the letter.
Knížák, who is also a well-known painter, does not shy away from the controversy he creates, however.
“Whenever I have a strong opinion on an issue and feel it’s important to do so, I never have a problem expressing my views in public,” Knížák says. He is currently out of town and unavailable for comment about the open letter, according to the National Gallery.
Knížák made national headlines after purchasing his own works for the National Gallery shortly after becoming its director in 1999. He also purchased a piece by a well-known regional artist Joseph Beuys from a friend’s art gallery. Critics said the purchase price was above the estimated market value and was made against the wishes of the acquisitions committee of the National Gallery.
“The acquisition policies of the gallery are tragic and have created a time bomb. There are no artists representing the ’80s, and instead they buy cheap art by art students,” says Tomáš Císařovský, one of the authors of the letter.
Get to know him, though, and one realizes that Knížák is also a man of his times. Life under communist rule was not easy. And despite his rise in society after the Velvet Revolution, it hasn’t gotten any easier.
Beyond black and white
The artist was born in 1940 when Czechoslovakia was under German rule. Just as he was coming of age, the communists grabbed power and the country descended into communist darkness.
If he had lived in the West, Knížák may have become a famous hippie artist. Instead, he dropped out of three universities and tried to decide on a career. He studied to be a teacher, an artist and even tried his hand at mathematics.
“Math creates abstract structures, just as art does,” Knížák says. “However, it looks at the world from a completely different perspective.”
Since the education system of the ’50s and ’60s seemed too rigid, Knížák decided to study Eastern philosophy, specifically Hinduism.
“I gained inner peace and learned to respect all living things,” Knížák says. “At the same time, though, all the different philosophies teach you to tell the truth, and that I did at every opportunity.”
As an artist, Knížák decided to show people on the street that life is not just black and white, as the government tried to make them think. In one art installation, he had a bass player lay on the ground and play his instrument in a busy spot, while people streamed around him on their way to work.
“I believed that art was dying in galleries and needs to talk to people in their natural environment. We wanted to bring color and open up new dimensions for other people.”
While Knížák’s work of the time period reflected that of his contemporaries all over the world, as they started gaining fame, he became an enemy of the state.
“I learned about it only after the revolution. But, from 1966, I was an official enemy of the state,” Knížák says. “There were only 12 or 14 of us in the whole country, and I was on the list for 23 years.”
Surprisingly, when the regime became more relaxed during Prague Spring in 1968, Knížák lost his interest in creating controversial art.
“The society was suddenly free, and it did not need to be reminded of other alternatives,” he says.
Instead Knížák took the opportunity to go to the United States, where he stayed for two years. However, when his visa expired in 1970, he returned back home. He was asked to join the growing dissident movement, but he refused.
“I have never been a ‘herd’ type, and felt no need to join politics. Furthermore, from my study of Eastern philosophies, I had a vision of a world living in peace and unity and did not want to divide people on purpose.”
Instead, he started one of the first underground bands, Aktuál, which poked fun at both the communists and the dissidents. Songs had titles such as “I Love You and Lenin” and joked about things like dissidents having special underground ID cards.
For his constant rebellious attitude, Knížák was sentenced to two years in prison on trumped-up charges in 1972. His imprisonment commanded great attention throughout the world at the time, and a letter of complaint signed by influential artists like The Beatles forced the regime to free him.
Color and fun
In the following years, Knížák lived as best as he could selling and giving away his artworks to friends to make ends meet. So, when 1989 came, things finally took a turn for the better. Within a few weeks of the Velvet Revolution, students voted him rector of the Academy of Fine Arts. He became famous overnight.
Even then, though, he was scorned for many of his actions. Immediately after becoming head of the academy, he fired all professors but one and hired new ones. Many complained at the time, but Knížák defends his decision.
“I believe the result was very satisfying. For the first time since World War II, a truly representative and elite group of teachers was able to meet at the school,” he says. “Despite the discontinuation, the quality of artists ensured the best teaching possible.”
Knížák’s administration of the school mirrored the uniqueness of his personality.
“I threw all the letters that arrived from the Education Ministry straight into the trash. Since nothing happened, it was probably the right decision.”
While the rectorship ended in 1997, he still teaches at the academy, trying to instill in his students the need for individuality and strong opinions.
Knížák has been director of the National Gallery for eight years.
“I view the constant pressure to kick me out as a proof that I’m doing the right thing, and that my work does have a purpose,” he says.
With the gallery in financial trouble in 2000 with debts reaching 300 million Kč, Pavel Dostál, culture minister at the time, wanted a strong personality to take over and put things right. He chose Knížák.
In return, Knížák has refined his management style and put his stamp on the influential post.
“Unlike the previous era, which lacked color and fun, this one has plenty of both, maybe even too much,” Knížák says. “Today, people lack a feeling of exceptionality. A gallery can and should provide this.”
Knížák still wears a ponytail at 68 and an earring (he wanted to be an Indian and a pirate as a child). He has withstood great pressures throughout his life. Those pressures have formed his intrepid personality, which has gotten him in trouble many times.
But, when he stands, he’ll speak on any subject and voice his opinions loudly.
“We claim to be a free society,” Knížák says. “People should exercise their rights more often, and make sure that lives have a purpose. That’s why I am the way I am.”

Ondřej Bouda can be reached at tempo@praguepost.com


Other articles in Tempo (23/04/2008):

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