Barbora: A Brave Urban Monster Seeker
——“Life” is a Giant Monster
By 周江林 Zhou Jiang Lin
One can almost sense the words of a mysterious voice: What’s happening in Beijing is only the beginning.
This feeling arises from an exhibition — the works of Barbora Kachlikova, a young artist of Czech origin living in Finland. This solo exhibition at the Megafield Gallery is Barbora’s first in China.
Barbora explains:
“My work exists in a space of tension — between solitude and dialogue, the material and the spiritual, the visible and the invisible. For me, painting is not a space of expression, but a process of discovery — a way of gradually uncovering time, memory, and emotion (emotional landscapes).”
Such an artistic philosophy is something only a young artist dares to express. Barbora, as a foreigner, has the courage to speak truthfully (at this moment, I think back to the young days of Chen Yifei, Chen Danqing, and Zeng Fanzhi).
You won’t hear such candid words from established artists — most wear masks. Their works are grandly exhibited, but their words are vague, always trying to balance art, fame, and capital. That is truly saddening.
Barbora dares to make her work collide with the real world (what a powerful word):
“My work is about what cannot be seen, what cannot be captured in words. That is how I understand human relationships — through absence, fracture, and longing.”
This comes from sincerity and exploration, and it takes immense courage.
Through Barbora’s works, I sense that art is a form of premeditation — it makes the impossible happen. The artist, like a general, organizes with brushes and materials, expanding the army of their own feelings. Art is anti-logical, driven by the creator’s intuition. Creation is like sending waves of agents into space, where each element finds its own color and place. Barbora’s first group of “agents” has landed in Beijing’s Caochangdi art district. Luo Minzhong and Liu Jian of the Megafield Gallery have supported her. This kind of healthy cooperation between gallery and artist is what it should be.
It is early spring in Beijing. In fact, there is always a new exhibition opening or closing in Caochangdi. But when I think of towns in southern China — by districts or counties — exhibitions are rare, contemporary awareness is lacking. Most still linger in traditional aesthetics, sighing over flowers and grasses. Isn’t anyone tired of the same taste for decades?
I don’t believe that. Or perhaps people are so immersed in clichés that they’ve never even awakened. True innovation lives in metropolises — Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou — cities that uphold high artistic standards, though even these cities aren’t at their best in recent years.
I visit Megafield Gallery every few months to see artists like Barbora and speak with Luo Minzhong and Liu Jian. I’ve met Barbora three or four times, usually over drinks. I’ve seen her working in the first-floor studio. I’m amazed that she flew alone from the Baltic to Beijing (the gallery had prepared canvas, brushes, paints for her), trusting her intuition to create.
Why do people love art or literature? I ask every artist. The answer is: art is pure, low-cost, requiring little beyond one's inner world. Of course, one must be attuned to humanity — to reflect or explore human nature. Unlike other industries that demand capital, raw materials, tools, market research, and so on, art allows a person to resist being consumed by the complexity of social systems and relationships.
An artist’s worldview determines how far they go. Compared to those who follow trends or flatter capital, or who paint flowers and landscapes mindlessly — even the so-called “masters” — Barbora is different. Though not long into her artistic journey, she already has grand ambition. She once said:
“How should I keep striving, to balance ambition and self-awareness?”
That is the proper mindset of an artist, the sincerity of youth.
Barbora’s worldview is first expressed through her color palette — grey, black, brown — a sophisticated range dominated by cool tones.
This doesn’t mean she’s drawn to darkness.
Secondly, there are post-industrial remnants — stark, sci-fi-like compositions that echo symphonic grandeur.
Thirdly, objects are abstracted and distorted, evoking philosophical paradigms.
Her Finnish surroundings — the forest, frozen lakes, heavy snow, industrial decay — merge with lived experience: ropes from ports, rusted chains, the smell of resin, ghostly tire marks in mud.
As Barbora says:
“These are not materials — they are remnants of existence.”
Together, they construct a striking visual language.
The paintings may appear complex, but I feel she is seeking — searching for a target. On a macro level, she is exploring her relationship with the cold, silent world: What am I doing?
She resembles a hunter, tracking footprints and traces in life. But more than just a hunter, she seeks monsters (she uses the word “ghosts”). That makes her a solitary warrior.
Indeed, life itself is a huge monster (unless one lives a blissful, quiet life). Hunters often enter treacherous grounds, guided by mysterious forces into the abyss. That’s the cost of becoming a true artist.
In the traditional sense, heroes rescue others and the world. But today, a hero doesn’t need a horse or sword — just courage to face life itself. Barbora, through her art, shows us this.
Her paintings evoke a kind of awareness — like an endless night one doesn’t wish to wake from. Black — like a cat, or something even larger and more abstract — wanders beneath towering shadows. No moonlight. No wind outside. Trees don’t move. Neither do the shadows.
That great winter may be the shadow of Finland or post-industrial Czechia. In Jiangnan, insects once chirped softly in the night — but in Barbora’s Beijing, and in her paintings, there are no insect songs.
Barbora references a poem by Bei Dao:
“The road behind me disappears. Each step swallowed by wind. Say a name — no one answers...”
This expresses an overwhelming sense of loneliness and destiny.
Fundamentally, Barbora is a solitary soul. Luo once described her as “quiet, delicate, and intellectual.” But her works stand in stark contrast — only the profoundly lonely can paint such an intricate interplay of emotion and logic.
They say: A happy childhood heals you for life.
An unhappy one, you spend a lifetime healing from.
I don’t know about Barbora’s childhood — born in Czechia, living in Finland, now creating in Beijing — but her nomadic freedom is clear. Artists are always different. Wandering is their mark and their fuel. Edward Said once wrote that exile can breed both bitterness and sharp insight. Perhaps Barbora understands this.
In painting, light and shadow create space, depth, and movement. Barbora’s focus is on shadow — tendrils from the void stretching into reality. This borders on Kafkaesque allegory.
Indeed, her shadows are nourished by two Czech ancestors: Franz Kafka and Karel Čapek. These literary giants' bloodlines inspire and guide her.
Our generation adored Kafka — his deformations, his stubborn struggle for freedom, which always ended in futility. Kafka reminds us that our only true opponent is ourselves.
Čapek, a sci-fi writer raised by a village doctor, studied philosophy and wrote stories about insects and robots — very avant-garde. Barbora’s sci-fi-like lines and forms echo this legacy.
Čapek once wrote:
“Do people drink from loneliness or stubbornness? What are they trying to resolve — this icy loneliness, or a flickering flame of rage?”
He also said:
“A lonely child is accompanied by eternity; a group of children only play with time.”
Do you now see why Barbora’s paintings always flicker with the distant light of lonely stars?
If you stare long enough, you’ll see something quietly flowing through her cold, stark world —
a tenderness that emerges after longing.
What is this feeling?
Like a middle-aged man, injured by a gang while drifting in a strange land, is rescued by a passing couple. Three strangers, stumbling along their own life paths, find each other and walk together
a while. This is the light that warms the heart.
Viewers of her work may hear a song:
“At midnight, I set off again.
Dreams are distant illusions.
In chasing your light,
Happiness has appeared.”
Life is short, full of misfortune. The world is a dream. Every artist is a dreamer. Barbora pursues the light and shadow of her dream through painting. And that — is something remarkable.
As the French humanist Montaigne once wrote:
“Even in solitude, you are like a multitude.”
芭芭拉：都市探寻怪物的孤勇者
——“生活”就是一个巨大的怪物
周江林
似乎能感受到，有个神秘人的一句话：北京发生的事情只是开始。
这种感觉来自于一个展览，芭芭拉·凯琪科瓦（Barbora Kachlikova），一个祖籍捷克，生活在芬兰的年轻艺术家作品。此次兆域空间是芭芭拉首个中国个展。
芭芭拉阐述：“我的作品存在于一个张力空间中——在孤独与对话，物质与精神，在可见与不可见物质之间。对我来说，绘画并非一个表现的空间，而是一种发现的过程——一种逐层揭示时间、记忆、和情绪（情感景观）的方式。“这种艺术观只有年轻艺术家才会说， 芭芭拉是个老外，敢说真话（此刻，我怀念一下陈逸飞、陈丹青、曾梵志他们年轻时的模样），现在你在成名艺术家面前是听不到如此说辞，几乎每个成名者都戴面具，展览的作品堂而皇之的，说话模棱两可的，他们都在平衡着艺术与名利及资本趣味的关系。这很悲哀。
芭芭拉拿她的作品竟然要与我们这个现实世界“碰撞”（这个词多有力）——“我的作品是关于那些看不见的东西，关于无法用语言捕捉的东西。这就是我理解人际关系的方式——通过它的缺失、它的破裂、它的渴望。”这出自于真诚和探索，需要巨大的勇气。
通过芭芭拉的作品我能感受到，艺术是一种预谋的，让不可能事情发生，创作者用材料、画笔去组织，像一个将军，不断地与自我感觉一起扩大队伍。
艺术是反逻辑的，凭借创作者的直觉，创作犹如一批接一批特工进入空间，各种要素寻找着适合自我的色彩及位置。
北京首展是芭芭拉第一批特工进驻草场地，骆敏中、刘坚用兆域空间呵护着芭芭拉，艺术家与画廊的良性合作关系应该是这样的。
其实，当下初春，北京，确切地说草场地又有新艺术展（其实这里几乎每天都有艺术展开幕与落幕），我想起江南小镇，或以市区、县为单位，但艺术展确实不多，当代意识是缺乏的，大都徘徊于传统审美意蕴间，花花草草的叹息中，几十年同一种趣味不会审美疲乏吗？我不信，或者是那些人们根本沉浸在陈词滥调之中，他们是沉睡者，从没醒来过。还得是大都市，北京、上海、广州这样格局的城市，维持着艺术的高准则，创新域交流（尽管近年也不是做得最好）。
我一般几个月去一次兆域空间，与骆敏中、刘坚及艺术家见面，这样见过三、四次芭芭拉，大多一起喝酒。在兆域空间一楼艺术家工作室，我看了芭芭拉创作情景，惊讶于只身从波罗的海的芬兰飞来北京的芭芭拉（兆域空间已为她准备好画布、画笔、颜料等），只要按她的直觉创作就好的。
为何喜欢艺术或文学？这是我问每个艺术家的问题。反馈是从事艺术成本低，单纯，不用考虑其他，当然也要心怀世界，反映或探索各种人性，一句话，人的因素、天赋起了作用。从事其他行业，要准备资金、特殊材料和工具，当地采风，市场调研等，渐渐将自己陷入繁琐的社会体系及复杂人际关系中长期被消耗。
世界观是决定一个艺术家能走多远的底层逻辑。相对于大多数跟着时尚潮流和嗅着资本画画的人以及临摹花草、山水之人，哪怕是所谓的名家，他们只凭直觉画画，用不着世界观，跟他们不同，芭芭拉尽管创作时间不长，但她有自己的“大雄心”，她表态过，“我该如何继续努力，在雄心壮志和自我意识之间取得平衡”。这才是一个艺术家的该有的心态，年轻人的初心。
芭芭拉作品世界观：给人第一特征是色彩的灰黑褐系，冷暖色调交织的高级色系——偏冷色调多些，这并不意味着创作者内心黑暗或她迷恋暗黑料理之类；其次是后工业化遗痕，冷峻、科幻式的构图，宛如恢弘的交响乐其间响起；第三、物件经过变形和抽象，体现哲学范式；加上生活在芬兰，森林的景观、冰冷的湖泊、积雪的重量、工业的衰败……众多因素加上现实的视觉及感受（来自港口的绳索、生锈的链条、树脂的气味、泥泞中轮胎痕迹的幽灵）——芭芭拉谈到，“这些都不是材料，它们是存在的残余物。”诸如此类，共构了富有视觉冲击力的画作。
画面生态以及画家要述说的内容貌似复杂，我第一感觉是她在探寻搜索目标——从宏观上说，无非她在探寻自已与这个冷寂世界的生活质感，“我要干什么？”这个过程是宏大和曲折的。我能想象她作为一个猎人，在生活中搜索资源点和脚印、爪痕等——如果她仅仅是一个打猎者，也好理解（人生经验会给予我们对她作品的框定），然而，意外的是，芭芭拉似乎要存为探寻怪物（她用“幽灵”一词）的猎人，这就成为了一个孤勇者。
其实，“生活”就是一个巨大的怪物（对岁月静好之人例外）。打怪的猎人通常都会陷入艰难之地，有一种神奇力量，将猎人导向怪物之渊——这就是成为真正艺术家的代价。传统意义上，勇者往往以拯救他人和地球为己任，而当下，勇者不用再骑马闯江湖的人设，他探的险就是生活本身，突破的就是生活这张网。芭芭拉用作品或隐或现告诉我们这些。
芭芭拉画一种意识，酷似不愿醒来的漫漫长夜，黑，像一只猫或比猫更庞大、更抽象的物体，徘徊于高高的阴影下。没有月光。外面无风，树不动，影子也不动。
巨大寒冬或许是芬兰、捷克后工业废墟的影子——假如在江南，往日许多蟋蟀一类鸣虫轻轻吟唱——而在北京以及芭芭拉画中，没有鸣虫声息。
芭芭拉谈到北岛一首诗：“我身后的路消失了，每一步都被风吞噬。说出一个名字——没有人回答……”此诗传达出一种巨大的孤独感，也很宿命。
本质上，芭芭拉是一个孤独者。骆总写过她“外表文静、秀气、知性”，然她作品与本人存在很大反差——唯有彻冷的孤独者才能画出如此感性与理性交织、互融与叠加之作。
都说“快乐的童年治愈一生，不幸的人用一生来治愈童年”。芭芭拉的童年如何，我并不知，祖籍捷克，生活在芬兰，这次又在北京创作，开个展，自由的漂泊生涯显而易见。一个艺术家总异于常人，漂泊是艺术家的烙印，也是创作动力。爱德华·萨义德在“流亡者”的漂泊定义过“流亡、漂泊可以造成愤恨和遗憾，也能形成敏锐的观点。”也许，芭芭拉能感悟。
绘画通过光与影的处理，为了空间，深度感和层次，这是制造动势的常规，芭芭拉画作强调的是影子——虚无世界伸到现实中的触须。这几乎是卡夫卡的寓意。
芭芭拉作品的影子很大程度受惠于她两位捷克祖先：弗朗茨·卡夫卡和卡雷尔·恰佩克。伟大文学骑士之之烈度血统滋养、启迪着着她，这很重要。
记得我们这一代人都喜欢卡夫卡，是他的变形观，固执的坚持，其间的挣扎、彷徨，妄图通过这一切来获取自由，最后却是努力没有方向，卡夫卡告诫我们，每个个体唯一的对手就是他自己。
恰佩克是科幻作家，出生乡村医生家庭，读哲学从事文学创作，这种成长史很有趣。他写昆虫与机器人很先锋。芭芭拉画中那造型、线条的科幻成分有出处。
“人是因为寂寞还是出于顽固而喝酒呢？他在释怀和消解他内心的什么：这块孤寂的冰块，还是一团少许暴烈、跳跃的火焰？”恰佩克写道。
“一个孤独的孩子与永恒为伴，而一群孩子则跟着时间玩耍。”你明白不明白芭芭拉画中为何总闪烁着遥远星星一般的孤独。
凝视久之，你竟然会发现，芭芭拉冷寂板块中，竟然有一种东西在慢慢流淌，这是一种渴望之后的温情在画中游动。这是什么感觉？好比流浪在外，一中年大叔被一群小混混打成了重伤，被路过的一男一女救起。三个性情迥异的人，在各自的人生路上也跌跌撞撞，偶遇一起，却能够相互扶持，相伴一程。这就是温暖人心的“光”。
观赏她画的人们，仿佛能听到歌声：
“午夜到来时，我又要出发
梦是遥远的幻觉
在追寻你的光芒中
幸福已经现身”
人生短暂，不幸种种，世间本来就是一场梦，每个艺术家都是做梦的人。芭芭拉能通过绘画追寻她的梦的光影，这不错。
法国人文作家蒙田写道“你在孤独之中也好像是一群人”。