 VLADIMÍR
BIRGUS
In his photographs Vladimír Birgus presents
man as just having detached himself from the context
of the surrounding universe and turned into himself,
into his innermost world. Whether walking or moving
in any other way, man seems to be just about the same
as if standing, sitting or sun-bathing. The actual outward
apperance of his existence is irrevelant at such moments,
since during those split seconds man is deaf to the
outside world, oblivious to it. The world’s physical
environment has been exchanged for a inner world of
his own, whether he is awake or dreaming. This constitutes
a specific form of contemplation, through wchich western
man escapes to the realm of Eastern mental techniques
out of desire to be on his own with his fate for a time,
rather than outside any chosen programme.
This could easily give the impression that Vladimír
Birgus is actually bent on glorifying a passive kind
of man. But that would be a dangerous oversimplification.
It is necessary to come back to firm ground every now
and then for man to be able to rebel against heaven
– it is vital to return to the sources of rivers in
order to appreciate the vastness of the ocean.
On several occassions Birgus’s photographs have given
rise to the criticism that he has been guilty of violating
or, indeed, negating valid laws of art. But the truth
lies elsewhere: he has applied these laws very consistently,
but to creative materials where we are simply unaccustomed
to encounter them. All the signs are that these artistic
tendencies of his early years have found their expression
there. The outcome is a rare symbiosis of life photography
with the sophistication and refinement of an artist.
Just observe how Birgus restricts the number of pictorial
elements applied, how he handles tonality, how ingeniously
he often uses colours, how he avaids emotional and optical
perfection of any kind and how carefully he distributes
his elements in order to focus attention on the main
figure, to highlight to the viewer the pausing of man
in time, his immersion in his own inward world.
True, there is „Something Unspeakable“ involved, but
still it is expressed sufficiently clearly for us to
understand the imagery, however hard it is to spell
it out in words.
Ján Šmok
Ján Šmok: Vladimír Birgus.
In: Contemporary Photographers. St. James Press, Detroit
& London 1995, p. 100.
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