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Max Podstolski interviewed by James Murray Unpublished transcript (September 1996)
James Murray's text for the Revealing, Concealing exhibition pamphlet was based on the following written responses to his questions. The exhibition was initially going to be titled In the No. The transcript begins with an explanation of the new title: Max Podstolski: I like ambiguity and ambivalence, the coexistence of conflicting possibilities without stating definitively that "this is what I mean" and "that is not". With my art I am simultaneously trying to reveal and conceal, which I am aware may be indicative of existing in a state of conflict. I don't think this is peculiar to me but is characteristic of many artists; and there is a similarity with 'primitive' art in which the revealed, significant content can be understood only by those 'in the know', the initiated, as opposed to everyone else. In the creative process one is continually editing and revising, bringing something to light (revealing it), then accepting or rejecting, modifying, amending, or adding to it. This is very obvious in the writing process, for instance. Who is to say where truth really lies, when it comes to what emerges as the end result, and what has been discarded or significantly altered along the way? Concealment may be intentional or unintentional, honest or dishonest, noble or hypocritical, and so on. Revealing and concealing are both neutral concepts or processes, though there is an automatic (and erroneous) presumption that they are generically positive (i.e. good) and negative (i.e. bad), respectively. It is possible to think of many instances where the reverse applies. 'Revealing and concealing' is characteristic of human nature in general, not just of artists. Every form of human interaction is determined by what is revealed and what is kept concealed. Even in ostensible 'revealing' there is concealment, because what is revealed is also, in a sense, fictional. Sure, I can 'reveal' my age to someone, and that is purely factual, and so on. But normally one thinks of something 'deeper' in the act of revealing, such as feelings, desires, beliefs, the whole question of identity. Revealing through art cannot be equated with filling out a census form, obviously. There is revealing to others and revealing to oneself. In the act of creativity I initially reveal to myself, through creating a visual image and then trying to find its significance, its meaning. The image first has to 'work' for me, has to have some resonance which satisfies me that it has something to communicate on its own terms. From that I arrive at a title, which of course comes from my own bias and perspective on life. The title encapsulates what I have to say about a work, whether or not it is clear to someone else what I am getting at. If someone asks me what a painting 'means', or why I have given it that title, I can only say: "that's what it means to me" without elaborating further. The title provides a clue to the meaning intended by the artist, but ultimately it's little more than a reference point. However I'm more than happy to contradict myself when it suits me. Certainly I can speak in general terms about my art and artistic processes, as I'm doing now, but I'm not willing to pin down any meaning definitively as if there is only one 'legitimate' way to read or interpret it. I have seen Maori and Aboriginal artists, on the other hand, pointing to motifs in their work and stating categorically: "this represents such and such", be it an ancestor, a god, a place, a mythological figure, or whatever. That is perfectly valid for those artists who are part of a culture which is deeply imbued with its traditional mythology or world view, but it is not valid for me. Why not? My father was Polish, my mother was English, and they arrived in New Zealand after WWII. I was born in Wellington in 1952 and spent my formative years there, going to Victoria University, without having much idea of why I was there, in the early 70's. In I976 I arrived in Christchurch, where I have been living ever since. I never learned to speak Polish, and have never met any of my Polish or English relations, so you might say I have lost the sense of cultural identity I should have had. However this is not something that bothers me particularly, as I do have a sense of identity which is largely self-created. And there remains a vague sense of Polish identity, which in my imagination relates to a strange place on the other side of the world, full of people with strange surnames like my own. The question of identity is not surprisingly inherent in my art. I see it as a kind of necessary fiction, something which people take on board from outside of themselves to give them a sense of belonging somewhere. There is public identity and private identity, what you reveal to the outside world and what you reveal to a select few or even keep to yourself. There is the identity of your thoughts, your name, and your physical appearance. Octavio Paz said: "While we are alive, we cannot escape from masks or names. We are inseparable from our fictions our features." I tend to agree, though there is more to it than that. We tend to assume there is something 'behind' the mask or public persona, but it could just be that there are different masks for different occasions. Though the facial features remain the same, they become transformed as the occasion warrants, for example from travelling to work with other commuters to making love. Thus we regularly change masks metaphorically without having to do so literally. James Murray: Could you describe each work in one or two words, kind of free association, word(s) that best fit the mood they were produced in or/and the mood they induce for you now? MP: No. The words I've already found for the works are their titles (as described above). As for moods they were produced in, I don't create in particular moods as such. As for moods they induce, I'd rather leave that to whoever cares to scrutinise them. The work of art is completed by the viewer, bringing into play his or her own creativity / imagination. JM: Who were/are your most admired antedents? MP: There are many artists whose work has been significant for me over the years, in the various phases I have passed through. I'm not entirely sure what you mean by 'antecedents', whether 'influences' or 'precursors'. My work has not usualy ended up looking very much like the work I admire, as I prefer to follow my own individualistic processes rather than emulate those of others. What tends to happen is that admiration for another artists' work can trigger off a point of departure of my own, but most of the time my work is self-(re)generating. Klee has remained a pivotal influence, though more when wearing his primitivist rather than theoretician/pedagogue's hat. There is an intimate and spontaneous freshness about Klee's best work which is hard to beat; it's small, child-like, unpretentious, and as far from grandiose as you can get. Picasso and other early modernists, and Surrealists such as Max Ernst, borrowing from the 'primitive' arts of Africa and Oceania etc., and Miro and Hundertwasser, were early influences. Later influences were Adolph Gottlieb in his pictograph phase, and the Uruguayan Joaquin Torres-Garcia's ideographic images within a grid system. Dubuffet and outsider artists, especially Gaston Chaissac, were also influential. The CoBrA Group, Karel Appel, Asger Jorn, et al., I found wonderfully liberating, pointing the way out of an unfortunate obsession with the grid (1990-91) which led nowhere but to formalistic sterility and creative death. I became very interested in CoBrA around '92, the starting point for the works in this exhibition. Their influence is very evident in a work such as Family Portrait. Underlying these influences (and others I may have forgotten to mention) are the arts of the 'primitive' or indigenous peoples ('World Art', analogous to 'World Music'). The influence they exert is general rather than specific, in that I don't consciously copy from them, but attempt to find an 'authentic' manner of expression, within my own frame of reference, which has certain similarities. Whether I succeed or fail at doing this is only important to me on my own terms. JM: Do rules bother you (ultimately), societal/cultural Christchurch, New Zealand, to paint in? MP: Art is one thing, living and working within society quite another, though of course they intersect and influence each other. To answer this question a clear distinction must be made between my present and past viewpoints, which are quite different. I remember a friend visiting my house in the early 80's, seeing these strange outsider paintings all over the place, and asking: "But how do you cope in society?" Damned good question, actually, to which I didn't have an answer back then. I must have shocked a lot of people with various exhibitions in Wellington and Christchurch my paintings were so marginal that critics didn't know what the hell to make of them, so they simply didn't bother. I had a few big exhibitions in the CSA (Canterbury Society of the Arts) Mair Gallery in the early 80's, with large unstretched paintings, which were simply ignored. (Philip Trusttum was an influence back then.) John Coley, who was an art critic for the Star around that time, once apologised to me for not reviewing any of them. I eventually thought, what more do I need to do to be noticed, and gave up in despair, having decided it just wasn't worth the effort. I did get back into it, but stuck to smaller paintings from then on. I felt I didn't exist in the New Zealand art scene, I just wasn't there. Coming to Christchurch was even worse because it is so art school dominated if you don't come through that you're really not visible, as a 'serious' artist. On the lower end of the spectrum there are all the the traditionalists, the painters of landscapes, portraits, still lives, and so on, who are regarded as outmoded yet have their own pecking order. I certainly didn't fit there either. But no, to answer your question from my present viewpoint, rules no longer bother me. I have adapted to society, and have been rewarded by it adapting to me. I look back now on those earlier years from a completely different perspective, that of having found my 'niche' in society. I have ended up very fortunate in every way, and have no bitterness whatsoever, viewing my past conflict as integral to my personal growth. I am aware of quite a few artists who were once 'flavour of the month', but who seem to grow more and more bitter with every wave of fresh young talents emerging from the art schools. Personally I'm glad to have been left alone to get on with finding and following my own path. An artist friend said to me, way back in the early '70s or thereabouts: "In the final analysis, all you can do is tend your own garden" (paraphrase of Voltaire). What that really means is to give up trying to be something you're not, trying to play by someone else's rules, trying to make it in someone else's estimation. By doing this you realise that your own rules are all that matters in art, and everything else is totally meaningless. (I don't mean to imply here that social responsibility is not important.) I'm talking about the realm of existential creative freedom, which does not depend on anyone else but you, the artist in life. JM: Do you see life as a mere game, a tragicomedy, a game, a drama, full of shit if so? MP: Definitely not 'a mere game' there is too much suffering in the world. However living in any society is a kind of game, as every society has its own hierarchy, pecking order, rules. One of my paintings is titled Tragicomedy, yes, and I do regard life very much like that, to make a sweeping generalisation. But my personal point of view remains optimistic, nonetheless. JM: If your art is 'in the no', then tell me why and what is not doing? Is it fulfilling political conscience other than existentialism, and the concern for freedom (personal)? MP: Could you rephrase that question, as I don't understand it? Perhaps it relates more to the fact that I was initially going to title the exhibition "In the No", a play on "in the know" JM: Would you call yourself escapist because you feel what you are doing is perhaps negative to the cutting edge avant garde, before the show is hung? MP: Escapist from what? When I think of escapist I think of art which asks very little of the viewer but seduces them into a dream or fantasy world, and invites no creative or questioning response. How you define 'escapist' depends on your own preconceived ideas or ideological predisposition. It is easy enough to agree that most of what is produced by the tv and film industry is escapist. Escapist art does not necessarily equate with 'bad' art or art of no redeeming value, either. That people have a genuine need to escape (from the urban sprawl etc.) hardly needs saying, yet 'escapism' is usually regarded as a term of condemnation. I once did a painting called The Escape Artist. The concept of escape is something I've thought about quite a lot, but that doesn't necessarily mean my art is escapist. Of course it might be for some people. Escape can be viewed as positive as well as negative, such as escaping 'from someone's clutches' or from self-destructive tendencies. In its positive sense it equates with 'release', the ultimate form of which is death. I regard my art as expressive of the human condition, not escapist in the negative sense. It does not confront socio-political issues, or engage in ideological polemics, or keep up with current trends, or justify itself in any other way. So some may well view it as escapist. As for the so-called 'avant-garde' I've read time and time again that it's an outmoded concept, that it is no longer critically valid, despite the fact that to all intents and purposes an unspoken avant garde still exists. Locally and internationally there are still 'art stars', high profile artists whose names keep cropping up everywhere you look in the current literature. Is this because of relentless promotion and marketing, or because they really are deserving of such high exposure? Who can tell the difference? I suspect they're just playing the game like everyone else, so good luck to them. JM: Tell me about Freudian elements in works such as Scrutiniser and Menagerie of the Child. MP: If there are Freudian elements, and I'm not saying there aren't, then that's a matter of subjective interpretation. These works just happened that way, without a conscious desire to relate a particular narrative, akin to the process of surrealist automatism. This illustrates very well the 'revealing, concealing' process, where something significant seems to have been revealed but there is no certainty about what it is. Of course a Freudian psychiatrist might beg to differ. JM: Have your kids influenced your primitive slant? MP: I was a primitivist long before they came along, but having them around making their own art has reaffirmed what it's all about for me. Marcel's and Kazimir's art is a constant source of delight and inspiration, and there are times when something they do provides a flash of illumination, helping me out of a creative block or even into a new phase. Overall I'm much happier than I used to be their presence has helped me come to terms with the nature of my own art, my individual and artistic identity. There is something wonderful and divine in the childhood state which for me is the crux of creativity, even of life itself. The boys' art is continually inventive and their boundless creative energy energises me turn. JM: Triangles are shapes with three sides and are severe? MP: Severe? In the eyes of the beholder, I feel. JM: When and where did you learn art? MP: Self-taught, basically, inasmuch as something has been 'learned'. My instinctive nature always ended up rebelling against the desire to learn how to do it 'properly', which surfaced periodically. I came to the existential decision to follow my own path and see where it led, see what happened, and I've stuck to it, despite the occasional period of giving up or losing my way. All I want to do as an artist is remain true to myself, outside the changing preoccupations of the art world, in all its manifestations. In the late 70's / early 80's I had an acquaintance at art school (he was there, I wasn't) who was one of these dogmatic artist types, so full of abstract expressionism that only that style could possibly be relevant. Funny how artists, supposedly creative people, can be so narrow-minded and authoritarian (which reminds me of the 'Pope of Surrealism', Andre Breton, the art authoritarian par excellence). Anyway, this acquaintance gave up painting some years ago, whereas I'm still doing it. ("You go your way, I'll go mine" words of Bob Dylan I remember from many years ago.) JM: Is Ancestors specific to you or is it generic to human evolution? MP: Both. I occasionally wonder about my Polish and English forbears, but it is really the idea of all ancestral spirits that I'm thinking of here. In primitive cultures they remain a living presence, so there's a continuity there which is missing from Western societies. ("Stand up to be discontinued" Don van Vliet, alias Captain Beefheart.) JM: Tell me your ideas about 'primitive cultures'. MP: I'm not an ethnologist, nor do I have any desire to be. Nor do I wish to romanticise the so-called 'primitive' into a 'noble savage'. Primitive art, however, is a source of artistic inspiration which provides an alternative a myriad of alternatives to the art of our own society. The traditional Western ways of making art, of even thinking about making art, are not for me. If I didn't have something else to look at, to provide an alternative model, I probably wouldn't make art at all. I do see myself as a genuine artistic primitive because I managed to avoid the artistic training which many regard as the hallmark of the truly legitimate artist in our society. However I am by no means a 'primitive' in other ways, as a fairly sophisticated citizen of late 20th century Western society who reads quite a lot about art. If that sounds contradictory, then great I am happy to be a mass of contradictions as life is more interesting that way. Needless to say, I don't make art to aspire to any sort of social or professional legitimacy quite the opposite! It is this attitude of not giving an 'expletive' for that which provides me with the creative freedom I want, which is totally self-determined, not socially or other-determined (without getting into a philosophical debate about 'free will' versus 'social determinism'). There is quite enough of a pecking order in society as it is without using one's art to climb the ladder of respectability of course many artists do precisely that, and good luck to them, but ultimately it's yourself you have to live with. Your art is a direct reflection of whether you're being genuine and authentic or not, so living with your art is part of living with yourself. JM: Is civilization confused primitivism? MP: We are really all 'primitives' in the global village. The more we progress with new technology, the more we realise how antiquated we will seem a few years down the track. The 'digerati' who think that the be-all and end-all of human civilization is technological progress are very shallow and ignorant people, to be pitied. There is far more to authentic life than the Internet and information technology, and maybe a lot of those people will wake up one day to the gaping emptiness of it all; but probably not. The fact is, when you take away the technology we are not that far removed from our Stone Age ancestors, indeed from those remnants of bygone ages who are still alive today in New Guinea and so on (hence: The Last of the Indigenes). But the shallow amongst us believe we are an entirely different category, some kind of 'superman' because we can communicate via a computer and modem! JM: Birds are free? MP: They're metaphors for human freedom because they can fly and we can't. Birds have a special, sort of divine significance for me, going right back to when I was at primary school and had a pet sparrow. I hate seeing birds in cages, but exult in having a variety of birds in our environment, such as bellbirds. One of the greatest New Zealand tragedies is the extinction of so many of our native birds, and the precarious existence of so many presently endangered species. The painting Anima depicts a man holding a bird inside himself, a metaphor for his 'inner self' which he is nurturing and protecting. JM: Are you the Scrutiniser? MP: We all scrutinise things. In this work the large face on the right is scrutinising what's inside the windows. The inhabitants, including a single eye, are scrutinising what's outside the windows, so it all depends on your perspective, where you stand and where you're coming from. The viewer or critic scrutinises the artwork itself. JM: Ladders are implements that let you go up and down, but they seem to go up into places in your stuff where, why? Anywhere? Nowhere, away from ignorance into the light in Menagerie, into ignorance in Scrutiniser? MP: To be human is to be trapped by your particular circumstances, which are unique to you. Circumstances change for external reasons, also because the individual somehow has a say in changing them. So there is continual movement from one set of circumstances to another, which may or may not be 'better', from birth through babyhood and childhood to adolescence, maturity, old age, and death. In other words life is continual transition, we're always on the way from here to there, from somewhere to somewhere else. It is up to each individual to find personal significance in what is, objectively, a theatre of the absurd. Transition is not necessarily, but may be, 'progress'. JM: Things a bit more messy (painterly) in Alter Ego: is this Max behind the mask? MP: For me this painting represents two aspects of the self, the one on the left the open, trusting, 'revealed' aspect, the one on the right the closed, concealed, defensive aspect, hence the title Alter Ego. It can be viewed as a personal expression of the artist, a self-portrait, or as a general statement about the mask that people present to the world. However an artwork is itself a mask, a metaphor, perhaps, for the person who painted it (amongst other things). When we look at a painting by Picasso, we call it 'a Picasso', as if it is a substitute or a stand-in for Picasso, which can tell us all about Picasso. But it was Picasso himself who said "all art is deception" (or words to that extent), and he was right. An artwork conceals as much as it reveals, so whatever is or is not behind the mask, the mask (i.e. artwork in this case) cannot tell us. It can provide clues, suggest something, but that's as far as it goes. JM: Are you of any religion? MP: No, not specifically. At times I think of myself as vaguely Buddhist in orientation. JM: Are you mystical? Superstitious? i.e. why Talisman? MP: When it suits me. The Talisman figure is traced from a piece of broken pipe, smoothed and rounded by the sea, I found in the Otago Peninsula last summer. I was particularly attracted to it, as it reminded me of the seals there, and the landscape when turned the other way up. I imagined it as a primitive artifact, dredged up from some archaeological dig perhaps, which represented a totem animal or bird in some vaguely mysterious way. But no, I am not really superstitious. JM: Do you relate to 'primitive' cultures because like them you feel alienated from the cosmopolitan (art world) cosmos? MP: No. I am just as much 'outside' primitive cultures as the contemporary scene, I don't fit into either. But nor do I want to, I have my own life to lead, and that's where I find my creative freedom and the things that matter to me. Being outside has its advantages, besides which 'inside' and 'outside' are relative terms. JM: Are triangles beaks? Triangles are both severe and menacing and also afraid / threatened? MP: To reiterate, a matter of subjective interpretation. JM: Why blank eyes vs. oval with pupil eyes? (Alter Ego) MP: Particular significance can be read into this, but I prefer to leave it open to interpretation. It just happened that way, I did not set out to paint a coherent picture in which everything has been thought out beforehand. I do not work that way. JM: Are you alone aesthetically / artistically? MP: Yes and no. I have a creative environment that I am integrated with, that I belong in, but it is not the 'art world' as such. I have no desire to belong in that as I see it as an empty mirage, devoid of substance, albeit serving its own necessary though convoluted purpose. I am not alone in my own environment, with my family, with the mountains in the distance, and with the bellbirds. It is there that I am absolutely 'at home': literally, metaphorically, creatively, and existentially. JM: Where is arcadia / heaven? MP: In the here and now, in the eternal moment, in love and creative joy.
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