Ryszard Wasko

Constructing the Process: Ryszard Wasko Looks Back

From an interview by Lilly Wei

It was late spring, 1980. I had been invited to take part in “Pier + Ocean,” an exhibition of the art of the ‘70s at the Hayward Gallery in London, which later traveled to the Kröller-Muller Museum in Otterlo, Holland. It was an important show with many important artists—Robert Smithson, Richard Serra, Carl Andre, Donald Judd, Sol LeWitt, Bruce Nauman, Hanne Darboven, Gerhard Richter, On Kawara, among others. I felt connected to these artists and was very honored to have been invited, and I wished very much that an event like it could be organized in Poland. On the other hand, I thought that the art, in its museumlike setting, out of context, out of life, seemed neutralized, even dead. Nonetheless, I felt it was an obligation to present this kind of show in Poland since, cut off from the rest of the world for so many years, we lived in a kind of isolation that is difficult for people in democratic countries to conceive.

As an academic—I taught in the Film School—I was allowed to travel from time to time, to lecture, to attend seminars, but I was really doing shows. It was not easy and there was no money for it, sometimes I had permission to leave but very little or no money to do it with. I wanted to bring back some of the art that I had seen. I wanted to educate our people, to show them contemporary art. But I wanted to present it in a way that would make sense in Poland and address our specific circumstances. I wanted to emphasize the “process” that was so much a part of the art of the ‘70s. It was then that the idea of the title, Construction in Process, came to mind. But it was not just American and western European art that influenced me. The spirit and philosophical base of Construction in Process also comes out of our tradition, out of Polish Constructivism, out of Wladyslaw Strzeminski, Katarzyna Kobro, Henryk Stazewski and the Polish avant-garde of the 1970s. Later, I invited Stazewski to join the honorary committee of Construction in Process; in 1981, he was the only Polish Constructivist still alive.

Soon after I returned from the exhibition to Poland, to Lodz, Solidarity was created from the workers’ movement. This was an amazing time in Poland, a time of freedom, of hope, of great spirit, excitement. Everyone was doing something. It was the natural time to present contemporary art from the West. I knew the artists from “Pier + Ocean” and asked them to support this event. I asked Solidarity to support this event. Solidarity was a symbol of change in Poland, of liberation, and we wanted and needed its support. There were lots of problems, no food, nothing in the shops, but our committee had a meeting with the regional board in Lodz; it was attended by many people—workers, managers, artists. Now, who was Joseph Kosuth or Richard Serra to the workers of Poland? They were concerned with essentials, with how to distribute the small amounts of cigarettes, toilet paper, meat, soap that they had. I tried to explain what these artists meant; the workers didn’t understand much about the art but they finally understood that it must happen, and they convinced the other Solidarity units that international artists wanted to support Solidarity and Poland. So everything was open to us, all the factories in Lodz, and the workers worked for us without pay. We asked for and got support from the mills, from associations, unions, schools. Jerzy Kropiwnicki, who was vice chairman of our board and later minister of labor in the Solidarity government, was instrumental in convincing the workers that this exhibition of contemporary art was needed.

I sent letters—with an institutional letterhead—to 53 artists. I had to create an institution because otherwise the artists might not come, so I created a letterhead that said The Archives of Contemporary Thought, which I thought sounded vast and really important. This institute in reality was a room the size of a closet filled with letters, documents, artists’ catalogues, books, my typewriter. And most of the artists accepted the invitation: Sol LeWitt, Les Levine, Richard Serra, Carl Andre, Richard Nonas, Richard Long, Ken Unsworth, Dan Graham, Ed Ruscha, Fred Sandback and many, many others from Poland and other countries. The artists had to get here on their own, but once they were here, we would take care of them, we would find the materials they needed, the assistants to help them; we would feed them and find them a place to stay. At the time, I was living with my family in a Socialist-style apartment building that was 3 blocks long and 11 stories high; we lived in a few tiny rooms in it. David Rabinowitch, the sculptor, was the first artist to arrive; he was very impressed. He said, looking at the enormous building in front of him, this is a very large archive. I laughed and said, yes, of course. He said you must have a very large staff. I laughed again and said yes, we had a very large staff.

People came from all over Poland to Lodz, thousands of them—by bus, on foot, from villages, towns, cities, from Warsaw, Kraków—to see the show, to volunteer. In 1981, it was difficult to buy even one nail and we had very little money, but we put on a very good international show. At the general strike of Oct. 28, which we were invited to attend, the workers begged the artists to tell the outside world what conditions were like in Poland, that we needed help. The disaster that we had for a life then, the difficulties of daily living that made art a necessity. People needed another point of view, they needed art to approach life, to make it bearable, and they needed to watch the process of making art, to get involved; process was important, the situation was important. The energy of that time was inspiring. This became the first Construction in Process, which took place Oct 25-Nov 15, 1981; it was an event that changed my art, changed my life, and had the same effect on many of the artists who participated in it. Everyone helped everyone else. The opening lasted six days and nights, and there were always hundreds of visitors; no matter what time it was, there were always performances, dance, concerts, films and videos, discussions, lectures. There were paintings, sculptures, installations everywhere. As a beautiful gesture from the artists, all the work was given to Solidarity, to the Polish people. Martial law was declared in Poland on Dec 13, 1981, about a month after the end of the show. The state authorities took back the factory we had been given and destroyed several works. I left Poland in 1983; I went to Munich, I traveled in Europe.

The second Construction in Process, which we had planned for Lodz, happened in Munich instead, in 1985. I was invited to organize the event. We asked participants of the first Construction in Process to come, and we asked them to invite two other artists to join us. We still do that; we ask past participants to invite other artists. It was also a protest of the terrible situation in Poland.

In 1989, after six years of exile, I returned to Lodz, after Solidarity won, after the first free elections and Poland’s rebirth as a democratic state. The third and fourth events took place in Lodz—“Back to Lodz” in 1990 and “My Home is Your Home” in 1993. The International Artists’ Museum, which sponsors all the Construction in Process events, was established in Lodz in 1990. It was meant to be a center for artists from all over the world, a place for connection and for planning joint events, a ‘museum without walls.’ Emmett Williams, the Fluxus artist, was its first president; he still is. We have branches in New York, Berlin, Dublin, Tel Aviv, Melbourne, Cardiff, Eindhoven and Zaragoza.

The fifth Construction in Process, “Existence” in 1995, was held in Mizpeh Ramon, Israel, in the desert, and the sixth, “The Bridge,” in Melbourne in 1998. Construction in Process 2000—“This Earth is a Flower,” here in Bydgoszcz, is the seventh, the most international in representation, and the largest; we have around 150 participants. We are already thinking about the next one and planning for it. Construction in Process has always been both an artistic and social event, an activity, and we have always done very big shows on very small budgets. This Construction in Process, for instance, has the largest budget we have ever had, $80,000 from the city of Bydgoszcz, but still it is not even one tenth of Documenta’s budget. We have always had to find other ways, open up other possibilities, improvise. Everybody has to work a little harder but there are many rewards.

All the Construction in Process events are different. It is not a question of exhibiting one trend, one style, one expression; we invite wonderful artists from all over the world who make different kinds of work, who think differently about their work, who are established and who are emerging, who are young and old. Other participants besides the ones I have already mentioned include Jozef Robakowski, Roman Opaka, Jimmie Durham, Richard Tuttle, Allen Ginsberg, Daniel Buren, Bernar Venet, Marina Abramovic, Wenda Gu; some have come many times, even to all of the Construction in Processes. We treat the participants alike: the artists, writers, poets, musicians, critics, the assistants, the support staff—they are all artists, friends. There is no difference; without them, Construction in Process would not exist. Construction in Process has always been an artistic, social and political event generated by the artists. But it is not simply idealistic, romantic. What we do is also reality; it is people working together. Another definition for Construction in Process, if you like, is just conscious activity; who, if not artists, should champion conscious activity?

Art in America, March 2001. p.63.
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