Temporary Exhibitions
Lately, after a rather turbulent life, the image of a space, both luminous and playful, has been returning ever more obsessively to my soul. My existence began from that ineffable place and probably I will return to it. In its essence, full of affection, were gathered, like in a precious elixir, all the important things that would later happen to me. Thus, in the innocent surroundings of childhood, I unexpectedly discovered the gentle geometry of chance, embodied in various forms: the circle, the square, the triangle, the rectangle, the cross, the hexagon, etc., which interacted around a centre: the hearth in the middle of the house. And not only that, the centre was also the invisible axis of the place where the house had been built, the middle of the entire locality and even of the world.
The feeling of space, according to Spengler’s philosophy, is the specific quality of a culture.
To feel that a space loves us is a privilege and even an honour. Not every space has feelings and, above all, not everyone has the good fortune to enter into its grace. This unusual relationship with the primordial space obliges us to remain vigilant and to honour this feeling. A first condition would be not to allow ourselves to be overwhelmed by indifference or ignorance.
Unfortunately, the poor Bessarabian space has been so deeply tried by an unfortunate history, by blind pride and vanity, by a fierce alienation from the national spirit and even its merciless suppression, that it is difficult to imagine where profound feelings of love still exist in this grey atmosphere (not to say obscure). Rather, over the past decades, much misunderstanding, weariness and even hatred have accumulated, causing numerous natives to leave their home and head towards the four corners of the world.
The visual art of Bessarabia comes from the tradition of Romanian painting, especially from the interwar period. Some of our painters, from the generation of the 1960s, studied visual art in Bucharest. One of them was Mihai Grecu, who, as is known, proved to be the most courageous and profound Bessarabian painter. His work comes from the national tradition, which he managed to redefine in the terms of modern art. He experimented with and adopted innovative styles (at times borrowing nuances from primitive art), ultimately succeeding in establishing an original visual language in the Bessarabian space.
Grecu’s indisputable merit is that he left behind a school of painting, without it ever being officially recognised. But that is precisely its charm and paradox. His declared disciples, such as Andrei Sârbu, Dumitru Peicev, Tudor Zbârnea and others who were not declared as such, tried to follow the path opened by the Master. But a good part of the painters of the following generations also looked to Grecu’s work (including myself), because there was something to learn from it. By its very nature, his work is an open work. And the main lesson it offers is how and why we must love our native space. And this in dialogue with the unconditional and miraculous love of the given space.
In the Mountainous Banat, where I was settled for a certain period of time, unfortunately, the tradition is on the verge of disappearing, but during the interwar period there was a strong Christian tradition, as evidenced by the work of Silviu Orăvitzan, a prominent figure of the region and one of the most valuable Christian painters. His works made me feel the unique beauty of faith and approach the Christian spirit with humility. Thanks to a prodigious experience of memory, gentle and indestructible feelings towards the original space returned to my soul, inspiring me to reinvent it artistically. I hope that I have succeeded to some extent, although, at times, I had the impression that, here and there, in certain pictorial moments, I was approaching the stylistic searches of the Master’s most prolific and authentic disciple. A partial truth, and I believe it is valid insofar as we both relate to one and the same identity code. I am convinced that in a more difficult moment in our history (as the present one is) an artist should, and indeed needs to, assume the task of expressing the spiritual values of the space to which we belong rather than selfishly and erroneously rendering individual states, usually abstract, which, in the ambition to be original at any cost, often lead nowhere. I believe that in our Bessarabian space you are a good visual artist insofar as you respect tradition, always trying to reinvent it, or, otherwise, you are not one at all.
The space that loves me is the one that gives me the possibility of giving life a meaning, that is, of having a destiny. And this means rediscovering the original space as a sacred place, where I can naturally communicate with the divine.
Isac I. Olișcănescu
Igor Isac Olișcănescu (b. 1957, Olișcani, Republic of Moldova) is a painter and writer, a graduate of the I. E. Repin High School of Fine Arts in Chișinău and the University of Arts in Tallinn, Estonia. A member of the Unions of Visual Artists of Romania and the Republic of Moldova, as well as of the Writers’ Union of Romania, the artist has held numerous solo exhibitions and participated in important group exhibitions in the Republic of Moldova and Romania, as well as abroad. His works are held in public collections in the Republic of Moldova and Romania, as well as in private collections in the country and abroad.
