Cinema
of the Road text by Stach Szablowski
Kino drogi tekst Stach Szablowski
The
beginning of one from among Anna Konik’s films belonging to
the cycle of In the Middle of the Way reminds the first scene of
quite another film entitled Down by Law by Jim Jarmusch. Both pictures
open with a panorama of an American city filmed from the car’s
window. There is a great metropolis, with low buildings, a horizontally
composed landscape, with no points of reference, an America looking
like a Baudrillard’s desert. Anna Konik is going through Cleveland,
Ohio. Jarmusch has shot his Down by Law in New Orleans, but in Cleveland
he was on another occasion – in that city is set one of the
episodes of his film Stranger than Paradise. Still, this would be
quite not bad alternative title for the Konik’s project, since
in her films she shows people that live Differently (than in the
Paradise). In any case, Cleveland or New Orleans, Warsaw, Moscow,
Berlin or Dobrodzien – no matter where we are, since we are
always just In the Middle of the Way.
The
analogy with Jarmusch is valid on the level of iconography. It is
not accidental that the Konik’s project, which has been shown
at galleries, is associated with cinema, and not with this or that
work from the very rich tradition of video art. The artist offers
a range of experiences, all of them being film-oriented: from a
televised “penetrating reportage” in the first, Warsaw
episode of the cycle of In the Middle of the Way, up to the inspired
cinematographic work realised in 2005 in Cleveland.
The
simplest thing would be to call In the middle of the way a series
of documentary films. Each of them has got a subtitle – the
name of the city where it was shot – Warsaw, Berlin, Moscow,
Cleveland, and Dobrodzien. In each of these cities the artist selects
a stranger, the Other. She is looking for them among people functioning,
as it is nicely called, on the margins of society. Therefore Konik’s
protagonists are people that live in the street. They could be called
homeless, even if in reality some of them have their homes. Others
could undoubtedly have them, if only they wanted or, to be more
precise, if they were capable of having homes. We deal here with
a wider meaning of homelessness, understood not as only a social
category, but rather as a specific state of the spirit. Homelessness
is here non-participation in the commonly accepted model of life,
non-membership, alienation. In some cases it is the exclusion, in
others – the desertion from the ranks of the so-called normal
citizens. Each film is a story of Anna Konik’s meeting a stranger
in a foreign city. At the same time each of these films is a penetration
of the margins of existence – the protagonists of these films
are the artist’s guides to such peripheral areas.
In Warsaw Konik meets Tadeusz. Men like him had once been called
“eccentrics”. He is a cultural older man, a timid flaneur,
a bit vagabond, a bit artist and art-lover (in one of the scenes
Tadeusz and the author are visiting together the Kantor’s
exhibition at the Zamek Ujazdowski Contemporary Art Gallery). Tadeusz
is not a person easily distinguished from the crowd – he could
be its participant, if he only lives in a bit different way. From
a formal point of view he isn’t a homeless. He’s got
a flat, however he almost cannot use it, since it’s difficult
to enter there. His imperative of collecting objects, especially
all kinds of printed matters, leaflets, books, journals and magazines
led him to a catastrophe. Tadeusz’s collection filled his
flat like a ghastly Merzbau – in result even the door almost
cannot open, to say nothing of living there. For himself the occupant,
who neither can nor wants to stop collecting and bringing various
things home, has left only a little tunnel – but even this
becomes almost overgrown. The protagonist lost control of his flat,
so he wanders about the town; Anna Konik is faithfully accompanying
him.
Herman, who lives in Berlin, it’s quite another story. This
homeless middle-aged German seems to be the embodiment of the romantic
myth of clochard. With his grey dreadlocks, the beard, dark glasses
and youth dress he seems to be a denial of the tragedy of exclusion;
he’s homeless in cool version. Herman is the opposite of Tadeusz
and his obsession of collecting things. The German vagabond wanders
about Berlin with a little rucksack – he has got nothing and
he doesn’t want to have anything. He identifies homelessness
with freedom, and maybe tomorrow will quit Berlin in favour of Salzburg
or Lisbon. ( ... )
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