Vladimír Židlický in the Middle Kingdom

The tradition of Chinese poets who were painters at the same time and of Chinese painters who simultaneously wanted to, and could, write poems is very long. In a certain way, it has lasted until today. It is a connection that is eminently natural, because an image is at the root of the Chinese writing system, of the characters. Photography is a discipline of art that is incomparably younger. It usually turned its attention in another direction. It documented, reflected life, it looked for the typical as well as the extravagant, it recorded the flow of time against the colorful background of human emotions. It focused on change, transformation. Change that is constant, omnipresent. And to a certain degree, it remains this way today. The connection of photography and poetry, poetry in photography, is rather an exception. As if the lens of the camera was meant to be directed only outwards. As if a gaze in the other direction, pointed towards the interior, reflecting the movements inside the depth of the human consciousness, was superfluous, almost improper. It is sufficient that every depiction of the outer world carries a clear message by the author, it testifies as to his opinions and mood. Yet the attempt to capture the state of the mind is so characteristic of, so fundamental to the Chinese culture.

Vladimír Židlický is a poet of photography. His images talk from the heart. I have no doubt that if the hero of the famous Chinese novel Dream of the Red Chamber, the young Jia Baoyu, came back to life, it would be Vladimír Židlický whom he would ask to immortalize through photography all those beautiful girls, fragile flowers, iridescent chimeras that surrounded him. He would certainly ask him to become a member of their “poetry association” and, together with him, to experience the joy of the beauty of the blossoming peach flowers, the freshness of girly songs and the melody of their bodies, as well as the never-ending despondency about the transience of the moment. To share the painful realization that eternity can be perceived only through a moment as it passes into perpetuity. Vladimír Židlický opens up a dreamland. He lets us peak into the secretive chambers of the human imagination. In silence, interrupted only by isolated cries, in calmness, without unnecessary dramatic efforts, but self-assuredly, he talks about the inner dimension of our lives. Only Moravian wine might provide similar relief, similar pliability of the mind, similar bewilderment, blurring of the at first pressing needs.

Vladimír Židlický is inspired by his roots. Yet his art is also timeless, universal. It is understandable to the Chinese culture of the moon. What is important is how he fits in. His position in relation to the others, to the nature, to the universe. Vladimír Židlický writes photographic calligraphy. He offers purity, kindness, the anguish of uncertainty, the bliss of dreams as well as the disenchantment of awakening. Vladimír Židlický step by step probes the soul, searches for the truth, discovers poetry.

Libor Sečka

In Beijing, 22 July 2012