The title of the exhibition embodies exactly the kind of ambiguity that Vít Soukup liked.

On the one hand, it signifies a curated retrospective commemorating the work of the painter, filmmaker, and occasional graphic artist who died too soon; on the other, a reference to the fact that he was one of the first artists of his generation who wasn’t afraid to incorporate a genuine retro aesthetic into his work. For Vít Soukup—whom his friends knew only as “Beruška”—retro was not merely a nostalgic visual game; the authenticity of his motifs was essential, which is why he reproduced them from period newspapers, magazines, and promotional materials. 

Soukup’s painting gradually evolved from vibrant realism, through an austere, neurotic expression, to realistic abstraction. His visual language was always firmly rooted in reality, yet at the same time he was able to unsettle it and transform it into an image that is more than just a record of reality. Vít Soukup had the ability to extract from every subject he addressed the essential elements that characterized the era and its Czech imprint. In his early series, he focused primarily on what defined the mindset of the socialist era: food as a fetish of abundance, space achievements as the official myth of progress, and furry Cossack hats as the fashionable grotesquery of everyday life. For him, this was not about sentimentality, but rather an analysis of the mental smog that enveloped society at the time. His deadpan irony often pushed the boundaries of awkwardness, and through it he was able to identify the mechanisms that shaped collective norms.

In the age of consumer democracy, his attention shifted to a different kind of visual clutter. The series IKEA, painted from commercial flyers, primarily features swatch books, carpet details, and other motifs that, as attractive merchandise, don’t quite make sense. These are fragments meant to sell a lifestyle, yet they are as meaningless on their own as their names. In them, Vít Soukup reveals the aesthetics of globalized consumerism, in which the individual is reduced to a catalog user. Here, too, he touches on the Czech experience—namely, the transition from scarcity to excess, which is just as empty, merely in more colorful packaging.

His latest series, Army for the Republic, returns to the figures of East German “Indians,” warriors from newspaper photos and Kinder Eggs, and action heroes from post-revolutionary films, as if they were modern-day Knights of Blaník, who are perhaps the only ones interested in defending the homeland of the Švejks from potential danger. Vít Soukup once again draws on irony, though this time its tone is noticeably darker. Especially in today’s context, his paintings are disturbingly relevant. 

Retro? is therefore not only a reminder of his work but also a return to the questions he posed. What constitutes Czech identity, how—and if at all—are our national values changing, and why do certain themes recur with such persistence? Among other things, Soukup’s series serve as a map of the national psychology of survival. The ability to be ironic about one’s own situation while at the same time taking it seriously—because it is precisely this ambiguity that is how Czechs come to terms with history. This exhibition showcases a painter who can remain contemporary in any era, because he at least sensed that the past never completely disappears here—it merely changes its face slightly. 

curator: Radek Wohlmuth