The Birth
My birth unfolded like everyone else's—a momentous surprise. The comfortable darkness, silence, and warmth I knew were abruptly replaced by a cacophony of clanging, intense lights, cold air, and unfamiliar touches—feelings of helplessness and discomfort emerged. My mother was there, a reassuring presence amid the chaos.
I suspect it was she who first placed a pencil in my hand, thus laying the foundation of my artistic journey. I have no doubt she cherished and admired my initial attempts at painting, continually supporting my subsequent works.
As I grew, cephalopods gave way to drawings of families, animals, stuffed toys, and suns. In kindergarten, my teachers introduced me to various drawing and painting techniques. Captivated by the equipment available, I often found solace in drawing quietly at a table while my peers engaged in play. My first public accolade came at the age of six, when a drawing of mine was featured in the magazine Ohníček.
However, elementary school proved to be a drearier chapter. The more tedious the lessons, the more my notebooks brimmed with thematic sketches. Naturally, this drew suspicions of inattention, prompting thematic restrictions to align with class subjects. The real challenge came during Czech language classes, where finding a relevant subject was tough and my constant sketching particularly vexed my teacher. One sombre day, she outright banned drawing during her lessons—a ban that, thankfully, was short-lived as she soon realized it led to my complete disengagement and subsequently allowed me to resume drawing.
At ten, I triumphed in the national Norwegian competition PÁ-GNE-BEN, in collaboration with Norway. Though the specific artwork escapes my memory, I vividly recall the grand hall in Prague, the crowd of onlookers, and a celebratory photo with a large red dwarf. Around the same time, family members began to highlight the artistic legacy of my grandfather, whose paintings and drawings adorned nearly every wall in his home. He soon became my first great teacher, and his artworks continuing to resonate with and inspire me deeply.
High school days brought new muses—photos of the president on the wall (who became my favourite model) and classmates fidgeting during exams. Sometimes, an inadvertently static teacher provided a perfect live model.
In medical school, anatomy became my favourite subject. The intricate details of joints, bones, muscles, and their functions enriched my understanding of body contours and shadowing. Courses on child development, psychology, and physiology deepened my appreciation of the human body—not merely as a physical vessel but as a complex organism in constant communication with its soul and hidden parts.
After my studies, I spent several months in southern England. This country, full of ancient sprawling trees, warm rain alternating several times a day with sunshine, and fresh wind blowing from the ocean, directly invited me to draw. An old stone bridge, village cottages with thatched roofs, a tall cathedral, cliffs constantly battered by the sea, and endless pastures lined with stone walls. These impressions get deeply etched into one's heart if allowed.
From there come my first drawings with oil pastels, which remain with me to this day.
Back then, my paintings were often provocative, incorporating indeterminate spaces, empty places, and provocative elements into usually pleasing themes. Along with marveling at the beauty of landscapes and wild nature, there was also a bit of rebellion and a desire to remove boring social conventions. Pointing out insincerity and the resulting ambiguities and absurdities.
Life in rebellion, however, is difficult. During these years of early adulthood, I increasingly felt that life was slipping out of my hands. This is perhaps most characteristically described by the painting "Woe to Me" (the oldest painting in the category Diary of Blackout). It became a symbol, a boundary stone that ultimately closed the previous years of creation, followed by silence.
Silence for a long 12 years. A period when the blank surface of paper and canvas became a terrifying void into which it was almost impossible to record anything that even remotely resembled the events within my soul.
There were only two exceptions, two paintings created between 2006 and 2018. An oil pastel drawing "Dust You Are and to Dust You Shall Return" and "Man in the City" (both in the Early Works category).
Current works are often interwoven with images that appear in my mind on their own. Sometimes these images urgently scream to be recorded on paper, while other times they wait for years for their realization. Painting these images usually requires great effort, as it involves looking "inside," into one's inner self.
Despite this, painting brings me satisfaction and the feeling that what is difficult to express in words can be conveyed through a painting. Therefore, I am also interested in how my paintings affect you.