The Demolition of Josef Sudek´s Studio

It was 1989 when a young university graduate and passionate photographer, Tomáš Leňo, visited Prague. One of his primary destinations was a studio on Újezd in Prague. He had long been drawn to its microcosm. It was here that Josef Sudek, one of the most prominent Czech photographers of the 20th century, who perceived the world more than life, worked and met with his friends. Tomáš Leňo experienced the genius loci of this place twice. The second time, on July 17, he arrived with a camera, unaware that he was about to witness the demolition of the legendary studio beneath Petřín. Coincidence? There are no coincidences; they are merely incomprehensible sequences of events that we do not yet understand. There were no media representatives, conservationists, or art historians present – only a demolition crew and a young documentary photographer eager to capture the raw reality of the end of an artistic era. Without embellishment, he recorded the irreversibility of what he witnessed on classic black-and-white film. From the rubble of the demolished studio, he took away a wooden stool as a gift – the very stool on which Master Sudek himself had once sat. Yet the strong emotional tension of the reportage continued even after he returned home. Once developed, the underexposed films had to be treated using a chemical intensification process. The result was quite satisfactory; nevertheless, the author decided to archive the films and did not return to them for some time. The photographer, unlike his work, has the right to remain silent. It was 1994 when a sensitive creative instinct once again directed the author’s attention towards the negatives documenting the demolition of the studio. The changes were surprisingly striking. It might seem that a document has the right to become epic, but in this case the transformation was primarily visual. Time and the chemical intensification process had created special optical effects on the black-and-white negatives, transforming the reportage into a form of Sudek-style lyricism. The art of photography possesses a multitude of expressive possibilities and therefore also has the right to embrace changes brought about by time. Light, time, and chemistry became attributes of the creative process. Coincidence? The author’s spontaneous decision to photograph the dilapidated studio ultimately culminated in a desire to pay tribute to the imagined work of Master Sudek. The presented series is a selection of twenty-four black-and-white photographs. Although the images capture the dynamic movements of the people involved in the demolition, the noise of destruction cannot be heard; instead, it seems to be absorbed into a kind of dreamy silence and a newly emerging reality. At first, we perceive the raw event of the demolition, which is gradually transformed into the impressionistic poetry of transience. The entire atmosphere of disappearance recalls the seemingly simple yet deeply resonant beauty of sadness, the austere beauty that we also find in the work of Josef Sudek – for example, in his 1955 photograph My Studio. All of this gives Leňo’s series a new meaning and significance. The subject of the series is ordinary, yet the author has managed to strip it of its everydayness and imbue it with his own spiritual poetry. The material disappears; the spirit of the studio remains. In this way, he created a series of photographs carrying a simple thought: we are confronted with a fleeting beauty; we only have to stop for a moment and remain silent. As Vladimír Holan wrote: “Silence is a festive language…” The presence of the author at Újezd was not accidental. Tomáš Leňo, whose mother came from the Czech Republic, carries a deeply rooted Czech-Slovak identity. His photographs are therefore today a precious gift to the Czech cultural community and a preserved visual memory. They demonstrate that true art and respect for cultural heritage know no geographical or political boundaries. In his poem A Studio under Petřín, dedicated to Josef Sudek, Jaroslav Seifert wrote: “After all, King Charles IV knocked with a smile on the door of your wooden hut, which is also called a studio, and took you by the hand…” Perhaps Josef Sudek himself took Tomáš Leňo by the hand and led him to his studio, knowing that time knows best. PaedDr. Daniela Kapráľová