|
A Swimming Pool in a Prison
The element of water is an enduring motif in my work. It is
connected with the never-ending surface of the sea, outer
space, the chasms of the heavens, verticality as a
connecting line between what is below (on the ground) and up
above (in the metaphysical sense of the word). Furthermore,
the surface of the water, whether calm or wavy, is a mirror
and as such it is related to the essence of any creative
mimesis, which I perceive inter alia as a reflection. The
theme of a swimming pool seems to narrow the metaphoric
characteristics of water as an element, but also
interconnects it with man and his external and internal
dimension. The pool, a bathing area, a place to swim, is a
very small part of this immense water world, which has a
highly symbolic character for me.
In my view, the swimming pool is an abandoned, unneeded
water tank; it may look like a swimming pool, but it was
never used for bathing because it is located in the
depressive setting of the former concentration camp at
Terezin, a Jewish ghetto in the Second World War. We can all
imagine the desire of the prisoners to submerge themselves
in the cold water and swim off to other, calmer shores. Or
to die in the embrace of the water. Today this sad reminder
has remained in Terezin, a half-empty, dirty tank, a
concrete receptacle on the slow road to oblivion. Even so,
it arouses in me poetic reminiscences or a dream of swimming
in an unrestrained body of water.
The oppressive and melancholic poetry of the Terezin
fortress inspired me a while ago to produce a large composed
set of colour-toned photographs called Stone Star Terezin
and, subsequently, to publish a book entitled Fortress
(Kant, Prague 2003), where I tried to capture the
imperceptible magic of the deserted space of the citadel, as
though cast off in a landscape of other, astral worlds. I
remember the water tank on one of the fortress’s courts
fascinating me so much that kept returning to this theme.
The tank, swimming pool, as a starting point, a window onto
the outside, free world, a heavenly mirror, must have
conjured up similar thoughts among the prisoners. On one of
the photographs, the human dimension of the scenery is
compounded by the rusting ladder lowered to the bottom of
the tank. It calls to mind the association of both a descent
into the depths and an ascent to the heights. It could be
viewed as a mysterious, sacred symbol for Jacob’s Ladder, a
biblical attribute which infuses a whiff of timelessness
into places connected with the Holocaust. (Petra Ruzickova)
|
