Corona-Bear and Corona-Bull

NEWS FROM THE LOWEST SHELF

Let's start wit a digression. Back in the depths of the Communist era, I had an artist friend who rented a studio on the top floor of a neighboring apartment block. He lived there in total isolation: zero radio, zero television, and no one had even dreamed of the internet yet. His "information oxygen" was supplied by a neighbor from downstairs, who would occasionally hand over a pile of old, read newspapers. My friend would pounce on them like a cat on a mouse, though he absorbed the news with a massive delay. When we met for walks, he would breathlessly inform me of Leonid Brezhnev’s death (six months after the funeral) or the election of Pope John Paul I, when John Paul II had already been sitting on the throne in the Vatican for quite some time.

If this text seems anachronistic to you, it is not due to my lack of reflexes or a developmental delay, but rather the production cycle of our quarterly magazine. A text written in the spring is published in the autumn; a column sent to the Editor during the Trump era saw the light of day under Biden. So, when you finally read these words about the coronavirus, you might ask: "Epidemic? What epidemic? Who even remembers that?" I hope that is the case. I truly wish us all that collective amnesia.

ETIQUETTE IN A MASK

But let’s get to the point. The virus, which began to run rampant at the turn of 2019 and 2020, plowed through everything—from the economy to culture. However, the latter did not react uniformly. "High culture" behaved one way, while "everyday culture" took another path.

Unexpectedly, a handshake, a hug, or a kiss on the cheek became nearly an attempt on one's life. Age-old social forms were erased by "social distancing." The elegant handshake was replaced by the subcultural "fist bump" or the crude "corona-elbow"—a gesture previously better suited to a butcher’s queue than a salon. Even our faces lost their significance. A smile, an ironic curl of the lip, or a disdainful grimace disappeared under a mask. The entire spectrum of human emotion was reduced to the code of emojis: thumbs up, sad face, angry face. This is not progress. It is a return to pictograms in a version designed for those under house arrest.

THE PORK CHOP CONSPIRACY

Suddenly, it turned out that Christmas Eve could be illegal, staying in a hotel was a misdemeanor, and eating a pizza in a restaurant was a criminal act. However, our nation, hardened by times of occupation and martial law, quickly remembered its "resistance gene."

Once the initial shock passed, "underground classes" and clandestine sing-alongs began. I personally took part in several carolings where "everyone came running" with a euphoria greater than that of the shepherds at the manger. Things looked much worse in official cultural institutions, which had to comply with top-down restrictions. Performing artists, whose disciplines require direct contact with an audience, were sentenced to virtual performances. If these have any merit at all, it is only as a means of survival. They lack that flow of energy between performer and viewer that occurs during a live performance; they lack the emotion, the contact, the atmosphere, and the sense of uniqueness that accompanies a trip to the theater or a concert.

One thing only puzzles me: why didn't we return to ancient models? The actors of Sophocles or Aeschylus performed in masks. And in amphitheaters under the open sky. Today, one would only need to add a hand-sanitizing scene to a Greek tragedy, and we would have a theater perfectly tailored to the requirements of the Health Inspection.

AN ORCHESRTRA PENETRATING TRASH

The situation was worse for musicians. While a violinist can play in a mask, a wind player cannot. Singers—they are in the highest risk group, as they perform their profession by intensely exhaling air, thereby doing the very thing that is most risky: alternately spreading their "aerosol" (as we call it today) and inhaling the aerosol of their stage partners.

If the epidemic, or rather the associated restrictions, were to last longer, singers faced the risk of Tadeusz Kantor’s deathbed curse coming true: "Let the artists rot." Do you know that old riddle? Why does a double bassist who retires sell his bass but not his bow? Answer: So he has something to poke through the trash with. Let’s hope that doesn’t become the fate of the entire orchestra. After all, even the Metropolitan Opera in New York canceled its entire 2020/2021 season, leaving the world’s best instrumentalists and vocalists out on the street!

A POLE ALWAYS FINDS A WAY (AROUND THE RULES)

Fortunately, the ingenuity of my compatriots did not fail. Restaurant customers turned into "employees": they were hired by restaurateurs on "work-for-hire" contracts as "taste testers" who, after consuming a cutlet, received a payment of 1 złoty—one might call it a tip à rebours. (Even those who, after contracting COVID, had temporarily lost their sense of taste). Swimming enthusiasts were suddenly and en masse called up to the "National Team," and gyms transformed into temples of the "Cult of the Healthy Body," where bench-pressing became a form of fervent prayer.

A wave of indignation among stage artists was sparked by the broadcast of the "New Year's Eve of Dreams" (a televised concert), not only due to its artistic level but also because an audience participated, even though all public events were officially banned. Here, the organizers rushed with an explanation: it wasn't an audience at all, but "actor-extras" hired for the television spectacle, who were merely playing the role of an audience. It didn’t take long for this "TV boss’s trick" to be used on a wider scale—from then on, people appearing at concerts were no longer spectators, but "extras" engaged in the filming of a movie. You can always place your brother-in-law with a camera in front of the stage and claim it's a major Hollywood production.

MUSIC BEAR, PAINTING BULL

And why, for heaven's sake, were museums and galleries closed for several months? Hardly anyone went there anyway, and any potential (though unlikely) crowding could have been easily prevented by organizing online ticket sales for specific time slots. In this way, galleries could have continued their activities—even on a limited scale—and perhaps even gained a few extra visitors, as people who previously avoided exhibitions might have visited them during the lockdown. The Minister of Culture announced then that "cultural sites are safer than gyms." Perhaps so, although a visit to certain modern art museums, such as Krakow’s MOCAK, carries the risk of permanent psychological damage—a risk far greater than muscle soreness after a fitness class.

While the virus brought a "bear market" to the music industry, the fine arts industry experienced a "bull market" during the same period. This applied both to the active practice of creation and its market consequences. "For an artist, being normal is a catastrophe," says an old wisdom, so creators in these fields are often such asocial individuals that the lockdown period didn't differ much for them (actually, I should write: for us) from our usual mode of operation. We spend our whole lives locked in our studios anyway, and during the forced closure, our "yield per acre" only grew, thanks to fewer distractions like social gatherings or trips. It feels awkward to say, but we finally had the ideal conditions for work! (A friend who is a professor at the Academy of Fine Arts shared an observation that during remote learning, his students painted much better pictures at home than they did during regular classes at the university). Apparently, a lack of contact with the professor is the best growth factor for young talent.

Likewise, collectors, deprived of the opportunity to spend money on skiing in the Alps or vacations in Dubai, flocked to auctions. Money isn't everything—you also need to own gold and a "Matejko." The result? Old Master painting skyrocketed: Leon Wyczółkowski’s Self-Portrait on a Horse sold for 2.7 million PLN, Piotr Michałowski’s Austrian Hussars for 2 million, and two canvases by Jacek Malczewski for over 3 million each. Tadeusz Makowski’s Children and Animals was valued at 4.5 million PLN, and the best result was achieved by Jan Matejko’s Portrait of Karol Gilewski—hitting nearly 7 million PLN. Contemporary painting also celebrated triumphs in auction houses this season, and "fantastic realism" sold like hotcakes for a while. A prime example is the work of the flagship creator of this movement, Zdzisław Beksiński. His painting was sold in November 2020 at the Sopot Auction House for a record price of over 700,000 PLN. Thus, the invisible coronavirus imposed its own order on the world of visual arts.

I don’t know what else the virus will surprise us with, but I fear there is no return to the "old normal." For those in power, a crisis is too good an opportunity to waste. During a crisis, one can smoothly push through changes that no one would have agreed to before. And for the more suspicious citizens, it is an opportunity to ask: is this all about a hand-wash or a brain-wash?

The most important thing, then, is that we remain healthy—and if we must be ill, let it be asymptomatic. And above all: let us not lose our taste. Especially our good taste. Which is what I wish for you and for myself.