Ostrava (or) "Fuck, that's beautiful!"

Artist Marie Brozova's memoir of her public drawing event in Ostrava.

All Czech people know that the Ostrava miners’ region is somewhat specific. When my husband’s cousin, who lives in Ostrava, heard that I was going with my project to this rough stories-emblazoned city, he became very skeptical: "You should be prepared for a tough man (a miner, of course) telling you: "You chick, what about doing something useful instead?"

But I put on a brave face, and did not back away. I was also absolutely sure, that these kinds of tough, vulgar characters would not appear at the most renowned of Ostrava's cultural points – the LIBREX bookshop.

My experiences were far beyond my expectations.

I thought I knew enough about the north-Moravian region, I thought I knew enough about their dialect, and did not expect to learn anything new. My husband spent his early childhood near Ostrava and prepared me with a great number of local idioms, proverbs and nasty songs. His granny repeated to him: "You want to meet a lout? He’s spitting on the ground." And his grandpa sang silently to him (not to be heard by granny): Go to the Devil, go to hell! Heave ho! I will work and you will work, heave ho! Go down the pit and meet the norm, heave ho! Surely Ostrava’s the best place after all!"

Anyway I was taken aback by local, almost taciturn ways of communication, which were very different from the usual voluble Czech speech. I started to work on the drawing "The House made of Books" a little bit shakily. It was one of the most detailed drawings I had yet drawn in public, and I planned the drawing for twelve days. I stood at my easel alone for hours! At last I heard my husband’s voice inviting the first shy visitors coming to see my performance.

"Hello," said my husband.
But there was only silence in response.
"Welcome to our project The Defense of Colored Pencils. Here, you can have a leaflet about my wife’s work."
Silence again.
"When my wife exhibited her drawings, people did not believe that she used only colored pencils to create them."
Silence.

That became a little bit frightening, and I glanced over my shoulder to check if my husband hadn't lost his mind and was talking to himself. My goodness, there he stood, the dreaded miner for sure. With an inscrutable expression on his face, he stood there and looked at my drawing. My husband eventually exhausted all of his clichés, and the miner came closer to me. "Now it is coming", I told to myself. "Now he is going to tell me that I should do something more useful."

He watched me for a long time and did not make a sound. All of a sudden he started to laugh like a madman; he slapped me on my back heavily and cried: "Fuck, that’s beautiful!" Ostrava took some time to accept me, but then the city embraced me with open arms, as long as I don’t include those few bitter individuals, who think that blasted Prague begins just beyond Ostrava’s borders.

But Ostrava has much more to offer than miners and their lifestyle. It is a growing city full of educated people, sensitive to art. You would have to go a long way to find something beautiful in Ostrava and maybe that’s why people value beauty and they know how important a role it plays in their lives.

I was pleasantly surprised by the number of men interested not only in my work, but also in reading books and buying drawings. These elevating activities are mostly a woman’s domain in our Czech world. Many people told me, almost in tears, that my drawings were the most beautiful thing they had ever seen in their lives. A man, another miner without a doubt, mentioned a Rembrandt painting that was, according to the recent TV report, auctioned for many millions or billions, but for him my drawing was even better. "If something bad, God forbid, should happen to it, I would surely cry" he told me and his eyes were wet.

Ostrava is also full of striking, energetic personalities that feel no need to blunt the sharp edges of their opinions. So you have a great chance to find out everything that would normally stay unrevealed. I was really impressed by Ms Vankova, an elderly lady, who works as the marketing manager of the bookshop and in fact she is the real engine of the whole business. This efficient lady could easily handle an army of badly behaved devils. Small wonder she handled a bunch of lax journalists, who were determined not to make any free publicity about the cultural events at Librex. When they came at last (only a few days before the end of my public drawing), she told them off so effectively, that they did not argue. When they dared to whisper, that they were not a door-to-door service, she raised hell.

In a similar way she cut down to size an art historian, who branded my work as a patchy kitsch. "You should put your glasses on and take the few steps to make a close-up look, because this is not kitsch at all."

Shortly after, she told me a story about how she visited the Museum of modern art in Canberra. She saw there two huge canvases; one was painted black, the other was white. She came closer and hoped to see the explanation of these drawings in their titles. The first title was "White screen", the second "Black screen." She complained about her cultural shock to her friend – another art historian. This educated lady told her with enthusiasm: "The artist completely emptied himself on the canvas!" But Ms Vankova wasn’t duped so easily. In her opinion, emptying on the canvas should be a gastroenterological matter, not an artistic issue.

These energetic giants cast a shadow upon the shy, fragile artistic souls, who lack a sharp tongue and cheekiness, and wither in poor parched Ostrava soil. A young timid lady brought me one of her colored pencil drawings as a present. It was extremely powerful, the sun shining through green branches in the forest, full of harmony and positive energy, a real meditation. But she was too shy to tell me her name.

For the most beautiful experience I had to wait until the last day of my public drawing, when "House Made of Books" was almost completed. My project The Defense of Colored Pencils was unexpectedly visited by my favorite songwriter Jaromir Nohavica, whose songs formed the shapes of my world of imagination for many years. When I was fourteen, I heard his songs for the first time and learned that you can build a whole cathedral, using only words as the pieces of stone. He became my role model for his ability to express his thoughts in clear and comprehensible ways.

When he next visits my project, I will surely tell him…