A Sensitive Art of Life and Death
Upon first glance, Marja Blomster's intensive artistic production
of the past ten years appears to branch out in all directions, without
a clear aim. On the one hand, in her almost devout colour and light
paintings, she has delved deep into the nature of reality. At the opposite
extreme, Blomster's newspaper installations confront the war-ridden world
head on. She felt compelled to take a stand against the shocking murder of
Chinese students during the pro-democracy demonstrations at Tiananmen
Square, and against the war in Bosnia. From her vantage-point in a country
that neighbours with Russia, Blomster has also kept a close eye on the
situation in her immediate vicinity, commenting on the 1991 revolution in
Russia and holding exhibitions in Moscow and Tallinn.
Two years ago, when Marja Blomster held her 50th birthday exhibition, I was
dumbfounded at first by the new expression of her art. There was no sign of
social engagement or militant pacifism. The exhibition consisted of minute still
lifes with plant leaves. Dried coltsfoots, lilies-of-the-valley and tiny burdock
leaves rose from the dark-brown gloom. Here was the simplest possible
evocation of nature that used only a few colours, recording the lights and
shades of the plants.
Having immersed myself more deeply in Marja Blomster's art in anticipation of
the present exhibition in Oslo, I am no longer surprised by what lies in view.
In fact, I see an exceptionally clear thread running through Blomster's art,
defining her aims. Although the method of execution has changed over the
years, ranging from oil painting and acrylic to crosses, coats of arms and entire
walls made of newspaper, as well as ready-made objects, the content
and message of the works has remained consistent: to find the meaning and
nature of life through the sparsest, most uncompromising elements.
This is why Marja Blomster has favoured a simple but effective monochrome
palette. The juxtaposition of black and white expresses nothing less than the
tension between life and death. Blomster's output is in fact almost consistently
black and white, even though these colours are often strongly tinted. There is
white, black, and black-and-white, and each has its own symbolic value.
White equals light, and black crosses express grief.
For ten years Blomster played chess almost every night. The black and white
of the chess board depicts good and evil, darkness and light. One set of pieces
represents evil, the other represents good, just like people in real life.
In creating her art, Blomster always pushes herself to the limit, in earnest,
with emotion, whether she is painting a humble colt's foot or erecting a
"Wailing Wall" for the slaughtered Chinese students.
For the project in question, Blomster spent two weeks gathering newspapers
containing reports on the subject, from which she constructed a high wall.
Itkumuuri (Wailing Wall) was shown at Blomster's summer exhibition in Billnäs
in southern Finland in 1989. She began to use newspaper because she was
reluctant to waste ordinary paper or to make paper herself, although she
experimented with this. Why make more paper when paper is constantly being
thrown into landfills? The idea of recycling captures the artist's life-sustaining
philosophy. The news recorded in the newspapers was also important.
Blomster always used papers that contained news of matters she wished to
comment on in her art.
Preparing for an exhibition in Tallinn in 1989, Blomster wanted to create works
that addressed the political situation in Estonia. She placed burned
newspapers in a long box and called the work Historian mustat lehdet
(The black leaves of history). The following year, the Helsinki Festival adopted
the theme of "Art in St Petersburg." Blomster mounted an exhibition in which
a motorbike was wheeled into the gallery. Pushkin's poem "The Bronze
Horseman" was evoked as the intellectual background. On the day the exhibition
opened, the Russian revolution began. It was an astonishing coincidence, for
"The Bronze Horseman" can be interpreted as a symbol of the revolution, while
the motorbike refers to dictatorship.
Looking at Blomster's most recent paintings, you might think that this is no artist of
the postmodern era. She makes nothing superficial, eschews the imagery of
popular culture, and does not break down the picture plane into fractured levels,
and so on. Yet Blomster is a highly topical contemporary artist. While the latest still
lifes look somewhat old-fashioned, even traditional, this has come about
by the conscious choice of a modern artist who has mastered a number of different
techniques and styles. Blomster's archaism is deliberate: it represents a new
attitude to artistic creation.
A few years ago, Blomster felt a strong need to withdraw from the cataclysms and
wars of the modern world, into her own studio and her own thoughts.
She became so disturbed by violence that she had to distance herself. She took refuge in
nature and searched for inner peace in simple objects. Walking the forests with
her dog, gathering dead leaves and flowers, she soon realised that painting these
simple things could be just as meaningful as constructing socially engaged
installations. What prompted the search for silence was a collection of poems by
the Portuguese writer Fernando Pessoa.
Blomster discovered the eccentric turn-of-the-century poet a long time ago, but did
not study him closely before last year. Pessoa typified the Europe of his day: he
was a sensitive, lavishly talented, painfully alienated poet preoccupied with
existential concerns and the meaning of life. Of Pessoa's various pseudonyms,
or "heteronyms," Alberto Caeiro has been especially important to Blomster.
Caeiro was a shepherd and he praised nature and simple feelings in his poems.
He only believed in what he saw, and even regarded his hearing as purely an
accompaniment to his vision. If you can see, there is no need to think.
This was important for Blomster: to find a soul mate who, like the artist herself,
considered seeing to be the essential thing in life and art. This is why Blomster
has, in her most recent work, engaged in colour and light studies of plants.
Personally, I also see powerful feelings expressed in these works. Often two slim
plants seem to reach out to one another, seeking contact, or a single leaf is seen
curled up in its anguish and loneliness. The dark tonal range creates a gloomy
atmosphere, and you can sense the presence of death.
The dark colours stem from the poems. First Blomster painted looming black
mountain ranges, evoking the landscape surrounding the shepherd, but she
ended up depicting the small plants that the shepherd might have found on the ground.
The colours of Portugal were in Blomster's mind as she glaze-painted these
earth-hued pictures. Glazing is an old and traditional technique, well suited to
the down-to-earth spirit of her work. Blomster is also interested in old art, with its
chiaroscuro atmosphere. Rembrandt's paintings, in particular, come to mind.
The traditions of Spanish art also inform her work.
A decade ago, when Marja Blomster launched her active career, she began by
painting colour and light. In those days she often spoke about light and its
significance. "Without light there is nothing. Even the Bible says, 'In the beginning
there was light.'" We have come full circle: in the new still lifes, light is central once
more. Light even has the power to revitalise the leaves of a dead plant, salvaging
them from the darkness of space.
Leena Jaakkola
From the series Silence, 13 x 24 cm, oil on wood
From the series To the shepherd, 1995, 18 x 26 cm, oil on wood
Photos: S.Hilpo