Non-Accidental Pleasures

A desire for pleasure powered by mass fantasy and nourished by heightened sensory experience produces a persistent sense of insufficiency. One need begets the next, and the inability to reach the desired state gives rise to frustration, nervous agitation, and distortions in how the world is perceived.

Contemporary art, Agnieszka Kwiecień observes in the catalogue for the exhibition Accidental Pleasures, does not offer easy pleasures. It demands certain competencies from the viewer – a minimal knowledge that enables a sense of satisfaction in engaging with it. In the case of the latest art, the Stendhal syndrome, arising from an overload of surrounding artworks, seems largely irrelevant. Contemporary pleasure is often conceptual, fleeting, and very different from the Stendhalian delight triggered by an abundance of figurative forms. Experiencing pleasure in contemporary art resembles a search for hidden treasure within a dense thicket of meanings. Yet pleasures carry their own risks. Excessive indulgence cultivates a self-centred, consumerist, and uncritical individual. Still, lingering in sensory asceticism offers no better remedy.

A reality devoid of desire and pleasure turns painfully grey and lifeless. This fracture – the duality inherent in pleasure – is what the Slovenian philosopher Slavoj Žižek describes as “anamorphic.” The object of desire is, at base, an ordinary thing; it is only when fantasy is projected onto it that the urge to possess arises. As Žižek stresses, even when the object of desire is a mere construct of emotion, it can still govern our lives and guide the way we act.

Invited to take part in the series Accidental Pleasures, curated by Marta Lisok, fourteen artists set out to delve into pleasure and redefine its status. Over the past year, the results of their investigations could be seen in the BWA Contemporary Art Gallery in Katowice, whose new “alternative” space was transformed, over the course of the four exhibitions forming the series, into an artistic laboratory probing the viral enthusiasm of pleasure. Intriguingly, browsing through the catalogue that sums up the Accidental Pleasures project proves no less pleasurable than visiting the exhibitions themselves. The cover alone lures, inviting close attention. Beneath the letters on the red dust jacket, a subtle, warm shape emerges: the torso of a man dressed to the waist, standing against a dark fabric adorned with red flowers. Beyond this, the experience grows even more sensuous.

Conceptual pleasures

The first part of Conceptual Pleasures (marked in green in the catalogue and positioned at the very end) created a narrative around the pleasures of rewriting, recording, encrypting, and reading. The exhibition invoked Roland Barthes’ The Pleasure of the Text, presenting the written word as something well-nigh bodily that waits to be discovered erotically. The sensuality of reading does not come from racing through the pages, but from pacing the words slowly, savouring each sentence, and uncovering the sensuality embedded in the language.

The sensuality of the text served as the starting point for Grzegorz Sztwiertnia’s video, which takes its title from Barthes’ essay. The work was created in the library of the Krakow Academy of Fine Arts on Smoleńsk Street. Its protagonist is an elderly librarian, Andrzej, who moons about the empty library at night. Sztwiertnia puts in his mouth excerpts from of Barthes’ text, which the librarian seems never fully to grasp. Yet for Andrzej, the pleasure lies in the very act of experiencing the written word, and especially with the space that contains it – he brushes against the shelves, caresses the table tops with his hands.

This work aligns with Barthes’ concept of the erotics of the text: the very act of reading – even a random text – can provide sensual pleasure. Yet from the background comes a distant echo of the critique of contemporary writing on art; Andrzej’s actions are often at odds with the words he recites. Likewise, it is hard to square the overly intellectual texts of critics, which attempt to map out every possible context, with the highly subjective works of artists.

Łukasz Skąpski's video haiku proposes a completely different way to present text. Standing in front of the camera, the artist describes his surroundings speaking slowly. His speech is minimalist, drawing on the poetics of Japanese haiku. The image he records, like haiku poetry itself, does not seek to explain the world; it simply registers everyday reality, allowing it to become an object of artistic pleasure.

An intriguing approach to pleasure is found in the work of Erwina Ziomkowska, a graduate of the Katowice Academy of Fine Arts. Large rolls of white paper punctured repeatedly with a needle disclose a peculiar dichotomy between the processes of creation and destruction. The artist herself emphasizes this in a conversation with the curator:

I was strongly motivated by a desire to understand what is referred to as "the miracle of creation"  which from its very inception is marked by progressive destruction. I was fascinated by the absurd interplay between creation and destruction. There is, after all, something of a sadistic thrill in this ambivalence – a kind of deviance that presumes a refined form of entertainment that is based on the rules of destruction.

Every act of creating one idea inevitably kills the one that came before.

Killing ideas seems to be part of rewriting history. Michał Gayer reinterpreted the story of Helena Mateja, a presumed Gestapo agent. The first of the objects presented by the artist was an intricately crafted, fictional autograph of Mateja’s pseudonym – Bloody Julie.

Sometimes I think I couldn't care less for articles or opinions about Bloody Julie; I do not believe in her guilt. Yet I can easily picture her as a star. I want to place Bloody Julie’s name above the heads of passersby, in the form of an autograph, especially for them.

Gayer is less concerned with apparent historical truth than with his own personal response to Bloody Julie. The second work he presented at the exhibition was a prototype typewriter. Its delicate cardboard structure asked to be touched, with keys that pressed softly and soundlessly. Above the machine, a complex array of fans moved almost carelessly, slowly, forming a barely perceptible inscription: “the code.”

A similar desire for sensual engagement was evoked by Nicolas Grospierre’s photographs from the Embassy series. For the duration of the exhibition, the empty interiors became planes of imagination on which each viewer could write their own stories. At the same time, the planes are interfaces between the gallery’s physical reality and the personal imagination of every visitor.

The first part of Accidental Pleasures was strongly rooted in conceptual artistic practices. The curator managed to circumvent the hermetic barrier that often separates artists’ works from the public. Exposure to these works and the resulting desire to understand the ideas that guided the artists, became the eponymous conceptual pleasure.

Following the scent of chocolate… Chocolate is seductive. Placed in the hand, it melts slowly, changes its shape, becomes sticky, spreads generously a sweet aroma, and coats the fingers, which wander intuitively to the mouth. Only then, in contact with the lips, does its full extraordinary sensuality release. The scent becomes more intense, the taste sweeter. The chocolate slowly melts on the tongue, gradually penetrating the body, disappearing quickly, leaving the hand extended for more. The unassuming brown cube steers existence toward its erotic dimension, dangerously drawing it into unrestrained greed. The boundary between desire and overindulgence becomes dangerously thin and precarious. Following the scent of chocolate, one must use caution.

The second instalment of Accidental Pleasures was highlighted in a “girlish” pink. Healthy skin has a delicate pink hue, so you feel like touching it, caressing, and embracing. This time, the invited artists explored the pleasures of touch, the domestication of space, and the limitations arising from it.

“Accommodation” is a project in which the form is designed to yield to the space in which it is placed. Adaptability, mobility, and fluidity – qualities highly prized today – are central to the work. “I wanted to create a sculpture that could be taken down like a tent and moved to another location, with its form always dependent on the site of presentation – different each time,” says Karolina Szymanowska about her work. The white tubes can be hidden or moved any time. It is an almost ideal work, adaptable to any space creating a coherent whole with it. There is a strong chance factor in each arrangement of the tubes, and, like a fleeting caprice, it can be altered at any moment with a single gesture of the hand.

Michał Smandek presented an intriguing spatial installation, Dance Floor, which subtly interacted with the constraints of the space around it. Bricks laid across the floor, interspersed with red, gently inflated balloons, made the space tremble lightly with each step. Walking on the bricks was uncertain. One careless movement could burst a balloon, instantly altering the entire structure, which surely was meant to be mutable yet the viewer could accelerate the process.

Ordinary places can be dangerous, harbouring unsettling, unspoken histories that unveil themselves to the attentive eye through seemingly banal elements. Known for her compositions of “floral garments” that evoke fancy associations, Małgorzata Markiewicz, undertakes a refined vivisection of that kind of space in her series Abandoned. Scattered and discarded elements of women’s clothing arrange themselves inadvertently into a disturbing narrative of questions. How did a blue garter end up in grass tangled with dried leaves? A shoe lost on the stairs recalls Cinderella’s slipper, yet this time no one returns for it – neither the girl nor the prince. Why? How did it get there? By chance? Or was it sent there by a violent struggle that did not end in a soothing compromise? The questions remain unanswered; the pleasure of looking evolves into a slowly germinating fear, not devoid of fascination. Brutality and disgust have always intertwined with animal excitement.

Basia Bańda's photographic framing is like a voyeur's gaze. Her looped photographic cycle is a medley of everyday, intimate scenes and situations: drying underwear, a bruise on an arm, buttocks in red panties, or protruding pubic hair. Usually hidden, these elements are constitutive of everyday life. This concealment, or masking, brings the work close to the abject, a category so central to Bańda’s practice. These representations are far removed from the heroism of social life; instead, they gravitate toward those elements of daily life that are habitually repressed from consciousness. Bańda reveals what verges on the unacceptable – things familiar to everyone, yet stashed away in the drawer labelled “not for public display. The curator summarizes the second part of the exhibition saying "Investigating unstable surfaces and activating touch can lead into shadowed regions of perception. Journeys into unknown territory can be hazardous."

The three enthusiasts

In art – much like in other spheres of human activity – it is becoming increasingly difficult to identify acts that are spontaneous, not governed by the economic logic of profit and loss. Artists’ spontaneous gestures are ever more often displaced by easy, tried-and-tested strategies for success, measured by the number of zeros and ones on a bank statement. The third chapter of Accidental Pleasures focuses on the fleeting and the ephemeral: unforced phenomena that seek to capture and share with viewers a fascination with a momentary impulse, without submitting it to the discipline of cold calculation.

Browsing old books is like discovering unknown lands. Their specific, slightly heavy scent, their yellowed pages covered with small handwriting on the margins, and individual sentences underlined in pencil – all become cues for re-reading the book, an undeciphered rhizome of the previous owner’s codes, no less fascinating and absorbing than the story itself. After moving into a new apartment, Katarzyna Skrobiszewska found old, abandoned books. Leafing through them turned out pleasurable due to the texture of aged covers, the paper, as well as in the archaic language they contained, many of the volumes dating back to the 1930s and 1950s. She carried this fascination into the gallery space by placing individual pages in frames and hanging them on the wall like old paintings. Others she left inside the books she brought to the show, giving viewers the opportunity to search within them for pleasures of their own.

In his laboratory-like installation, which turned the gallery space into an illegal workspace, Paweł Szeibel placed pots filled with soil on wooden platforms, along with swaying plastic tubes connected to a water container standing on the floor. Paradoxically, the makeshift character of the entire installation evoked idealistic associations. Engaging with the dense scent of earth and unexpectedly sprouting plants becomes a substitute for a paradisiacal place of harmony and tranquillity, one that is nevertheless destined for destruction with the end of the exhibition.

Kuba Dąbrowski portrays his friends in everyday situations, as they truly are, rather than as the roles they assume once they step outside their homes. The world captured by Dąbrowski is a vision of eternal boys who are fond of playing basketball and collecting information about their idols, and who, the artist points out, have an opportunity to escape adulthood into their private mythologies.

The third installment of Accidental Pleasures confirmed that contemporary art shaped by enthusiasm, and built upon private fascinations can be an instrument for grasping what is ephemeral.

Once there were two boys…

The final instalment of Accidental Pleasures was a joint exhibition by Bartek Buczek and Radek Szlaga. What they share is their approach to art: both extract words from their original contexts in order to mix them and ultimately construct an entirely new narrative. The works they create resemble boyish treasure hunts and children’s puppet theatres where the adventures of Tom Sawyer mingle with the Star Wars saga. Each of them, like a seasoned explorer, leaves traces behind, yet if we follow them, we lose our way in the tangle of meanings. The game of remembering and the linking of threads does not make it any easier; the story continues to unfold toward the event horizon.

Buczek plays with text, producing his own artistic found footage. The central figure in his stories is a mysterious hooded boy. He is nothing like a superhero: he rescues no one, battles no cosmic enemy. Mercury seeps from a small test tube, poisoning its source; in one short video, the mysterious boy endures being burned by a glowing-hot metal octopus. Yet, like any superhero, he emerges unscathed from every predicament.

Reading the histories embedded in Radek Szlaga’s paintings has nothing of the linearity of adventure novels, where solving a mystery brings one closer to a treasure. Szlaga multiplies the clues, scatters small hints, and overwhelms with a profusion of investigation lines. The narrative spirals between signs, guiding viewers down hidden paths, ultimately leaving them dazed and lost in a semantic thicket.

The Accidental Pleasures cycle concluded in February of this year, leaving behind a pleasant sense of incompleteness. One of its major strengths was undoubtedly its focus on young artists. Curator Marta Lisok deliberately brought together established gallery artists and promising, lesser-known talents – a somewhat risky choice given the prevalence of exhibitions relying on a safe canon of artists. Yet by emphasising a fresh perspective and moving away from conventional exhibition clichés Accidental Pleasures emerged as a thoughtfully conceived project, from the first cycle to the last. By following the recurring threads, viewers can assemble a coherent curatorial narrative that forms a unified whole, unconfined to the strict boundaries of gallery space. When browsing the catalogue, I recommend treating it as an artistic puzzle and piecing together your own narratives from the collected works. The pleasure is guaranteed to be slightly hedonistic.

Accidental Pleasures, BWA Katowice, Curator: Marta Lisok, 2008–2010