Not so long ago, Jean Genet taught us that each end of every technological advancement sets any artistic medium free from the notion of reality. Photography liberates painting from the certainty of facts. Film relieves photography from the necessity of recording eternity. On the other hand, television frees the film from the documentary aspect, while the Internet sets television free from censorship. All the above-mentioned post-painting mediums fought the battle of winning over what was already immanent in painting color. From photographic paper to celluloid and back to the screen, all this was in the name of backing the invasion of colored pictures that joyfully shaded the dullness of everyday life. The greyness of asphalt and concrete, the repulsive nature of societies, the resentful mediocrity of public thought -all mediums to get separated from reality with the aid of color, as we all wish and prefer, to see the kaleidoscopic rather than differences.
According to Guy Debord and Nickolas Burio, we all witness that in societies of spectacles, reality is breaking away from us, ourselves, and fact as it is. We pose the simple question, then. What is reality? One of the well-known writers from former Yugoslavia, Borislav Cosic, a keen translator and refugee to no other place than Germany, once said: “The reality is too aesthetic and to insist further on aestheticism of the very same reality, all over again, would be a harrowing experience”.
Therefore, it is surprising and somewhat shocking to find oneself in front of classically rendered paintings with a rather impressive format, which gives one the feeling of being able to walk into them, which are black and white. Alternatively, we shall say, not black and white because life is not black and white, but rather a row of pictures that slide and stumble with the constant spectre of grey or any other monochromatic field. That is why none of these paintings are style-affected or aesthetical, nor do they have the author’s stamp. They are not even aligned, but with typical precision, terrifyingly grey-coloured, but not presented how we are used to seeing the world. In the same paintings, something else is not a part of our everyday perception of images—the demon of the scripture—the menacing concept of that monster, and all is German. The title thus becomes a subtitle.
The motif in the paintings becomes caged between text. Like a sandwich. A sandwich that we keep in our memory for its content. Crisp or soft. Beautiful and tasty. And tastes, not only for its crust or bread.
In the works of Filip Matic, and for a good reason, we will not forget the layers of writing. Precisely due to the distance between the layers of the text and the fill of imagery that constantly shifts, the distance between the faces, interiors, exteriors, depicted situations and pictured pictures wrapped in dialogue and uttered phrases so very much massed in communication that they seem unnoticeable. For the same fascination with lessening the common language, Eszen Ionescu departed on the path of writing his famous play, The Bold Soprano.
And then we ask ourselves. Why the German language? Expect a challenging answer, less so from the artist himself. We should think individually and from different angles. What would be our inner challenge when observing a body of work? One by one. The relation between the scene, the image and the text image, the sound of words we read or the very meaning of writing because it is in Deutsche Sprache. By deciphering all this, we become aware of the artist’s less critical role in this process; what was the intention after all? The artist’s obsession identifies the collective neurosis of Serbian society. However, how? We (Serbs) often tend to neglect that the first modern Serbian dictionary, only 150 years ago, was written in German. Not in French, Russian, Latin, or Turkish. And all that less due to Goethe’s fascination and admiration for Serbian folk songs.
What is more, and not even for a reason, knowing that the quest workers more than a century ago were seeking the chance to earn their bread in East Reich? Nevertheless, that very step, these same facts, streamed our (Serbian) culture. Moreover, today, after many centuries of bad history, Joyce is teaching us that history is a nightmare from which we want to wake up. Furthermore, we recognize the strongest lexical ambiguity- both hatred and admiration. In Serbian culture, the degradation of everything that is Germanic and yet the presence of countless German words in the Serbian language is so evident, no matter how hard it was trying to camouflage all these facts with various substitutes and through active prejudice.
Finally, the author gives us a deep and honest glaze. Along with the medium and without any hypnosis, he invites us not to try to save him as an artist but to render ourselves. Mirroring the dullness and greyness of everyday life, these anti-pictures, perhaps, are tended for those who are colour blind. Or is it so? Try to observe with a colour-blind self. However, these pictures are viewed, understood and daydreamed.
Text: Dr. Ivan Pravdić
Translation: Filip Matić