KOBAS LAKSA – Home Video

Therapy – Revolution – Pilgrimage

In his article on the latest achievements in video art, Łukasz Ronduda presents a notion that “the development of Polish video art in the 1990s was determined by the coexistence and mutual interference of two opposing artistic traditions, i.e. analytical and critical approach. These two currents originated in the works of two artists: Józef Robakowski, a pioneer and the most significant representative of the analytical approach to video art, and Zbigniew Libera, whose videos from the 1980s introduced a range of subjects into Polish critical art of the following decade. Two founding fathers, two different attitudes, approaches to aesthetics, viewpoints and strategies.”[1]

The works of Kobas Laksa (b. 1971) combine these two approaches. His films, just like the ones shot by Anna Baumgart and the works created by Maciej Toporowicz and Anna Niesterowicz, involve elements of farce streaked with an undertone of scathing irony, which, as Richard Rorty suggests, invariably undermines the one and only permanent description of the universe as well as the very possibility of actually describing it at all. Stylistic discrepancies and the application of various film conventions constitute a sign of ironic fiction. The protagonists of Laksa’s earlier films (Sceny z użycia, and Czy mógłbym się u pani wykąpać albo przespać?) try at all costs to blend into the plot but often leave the frame to search for the explanation of their own story somewhere beyond. Beyond what? Maybe beyond the time and space of action, i.e. beyond the set principles according to which we tend to classify images. These systematic digressions direct the mind towards our own, individually interpreted reality. In this place beyond, an infinite number of impenetrable worlds is created. The artist faces a dilemma whether to explore his own universe ad infinitum or examine how other people strive to cope with their own.

The films that were shown at Arsenał Gallery in March, 2007, as a part of the project entitled Home video[2], have one character in common – the artist’s mother. The first film, entitled Pojechałem z mamą na pielgrzymkę (Eng. ‘I went on a pilgrimage with my mom’) and shot by Kobas Laksa in 2000, records the pilgrimage to Licheń which was organized by the artist’s mother. The second film, Swimming Mom, shows his mother swimming in the sea and was shot by Laksa’s sister. The third film, Walking Mom, is a compilation of several short films shot by the artist’s mother and sister. Kobas Laksa confirms: “The short sequences with a swan flapping its wings, pigeons strolling on the sidewalk, and the stream in the park were shot by my mother and sister. Devoid of calculated concepts, the films have captured the transience of the moment thus becoming an invaluable source of inspiration for my other projects. (…) Having experienced my mother’s and sister’s feminine sensitivity, I have come to realize at the same time how close their perception of the moment is to my own. The world is at once poetically enchanting and absurdly crude. Although seemingly quite ordinary, when perceived and filmed with awareness, it acquires new significance. Since it is a mechanical recording, the most amazing fragments may be lost when the entire film is screened without prior editing, but put together in the form of short music-video-like sequences, these fragments become a lot more conspicuous.” According everyday life a fictional dimension results in the creation of certain tensions between the viewer and the author, between the author of the project and the authors of the recorded film sequences, between all these authors and the viewer, as well as between the privacy of the viewing and the image itself.

Naturally, there emerges the problem of authorship, as in fact only one of the films had actually been shot by Laksa himself. Because the artist wished to acknowledge the original authors’ vision and its right to independence, he granted his mother and sister equal status as the authors of his own films. 20th century art often deals with the problem of authorship. Who is an artist and what makes a simple object created by an ordinary person a work of art? It has to be mentioned that by arranging the exhibition in such a way as to show films shot by different people, Kobas Laksa limited the problem of authorship to only one author: his mother, who, as the main character in the films, also becomes an artist.

Pojechałem z mamą na pielgrzymkę is a film particularly worth discussing, since from the very moment it was made, it has been surrounded by an air of scandal. Never before has it been shown publicly in a gallery. Because Białystok is Laksa’s home town, the artist’s misgivings about including the film within the project were even more pronounced. It came as great astonishment that the film has not encountered much severe criticism. People invited to the opening night had a chance to meet the artist’s mother, the heroine both of the film and the entire exhibition, who enthusiastically encouraged the viewers to participate in numerous pilgrimages she organized.

In 2003, Artur Żmijewski, in cooperation with Paweł Althamer, shot a film that exploited a similar subject matter and was entitled simply Pielgrzymka (Eng. ‘pilgrimage’). The artists took part in a trip to the Holy Land which involved visiting not only places of worship directly connected with the life of Christ, but also places commemorating Jewish martyrdom such as Yad Vashem Institute and Museum. Just like Kobas Laksa, Artur Żmijewski used the form of a documentary to record the reality he was witnessing. The film combines two types of rites, one connected with religion and the other with consumption, showing both the visits to sanctuaries and shopping at souvenir stores.

Kobas Laksa goes with his mother on a pilgrimage not as a dutiful son who is committed to the rites of passage and purification, but as an astute and critical observer. Hidden behind his video camera, he records fragmentary, marginal and dispersed behaviors of the pilgrims without the slightest touch of Manichean hypocrisy. The artist does not engage himself in the ludic quasi-religiousness which is governed by the fear of death and the mystical need to encounter the absolute. He repeatedly draws close to and moves away from the heart of the subject matter thus maintaining necessary distance.

What we can gain thanks to direct contact with the trauma of the rites of passage is only a slight distance. We will never be able to detach ourselves to an extent that would allow for breaking the bond with, for lack of a better word, the spiritual dimension and for releasing ourselves from the submission to the rite and its therapeutic function. The fact that the spiritual dimension determines the true value of the desire to participate and understand thus inspiring the artist to the acts of creation precludes such a possibility. It was Freud who noticed that the relation between rite and therapy is a never-ending interplay. What is pilgrimage if not a form of therapy? Revolution can be viewed in similar terms as it possesses an analogous structure and course of action. Thus therapy, revolution and pilgrimage constitute three inevitable aspects of life. The interdependence of the three is based on a dynamic principle that is a conditional rather than prime mover. This is why both therapy and pilgrimage cannot be viewed as the causes of revolution. Nevertheless, wherever there is a revolution, there will also be a pilgrimage; wherever there is a pilgrimage there will be therapy; wherever there is therapy, which shapes a revolution, there will be a pilgrimage. The laws that govern the emergence of therapy, revolution and pilgrimage are strongly interconnected. They exhibit genetic kinship and synchronicity whose common element revolves around the truth about liberation which can be understood as, for instance, recovering from a disease, forsaking particular ideology, or being absolved from sin. Therapy necessarily involves the aid of a psychoanalyst. A person is not able to undergo treatment completely on his or her own without the interference of the truth that comes from the outside. Similarly, there is no revolution without ideology, and no pilgrimage without theology. In the film, the artist’s mother functions both as a mediator and as a leader who supervises the singing, kneeling down and getting up from the knees. The remarkable strength of her character which is accompanied by sheer candor, though with a conspicuous wish to dominate, makes the viewer trust her. She is fully aware of what she is doing and for what she is calling. Her mission does not involve even the slightest touch of hypocrisy. The viewer may choose to believe her or not; sign up for the next pilgrimage, or remain a silent observer of her activities.

A question is bound to emerge as to the role of the artist, whose “unethical” behavior which is not legitimized by the will to show submission differentiates him from the rest of the participants. For Laksa, the pilgrimage is not a quest for ecstatic sublimity which would, on the one hand, serve as its complement, but on the other, it would result in a depiction that would reflect reality as if in a distorting mirror. The free choice of film sequences testifies to the ethical purity of the author’s perception. Trivial aspects of life become intertwined with spiritual rites. The two-week pilgrimage is captured in a twenty-minute film which records the events from the very beginning till the very end. The viewer gets a chance to see the pilgrims who sing not only religious hymns but also casual secular songs. It is possible to trace the footsteps of the believers who visit the holy places in Licheń as well as have a meal at an anonymous eating place. We see a guide who in great detail retells a story of a sacred statue. Then we immediately shift our attention to a boy in the garden outside the church who meticulously renovates a sculpture that depicts some saint. We let ourselves be captured by the element of suspense introduced by the nervous search for the bus which is supposed to take the pilgrims back home. Finally, we see the organizer and the artist returning to their flat. Laksa’s father opens the door and makes it explicitly clear that wants his son to stop filming. “How was it?”, he asks, “Did your mother give you hard time?”

The true value of a particular experience is measured by complete submission on the part of the person involved. It turns out that a pilgrimage, as seen by Laksa, is an offer directed only at those who are not afraid to take risk when they encounter rite and therapy. Although the artist totally submits himself to the rite, he never participates in it. Therefore even though he is not a real pilgrim, he is a real performer of the rite. Surprisingly enough, this state does not seem to be complicated any further by the fact that all activities that the rite involves may appear to be shallow and devoid of spiritual dimension. This phenomenon can be easily explained by the omnipresent commercialization which has been gradually blurring the borders between the sacred and the profane. The scene at the parking lot in which Laksa’s mother dances with her friends who proudly show one another the devotional items they had bought serves just as an example. For a religious person selling indulgences is nothing out of the ordinary, since it has been considered the main premise of church economy ever since the Middle Ages. When looking at the modern depictions of the saints, Virgin Marys and Christs, one begins to realize that they have absolutely nothing in common with sainthood but that they are an effect of the commercialization of sanctity. Marie-José Mondzain, French philosopher and historian specializing in image theory, discusses the issue with extensive expertise. In her book entitled Image, Icon, Economy: The Byzantine Origins of the Contemporary Imaginary, the author examines the breakthrough in art that occurred as a result of the Resurrection of Christ, who has become an icon in God’s own image. By employing etymological analysis of the words icon and economy, the author points to their inseparable and simultaneous interdependence. Nowadays, we are hardly dealing with a painting, or any other form of religious art for that matter. What we are left with is a kitschy reproduction. Jean Baudrillard would have said that all these innumerable devotional objects constitute yet another invention of consumer society. Just like sanatoriums and supermarkets, places of religious worship have turned into tourist attractions which perform commercial functions.

The figurines of angles appear once again towards the end of the film when the artist shoots the pilgrims having a meal at the parish eating place. His mother fervently tells Gertruda Braun’s story and Laksa takes two angels and plays with them in front of the video camera. These two animated angels clasp the entire pilgrimage together. The artist seems to say to the viewer: “I am here. This is my hand and I am looking at you from behind the video camera. It is I who am animating the world. I am making this world.” In yet another part of the film, Laksa is inside a building and films people standing outside a hotel from behind a window. In the foreground, there are numerous flies which buzz nervously. Their fate is hopeless and tragic. The flies, which want to get out, die slowly banging frenziedly against the window.

During the entire pilgrimage, the artist voluntarily decides to undergo therapy and strives to achieve liberation and, finally, to understand the complexity of the situation. It is irony that makes it all possible. Such irony, as defined by Vladimir Jankélévitch, one of the greatest ironists of the 20th century, is the highest achievable complement of artistic form. In his book entitled L’ironie, the philosopher states that “there exists this most extraordinary irony that blends with cognition, and that, like art, is the child of entertainment. Of course, irony is by far too moral to be a true artist; just as it is too painful to be a true comedian. There is, however, a feature that brings it closer to the two: art (artist), comedy and irony become possible when l’urgence vitale is released. Irony is, however, more autonomous than a mocker who often laughs in order not to cry, just like those cowards who raucously chase courage in the middle of the darkest night, and who assume that they can foresee danger solely by naming it, and who want to make the soul more powerful only to win against it in the race. Irony, which is not afraid of surprises, plays a game with danger. And when danger is locked in a cage, irony comes to take a look at it, and it imitates, provokes and mocks it and then keeps it for its own entertainment. Irony will even venture to bend the bars for the entertainment to be as dangerous as possible in order to maintain the most complete illusion of the truth. Irony plays with its own false fear and does not let herself be defeated; it is the sweet kind of danger that dies within a second.”

translated by Katarzyna Sawicka

[1] Ronduda, Łukasz. “Pomiędzy postawą krytyczną a analityczną. Strategie najnowszej polskiej sztuki wideo”. http://free.art.pl/archiw_6/lrvideonaj.htm

[2] This is how Kobas Laksa explains the title of the exhibition: “Wikipedia entry for HOME VIDEO reads: ‘The home video business distributes films, telemovies and television series in the form of videos in various formats to the public.’ Corporation and business aspect becomes conspicuous at the very first glance. The word ‘home’ does not refer to a family house. In terms of business, ‘home’ suggests rather factory farming of poultry. After producing hundreds of thousands of copies of the so-called home videos, the word ‘home’ acquires sarcastic overtones. Such a distribution system should rather be referred to as BROILER VIDEO.

Real home video involves filming weddings, birthdays or grandfather’s name days. Such films are unique as they are distributed in a limited number of copies, often as a present or as a token of friendship, among people involved in the celebration.”