Pain and passion, world and creation, artist and art ...
Virge Jõekalda came into the graphical art of Estonia at the end of the
1980ies - beginning of the 1990ies, when she graduated from the ESAI. During the
exhibiting activity, which has lasted for one and a half decades, the creation
of Jõekalda has undergone several changes, but has maintain its basic texture.
Of course we can remember the beginning of the 90ies, when she was regarded to
be the follower of the tradition of the Estonian balck and white copperplate
printing and to compare it with the hurtingly red sheets that are being exposed
at the Haus Gallery. But all of it comes later. First there was concentration, a
breath, a clean printing plate, sensation, feeling, again a printing plate,
again a sensation, discreet shuffle.
Works of Jõekalda make an incision into the world
system and somewhere else, but instead of a scalpel the artist holds in her hand
a dry needle. Lines that the artist draws on the plate become cracks Somewhere
Else and amazingly beautiful blood starts to trickle from the wounds. This is
pain and magic at the same time, a decadent deeply earnest game with the world
and oneself. With oneself!
The author\'s position of Jõekalda is
neither that of the doctor nor of the sufferer. Her works do not try to
cure (and how to cure the incurable?), prescribe pills or vitamins, stick
plasters to the not coagulating wounds, give diagnoses and show the patients out
with a deceiving-optimistic smile. Jõekalda does not suffer, her graphic sheets
do not crumple in agony or torture. There is pain, but the pain is good,
delicious, enchanting. Because without the pain Jõekalda can not exist anymore.
She is too healthy for that.
No, in this case the artist is certainly not a
Doctor or a Sufferer, is she rather a saint? Someone, who takes the pain on
herself, because somebody has to do it. Who does not intervene anywhere else but
herself, intervening so actually everywhere. It is Jõekalda herself in these
pictures, I certainly believe. Her wounds, her dry needle fields, her colour and
pain, tenderness and silence. No screams, not even whispers - words have run
themselves breathless, but the world still has not been covered yet. The world
is still standing without being described or understood, even though words next
to it stand and pant. They have run out of strength. Something else is needed
here.
The \"permanent texture\" of the Jõekalda
creation is also clearly visible and also well concealed at the present
exhibition. The artist herself has emphasized the importance of the process in
her ceation and the fact that the achieved result is not for her always so
enchanting as the happenings in between, a few kilometres ago. Jõekalda returns
again and again, the \"enchantment\" does not give her peace, one sheet can not
say it all. This exhibition must remain together, as the whole world must remain
together. Removing even of one sheet causes a blank in the exhibition, an
incurable wound. A plaster can not help then anymore.