In the era of technical reproduction, announced many years ago by Walter Benjamin, classic artistic media (such as paintings and sculptures) which kept works unique are as popular as they always were. Whether because of the audience's habits, the pure pleasure of communing with something made by hand, or the rules of the luxury market, the more unique and rare something is, the higher the price and the bigger the profit. A painting is unique by definition. Two paintings are never equal. And if we stumble upon such a pair, one of them has to be a copy, an act of plagiarism, a lie. Experts debate over the problem of the original and the copy. Huge amounts of money are often at stake, and the question of repetitiveness and non-repetitiveness is broader then the art market and art itself.
Philosophers have been asking themselves the question for ages: what came first, the hen or the egg? Wouldn't a map on a 1:1 scale take the place of the terrain itself, as Jose Luis Borges wondered? Do we see the world or only its image? Isn't the image of the world a substitute for the world itself, in a weird presession of simulacra, described by the French philosopher Jean Baudrillard? Maybe that's why we so often have the feeling of déjà vu.
The famous ancient duel between the painters Zeuxis and Parrhasius arose around the question of which which one of them could create a painting that better mimics reality. Parrhasius painted fruit so suggestively that he managed to fool birds, but Zeuxis won, fooling Parrhasius into thinking his painting was hidden behind the curtain. When Parrhasius tried to unveil it, he realized the curtain was painted. The painting can, as it turns out, mimic reality, but also other paintings.
All of these questions are important for Rafał Bujnowski's work. His early paintings mimicked real, flat objects. Oil stretchers were almost identical to wood boards, bricks, or video tapes. What's more, the artist priced them as the objects they represented (sometimes using the slogan ‘Cheap art from Poland’). He escaped the market aspect of works of art and the problem of uniqueness. He created these objects-paintings in unlimited series. Why not produce another brick, board or video tape if there is a client to buy it?
Undermining the uniqueness of the painting and the difference between what is represented and the representation itself, Bujnowski referenced a specific feature of a society whose consumption needs have been awakened suddenly after 1989, in the times of early, 'fresh' capitalism. Suddenly it turned out, we have too much of everything. Marek Krajewski wrote:
The artist, as each one of us, has everything already and, again, as each one of us, he can't believe that he spent a decade on getting, celebrating and caring for objects. This disappointment with the material world is expressed by Bujnowski with the celebration of what's lacking, of empty space, traces and contours. I don't know a better diagnosis of society, which has turned to consumption: having too much makes us blind to anything, the world disappears even though there has never been as much of it. What's most interesting in Bujnowski's deeply critical world, is that he doesn't intend to critique anything, but rather sincerely materializes in his works his personal doubts and questions about what is. His critical approach is a result of something very rare: of the fact that the artist actually has his doubts.
Everyone can buy anything they want, if they can afford it. The same painting he saw in his friend's house. With this thought in mind, Bujnowski created a series of standard paintings for different rooms – the salon, the kitchen, the bedroom – perfect for selling in IKEA.
He went even further with the pope. His How to Paint the Pope (2001) is not only part of a series – it doesn't even have to be bought. The artist teaches anyone how to make it with a step-by-step guide. Do it yourself! You don't have to be Picasso, not even Bujnowski. Since John Paul II is the pope of all Poles, anyone can create his image. You only need to buy the materials and in a few steps you will have a finished painting.
On seeing How to Paint the Pope, no blasé viewer could comment ‘I could do that myself’, since the artist himself encourages viewers to mimic it. Draw your own pope, and one for your parents, friend, or neighbour. This is how the painting of the pope completes the list of possessed objects. It becomes one of the objects – like a book, a video tape, a brick. Another need is satisfied. What's next?
In 1978, when Karol Wojtyła was chosen for pope, the first (and, until now, the only) Pole, General Mirosław Hermaszewski, went to space. A slogan was then created: 'A Pole in space, a Pole in the Vatican'. John Paul II's popularity rose in ways that seemed more suitable to a pop or film star than a Christian authority figure. If Jesus Christ became a superstar, John Paul II is right behind him. It was not coincidental that the painter chose him to create his tutorial. Not everyone can be turned into such an icon, only those, whose image is so popular and sometimes limited to the exterior only. What do these images, printed in potentially unlimited copies, like IKEA reproductions sold in clip frames, reference? Is there any substance to them or maybe they became just empty signs, which can be filled with any message?
There is something mechanical in creating more and more pictures of the pope, something deprived of thought. It's like with the images of Mona Lisa, Michael Jackson, today – also Lady Gaga. These images just exist. According to the free market rules – demand determines supply. We have such a pope (so many popes), because that's how we want to see him (because we want to have so many).
Author: Karol Sienkiewicz, March 2011, trans. NMR, January 2016.
Rafał Bujnowski
How to Paint the Pope
2001
oil on canvas, 120 x 120 cm
