So-called “art intervention” is now nothing but a banal platitude, an empty phrase without meaning or feeling (see Wikipedia). Most of the times, temporary additions to the permanent collections are mere decorations, without concrete reason for their presence at a particular place: sometimes, the permanent and the intervening exhibits are at least indifferent towards each other, at other times they are connected with cow-shit explicitness.

The palatial architecture of Roudnice´s “Arch for Spirit” (curators´ designation for the gallery, as used during its 50th-anniversary exhibition) is perfect for purely visual and meditative visitors´ experience. Unfortunately, the artist left behind his bag of rubbish (or leavings from the previous installation) which is a far cry from the picturesque and cute trash of Kryštof Kintěra that is embraced by all.

The valiant warfare for modern artistic expression is disturbed with pissed-on urban sneak-holes, captured by the flâneur wandering the city with a keen eye and a slouched head (these night scenes are surprisingly close to those of Antonín Slavíček). The same process is happening at the pages of Fabo´s book Nail Art and in the gallery: the goodliness and charm of colourful photogram or inlaid piano desk meets garbageousness of piano´s snotty intestines (if there is any chance that the expressively sprayed canvases and trees in Prague´s National Gallery have anything to do with the surname of Katharina Grosse, this must have been created by some Klein). In short, Fabo´s attitude towards the outer world moves from dissonance to consonance and back.

Fabo´s creative emissions are here to express their power and leave a trace, like dogs on a mat. Moreover, it is rather likely this scatological littering makes him a very happy boy. 

Tomáš Klička