The period of the National Awakening was not unambiguous. During that time, many young creatives at the Latvian Television felt like on a big rollercoaster. Their work could hardly be described as a political struggle for Latvian independence. Rather, it was the protest of young, creative individuals – an audacious challenge to the agonising Soviet regime. The loosening of the political and economic system opened new possibilities, and the young creatives burst from the bunghole of the regime's tightly hooped barrel like under-fermented beer, along the way setting off a carefree whirlwind of bohemia which carried many a talented artist down in the pit of alcoholism. 

Many of the young creatives from the time of the National Awakening, including those who worked at the Radio and Television Committee of the Latvian SSR, saw this period as a peculiar game of cat and mouse between television and radio functionaries and the creatives, who attempted to circumvent the canons of media content and form set by the Soviet censors. It was the 'mice' who won more frequently, when, under the nose of the censors, semantically- and semiotically-veiled blossoms of Aesopian language appeared on air. And, as in any game, with each new task the creatives strove to raise the bar of daring – to the next level.

The imagination of the television's youth in search of ways to embody their ideas and communicate them to the viewers was boundless. In their passion for the game, they deliberately took on the 'mandatory' programmes dedicated to Soviet cultural workers which their experienced colleagues, who detested such box-ticking assignments, refused. The challenge was to create, through formal means, a diametrically opposite, associative message that was unflattering to Soviet ideology. It was a form of political vandalism, like drawing a bruised brow on a picture of Lenin in red pencil.
The management labelled politically provocative programmes 'creative failures' and shelved them without rights to ever be broadcast on air. Some of these were even ordered to be erased to prevent them from becoming public by accident. Yet the makers of the programmes managed to conceal copies of these video recordings, which later circulated in Latvian creative youth camps, television's internal shows and other formal and informal gatherings. Thanks are also due to the staff of the video library who, disobeying the management's directions, saved many valuable video materials from destruction.

In the early 1980s, it was the young creatives themselves who launched the Creative Youth Day at the television, as part of which they made a TV programme consisting of earlier programmes. The creatives eagerly took advantage of this annual opportunity to freely express themselves on a variety of social ills or to introduce cultural personalities and brands that were popular in the West. With the management fearing, and not without justification, that something might go astray, these programmes were only permitted to be broadcast on the television's internal network. On the day, when the youth programme was being demonstrated, all television employees were virtually glued to the TV screens in their offices, in order not to miss anything fresh or interesting. Not all program proposals from the young were in vain. Some crawled out of the 'kindergarten' and landed on the big screens, where they quickly earned popular affection. That was especially true for entertainment programmes.

About the National Awakening in television. Jānis Holšteins, former director of Latvian Television

The notable art historian Griselda Pollock's monograph Differencing the Canon. Feminism and the Writing of Art's Histories was released in 1999. The aim of her book was to encourage different perspectives on Western art history, stepping away from the assumption of universal and timeless artistic values elaborated by male geniuses. The feminist desire in art history invests women with agency, highlights their ingenuity and courage as well as looking for inspiring heroines and collecting stories that give women pleasure. Feminist perspectives on art history do not mean the abolishment of classical art history but rather its diversification and expansion, uncovering contradictions, asking uncomfortable questions and hearing voices that have been marginalised.

One of the chapters in Pollock's book is devoted to the 17th century Italian painter Artemisia Gentileschi and her interpretation of Judith and Holofernes. Pollock points out that the popular version of this story underlines the event's sexual dimension, which illustrates the destructive influence of female beauty on men. In the Latvian dictionary Tēzaurs, Judith is likewise characterised as a beautiful seductress. Such emphasis not only reiterates that women's beauty and sexuality is a threat to men and hence must be controlled, but also reminds readers how dangerous women can become in positions of power. They destroy the existing order of things, causing chaos and unrest.

Yet Holofernes is killed by politics, not sex. The story explicitly states that the reason for the murder is neither personal nor psychoanalytical. Judith is a widow who, risking her life, sneaks into enemy camp to murder the military commander and liberate her people. Her motifs are altruistic. Judith is assisted by her servant, Abra. In contrast to Caravaggio's interpretation, where the servant is depicted as an old woman observing Judith's actions with curiosity, Gentileschi turns them into allies and equals, dismantling the hierarchy that exists between the women and stressing their solidarity.

Ieva Iltnere's work It Is Snowing! is a contemporary interpretation of the story of Judith and Holofernes. The painting's feminist desire continues to develop the perspective put forward by Gentileschi on women as a shapers of history, questioners of the existing order of things and liberators of their people, here – in the context of the National Awakening. Yet Holofernes' separated head also symbolises the desire of women-artists of Iltnere's generation for their own independence and visibility and marks a new thematic development and a search for new means of expression, rocking the established hierarchies of the Latvian art scene. The painting asks the uncomfortable question on the place of women in the canon of Latvian art, also reminding viewers about the existing gender-based barriers which aim to interpret women's political motivations as expressions of their private interests, while their agency is understood as merely the ability to seduce.

About feminism. Jana Kukaine, art critic, cultural theorist, researcher of feminist theories

The first time I fainted was in the summer of 1985. The queue at the door of Shop No 35 was not moving at all. Like the air that summer morning, which had hardly cooled down overnight. Several women behind me stood Anda from the neighbouring stairs, and we exchanged short shouts. Dace, also from our yard, joined at the end of the queue. We did not get a chance to chat, since we feared losing our places in the queue. Today I can no longer recall any goods in the large glass vitrines. Archival photographs show that the shops might have been completely empty that year. That morning parents had sent me, a primary school girl, to the shop even before breakfast. The hot asphalt in the yard enclosed by five-storey houses maintained constant heat day and night. My palm clenching the coins was covered in sweat. The queue carried me closer to the counter and ringing in my temples was the thought – will I have enough money? Likely I did not know how to count yet. Or I did not grasp the value of money – metal coins with Lenin's head clanked in my piggy bank, but I did not know what to spend them on. There was nothing to spend them on. With only one woman remaining before me in the queue, suddenly my eyes went dark, my body swayed and I collapsed. Next to me, on the stone tile floor, there was a jingling sound from mesh bag with the empty sour cream jars that were to be returned to the sales assistant. I lost my place in the queue.

In Soviet times, people queued for everyday necessities – sausages and soap, as well as special deficit goods – oranges and books, such as [the Latvian translation of] Gone with the Wind or Latvian writer Zigmunds Skujiņš' novel Gulta ar zelta kāju [The Bed with the Golden Leg]. One could join a remote queue to acquire an apartment, buy a car or a set of living room furniture. For women endless queueing was part of everyday life. Many goods were sold in specialised shops, therefore it was necessary to queue at the bread shop, then – at the meat shop, and then also at the vegetable shop. If there was no queue, it was clear there was nothing to buy in the shop. If something was available without a queue, it was clear it was not worth buying. An indispensable fashion accessory for the image of the Soviet woman was the avoska – a mesh shopping bag crocheted from a coarse thread, which could be conveniently folded into a bag or pocket and always carried along. Its name comes from the Russian word avos' – ‘perhaps’, ‘what if’. What if I get lucky? What if frankfurters or children's boots are suddenly available somewhere? One joined the queue even before it was clear what was being sold.

My mum recalls that men rarely queued for groceries. The women in the queue were united by a common task – to acquire the necessary goods, and separated by the competition for goods available in limited quantities. Satirist Valdis Artavs observes: “Where the queue progresses slowly, friendships last for moments only.” It was possible to fill the endless and empty time of queueing with communication – gossiping, pointless chattering and agitated cackling – or by discharging the pent-up aggression. Women's time stood still, while personal space dissolved in the queue's cramped drive forward. The queue turned personalities into anonymous comrades and citizens. There were so many queues and they were so long that beyond them it was no longer possible to see the possibility of not joining the queue.

When I first fainted, it was neither from not eating, nor from heat. It was from obedience.

About queues. Astra Spalvēna, food culture researcher

While walls may also unify those who are enclosed by them, in European history after World War II a wall is a metaphor of isolation and separation.  Following the defeat of Nazi Germany in 1945, the former allies in the struggle against Hitler - France, Great Britain, USA and the Soviet Union - soon became adversaries, setting off the Cold War. Divided into four occupation zones, Germany became the site of this great power competition. Berlin, located in the middle of the Soviet occupation zone, was also governed by the four great powers. In 1949, the Federal Republic of Germany, known as West Germany, was established in the French, British and American occupation zones, while the German Democratic Republic, commonly called East Germany – a Soviet ally ruled by a single, socialist party – was established in the East, in the Soviet occupation zone. Split in two, Berlin became a democratic island of capitalism in a sea of socialism, demonstrating the contrast between the two systems. In the 1950s, seeing the better, freer life in the West, many East Germans were abandoning the Socialist state, since in Berlin at least the border between the city's western and eastern parts was free to cross. The East German government decided to put an end to this brain and hand drain and, in the summer of 1961, with Moscow's support a wall was erected in Berlin sealing off the Western part of the city. Although East German propaganda claimed that the wall was built as a fortification against the fascists living in the West, its aim was to prevent the citizens of the socialist state from leaving. Germans in the East were walled in and separated from their compatriots in the West. Those who tried to cross the border illegally were shot. Around 140 people lost their lives attempting to escape over the wall and across the border.

The fall of the Berlin Wall was an accident – a mistake in the bureaucratic system. In 1989, East Germany was not undergoing the kind of political transformations that already were in the air in the Soviet Union. The ruling communists attempted to put off changes. When thousands of East Germans began streaming to the West through the open borders of Czechoslovakia and Hungary, the regime had to start looking for solutions. Having rid itself from its long-term leader Erich Honecker, the Socialist Unity Party wanted to relax border-crossing regulations but not to destroy the wall separating Berlin and Germany. Owing to internal miscommunication, on 9 November 1989, the party's press secretary announced at a press conference that all who wish can cross the border without delay. This announcement was to be broadcast on the radio at night without causing a furore. Yet at that instant thousands of people from East Berlin immediately headed to the wall wishing to cross the border. The border guards, who for decades had made sure no-one could run away, had no instructions on how to respond. They gestured helplessly and then, under pressure from the crowd, opened the border. Completely by accident the wall had fallen. And a year later East Germany itself ceased to exist.

About the Berlin Wall. Gustavs Strenga, historian

Par Austrumu zemju eksotiku – kā tālu un aizraujošu – Džo sapņoja jau pusaudža gados, lasot “1001 nakts pasakas”. Tolaik viņam vēl nebija jausmas, ka kara notikumu dēļ viņam būs iespēja uz turieni doties.

1918. gada sākumā, iestājoties angļu ekspedīcijas korpusā, Grosvalds devās karagājienā uz Persiju un Mezopotāmiju. Neraugoties uz karagājiena grūtībām, mākslinieks radīja akvareļus, kas veido viņa “Persijas ainu” sēriju. Mākslas darbos mākslinieks atveidoja austrumu sadzīves ainas, interpretējot tās daļēji kā romantizētu eksotiku, bet arī reālistiski fiksējot pilsētu ielu ikdienu – iedzīvotājus, tējnīcas, ubagus un badā cietējus, skarbo un kalnaino ainavu. Kara beigas Grosvalds sagaidīja Kaukāza frontē, no kurienes atgriezās Londonā 1919. gada jūnija sākumā.

Par to, kādu liktens piespēlēto līkloču dēļ Džo nokļuva Austrumos un kā gūtie iespaidi atainojās mākslinieka radošajā darbībā, ceturtajā no pieciem viņam veltītajiem sarunu vakariem diskutēs:

- Izstādes kuratore Ieva Kalnača,

- Dzejnieks, atdzejotājs un literatūrkritiķis Raimonds Ķirķis,

- Tūrisma skolotājs, ceļojumu organizētājs, Rīgas un pasaules gids Harijs Egliens,

- Vēsturnieks, Latvijas Universitātes un Juridiskās koledžas pasniedzējs Edgars Engīzers.

Sarunu moderēs Latvijas Nacionālā mākslas muzeja direktore Māra Lāce.

Kopā ar Džo: Austrumi

Sākoties Pirmajam pasaules karam, Jāzeps Grosvalds uzturējās Rīgā līdz 1915. gada vasarai, kad kopā ar domubiedriem dibināja neformālu mākslas pulciņu “Zaļā puķe”. Frontei tuvojoties Rīgai, mākslinieks pārcēlās uz Petrogradu – pievērsās bēgļu tēmai, aizsākot jaunu tematisko līniju Latvijas mākslā. 1916. gadā mākslinieks tika iesaukts armijā un dienēja latviešu strēlnieku rindās.

Par liktens piespēlēto apzīmējumu “mākslinieks-karavīrs” Džo dzīves gājumā un to, kā skaudrie kara iespaidi ietekmējuši Grosvalda mākslu, trešajā no pieciem viņam veltītajiem sarunu vakariem diskutēs:

- Vēsturnieks, Latvijas Kara muzeja vadītāja vietnieks Juris Ciganovs,
mākslinieks Edgars Vērpe,

- Žurnāliste Ina Strazdiņa,

- Režisors Dzintars Dreibergs.

Sarunu moderēs Latvijas Nacionālā mākslas muzeja direktore Māra Lāce.

Kopā ar Džo: Karš un mākslinieks

Džo dzīve vēsturiskajos pārmaiņu laikos bija dažādiem notikumiem un ievērojamiem iespaidiem piepildīts laiks. Jau 1914. gadā Grosvalda mākslā kā jauns ikonogrāfisks elements ienāca kara bēgļu tēma. Mūsdienās nav vairs apstrīdams, ka tieši ar Grosvalda bēgļu attēlojumiem tika aizsākta kara bēgļu tematika, kurai vēlākos gados pievērsās arī citi mākslinieki, kuri liela daļa bija viņa domubiedri un pulciņa “Zaļā puķe” dalībnieki.

Grosvalds spēja uz audekla ekspresīvi un izjusti iznest savu personīgo dzīves pieredzi. Skarbus un patiesus iespaidus mākslinieks guva, esot strēlnieks, tādējādi piespiedu kārtā paverot jaunus apvāršņus savas glezniecības tematikai. Neapšaubāmi jaunas dvesmas un ierosmes sniedza arī kara dienests Persijā, kas rezultējās mākslas darbu sērijā “Persijas ainas".

Mūža izskaņā Džo uzsāka darbu jaunizveidotās Latvijas diplomātiskajā dienestā, stājoties sekretāra amatā Latvijas Ārlietu ministrijas dienestā Parīzē un Londonā.

Par Jāzepa Grosvalda likteni vēsturiskajos pārmaņu laikos un darbu jaunizveidotās Latvijas diplomātiskajā dienestā otrajā no pieciem viņam veltītajiem sarunu vakariem diskutēs:

- Latvijas Nacionālā mākslas muzeja Vizuālās mākslas departamenta vadītāja, mākslas un diplomātijas attiecību pētniece Ginta Gerharde-Upeniece,

- Ārlietu ministrijas speciālo uzdevumu vēstniece, agrākā Latvijas vēstniece Nīderlandē un Apvienotajā Karalistē Baiba Braže,

- Vēsturnieks, Latvijas Universitātes un Juridiskās koledžas pasniedzējs Edgars Engīzers,

- Latvijas Nacionālā vēstures muzeja direktora vietnieks zinātniskajā darbā, vēsturnieks Toms Ķikuts.

Sarunu moderēs Latvijas Nacionālā mākslas muzeja direktore Māra Lāce.

Kopā ar Džo: Valsts un diplomātija

Džo dzīve vēsturiskajos pārmaiņu laikos bija dažādiem notikumiem un ievērojamiem iespaidiem piepildīts laiks. Jau 1914. gadā Grosvalda mākslā kā jauns ikonogrāfisks elements ienāca kara bēgļu tēma. Mūsdienās nav vairs apstrīdams, ka tieši ar Grosvalda bēgļu attēlojumiem tika aizsākta kara bēgļu tematika, kurai vēlākos gados pievērsās arī citi mākslinieki, kuri liela daļa bija viņa domubiedri un pulciņa “Zaļā puķe” dalībnieki.

Grosvalds spēja uz audekla ekspresīvi un izjusti iznest savu personīgo dzīves pieredzi. Skarbus un patiesus iespaidus mākslinieks guva, esot strēlnieks, tādējādi piespiedu kārtā paverot jaunus apvāršņus savas glezniecības tematikai. Neapšaubāmi jaunas dvesmas un ierosmes sniedza arī kara dienests Persijā, kas rezultējās mākslas darbu sērijā “Persijas ainas".

Mūža izskaņā Džo uzsāka darbu jaunizveidotās Latvijas diplomātiskajā dienestā, stājoties sekretāra amatā Latvijas Ārlietu ministrijas dienestā Parīzē un Londonā.

Sarunas par mākslinieka Jāzepa Grosvalda, kuru ģimenes un draugu vidū sauca Džo, aizrautīgo pieeju dzīvei, novērtējot un daudzpusīgi izbaudot to, ko tā dāvā. Par to, kā dzīve balansē starp miesiskām un dvēseles baudām, diskutē:

- vēsturniece un LU vadošā pētniece Vita Zelče;

- muzikologs un Liepājas koncertzāles "Lielais dzintars" mākslinieciskais vadītājs Orests Silabriedis;

dzejnieks un literatūrzinātnieks Kārlis Vērdiņš;

KALVE Coffee izveidotājs Gatis Zēmanis.

Sarunu moderē mākslas zinātnieks Eduards Dorofejevs.

Kopā ar Džo: Dzīve kā svētki

Saruna, kurā Latvijas Universitātes profesors, fiziķis Vjačeslavs Kaščejevs un uzņēmējs, informācijas tehnoloģiju speciālists Pāvils Jurjāns kopīgi apspriedīs, kādi ir fiziķa vērojumi par krāsu un gaismu Aijas Jurjānes gleznās.

Vai fizika var piedāvāt mākslas baudītājiem jaunu skatījumu uz gaismu un krāsu? Kas īsti ir gaisma un krāsa, pirms tā kļūst par piedzīvojumu mūsu apziņā? Vai varam paskatīties ar zinātnieka aci uz apkārtējo un ieraudzīt visu jaunā gaismā?

Kopā ar fiziķi Vjačeslavu Kaščejevu aplūkosim krāsu spektru, jo īpaši melnās un baltās krāsas atšķirības, redzamo un neredzamo gaismu, fotonus, elektromagnētisko lauku un enerģiju, sasaistot to visu ar krāsu piesātinātajām Aijas Jurjānes gleznām. Lūkosim atsegt noslēpumaino ikdienišķajā, un darīt izprotamāku zinātnisko skatījumu.

Piedalies pasākumā, lai atklātu fascinējošās saites starp mākslu un zinātni!

Aija - Jurjane Sarunas - Muzeja - Gaisma - Un - Krasa - Fizikas - Skatijuma

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🏛 Izstāžu zāle ARSENĀLS (šobrīd slēgta rekonstrukcijai)
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🏛 Ekspozīcija “Skulptūru mežs. Antīkās un renesanses tēlniecības nolējumi” Muzeju krātuvē.

About the National Awakening in television. Jānis Holšteins, former director of Latvian Television

MĀKSLAS MUZEJI

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