Time is the greatest luxury for me

You became part of the Czech graffiti scene when you were thirteen. What was the local scene like in the 90s?

I got into graffiti in 1993, so this year it’s actually been a quarter of a century. I haven’t been actively involved in it for ten or fifteen years now, though; only very occasionally, out of nostalgia, do I paint something abroad when someone invites me to collaborate there. So I’ve become more of a theorist these days. I actually think back to the 90s every day. It does put me in the position of some sort of old bloke who’s been through it all, which I hate, but the fact is that that era was something truly exceptional.

Why?

For many reasons, I feel sorry for young people today that they didn’t experience it and never will. Everything around us was new – not just in terms of the social atmosphere at the time, but also when it came to graffiti. There were new things lying all over the streets and we just picked them up. It was as if it were falling from the sky. Everything was a first – not just because we were young, but simply because none of it had existed here before. Those things either didn’t exist or had been kept hidden. It was as if Pandora’s box had been opened, and we had a brilliant time rummaging through it and playing with its contents.

Was graffiti also appearing back then?

The Prague graffiti scene was in its very infancy and was still finding its feet, but right from the start it stood out for its intellectual core and, perhaps paradoxically, its relationship with architecture – a bond that remains very strong within this community to this day. People who were or are involved in graffiti have, for the most part, either studied architecture or followed it closely and had a keen interest in it. The same applies to other creative fields such as film or, quite logically, the visual arts, ranging from graphic design to painting. It is not entirely common worldwide for the hard core of a community, such as the one in Prague, to remain active to this day and to be well-known within their respective fields.

Why is it that people involved in architecture, in particular, are more drawn to graffiti?

A connection to architecture is linked to a deep connection to the city. People who live in the city usually just move from point A to point B, getting there with as little hassle as possible. For graffiti artists, the city is like a mother, a source of all inspiration, the wellspring of life. It’s a jungle, the most intimate of places. For a writer – and this has stayed with me – it’s a pleasure to explore the city and find places that are otherwise inaccessible. And I’m certainly not just talking about the underground or bus stops. I’m talking about derelict buildings, neighbourhoods…

Urbex?

Only partly. Even before the urbex phenomenon became well-known, graffiti artists liked to paint in derelict and abandoned buildings. But in the world of graffiti, this was only a major trend for about two or three years. Urbex didn’t really take off until much later, and its connection with graffiti is now merely a marginal one.

So, back to the city – where are your favourite ‘graffiti spots’?

For example, in Prague’s Palmovka district, there’s a railway corridor where we used to go regularly to paint in the 1990s, and to this day it’s regarded as a legendary graffiti spot, even though people only paint there sporadically. But places like this are common even in the city centre; it’s just that people don’t usually notice them. Take, for instance, the nooks and crannies of abandoned benches and neglected parks. I love the spaces that were part of every major development during the totalitarian era – communal areas, little parks between blocks of flats – which are no longer maintained and which people simply walk through these days. There’s still an awful lot out there to explore.

In your opinion, where do you draw the line between graffiti and vandalism?

For any normal graffiti artist, the boundaries are set by cultural heritage sites and the natural environment. Graffiti doesn’t belong on Charles Bridge or in the Bohemian Paradise. And I know that our graffiti culture respects these rules. What appears in the centre of Prague is largely the work of tourists.

Is there any other city you’d like as much as Prague?

I love New York. You see extreme contrasts there – a totally filthy underground, dark, dangerous-looking alleyways, but also gleaming, cutting-edge architecture. Take, for example, the High Line in Manhattan and, more recently, Domino Park on the outskirts of Brooklyn. It’s a former sugar refinery; the area connects to the river, and they’ve revitalised the park on what used to be a harbour site with huge cranes. Complete with all the designer street furniture – designer benches, smart litter bins, charging points and so on. I really love that. But for me, it wouldn’t work if there wasn’t a graffiti-covered street right next to it, with bins overflowing with rubbish. I like the contrast between things; I think it can only enrich us as people.

In the case of New York, however, what’s brilliant is that nobody is artificially creating these contrasts.

Can you imagine something like that happening here?

If all goes well, a similar space could be created in Holešovice, Prague. People are only just starting to talk about the project; it’s known as the ‘Holešovice Kosa’, an area along the river stretching from the Holešovice Market to Libeň Bridge. I sometimes go for a walk there to clear my head. There’s a small, unspoilt park, an old concrete-and-wood silo, a homeless shelter, corrugated iron, and railway tracks. It could be revitalised very well; part of it could be preserved – at the very least, the silo building, which is beautiful, could be restored in this way. And as the owner of a riverboat, I’d also appreciate a jetty there so I could moor and disembark.

Do you keep an eye on your colleagues in the arts scene? Do you have any role models?

Having someone as a role model smacks of dependency; I’m not really a fan of that. But there are an incredible number of names that have been with me throughout my life. More than the professional aspects of their work, however, I’m interested in what goes on behind the scenes in the art world and around it. For example, the way a particular artist works, how they lead their team, and how they communicate with those around them, with galleries and collectors.

What makes art art is not the work itself, but the things associated with it.

Art in itself, without any added value, doesn’t amount to much. I always say that even today, the general public still views the art world through a lens that’s over a hundred years old. An artist turns up at the studio for lunch, drinks half a bottle of wine, scribbles something down, then has a nap, then finishes it off somehow, and gets drunk in the evening. But in reality, it’s hard work. Whatever you’re doing, your mind is still at it; it’s actually non-stop.

Do you see any milestones in your work?

Definitely 15 years ago, when I gave up graffiti. Unfortunately, though, milestones only really count at the moment they become a milestone, before they’re superseded by something else. For me, that’s probably every new solo exhibition.

How many have you done so far?

I’ve done seven solo shows so far. With each one, I really put myself on the line; deep down, I feel I have to surpass myself again, I have to be even better. And that’s how it is every two years. The moment one ends, you start working on the next one within a few months. If you don’t start preparing it well in advance, it won’t be any good. Of course, there are also a number of other group shows alongside these, of which I’ve done around forty.

Which one are you making at the moment?

There are two in fact, both of which will take place next summer. One will be in Slovakia at the Danubiana Gallery. It’s a unique modern art museum situated on a peninsula on the Danube, a short distance south of Bratislava. Danubiana is fascinating in its own right, so I’m really looking forward to it. The second exhibition has already been arranged with the Alš South Bohemian Gallery and will take place in the riding hall at Hluboká Castle. It will feature works of mine that have never been exhibited anywhere before – at least forty paintings and sculptures. I’ve already completed the works for this exhibition, but as they’re from the collections of people who have bought them, we’ve got a big task ahead of us in arranging to borrow them.

What does a typical day of yours actually look like?

Every day is completely different, but there is a certain routine to it. In the morning, I do administrative work, deal with phone calls and emails, and get the day off to a good start; then I have meetings either in the studio or I head into town.

So when do you paint?

Whenever possible – often when the studio has emptied and the phones have stopped ringing. But it’s important to mention that I don’t paint everything myself; I have six assistants who help me. They carry out the technical aspects of the work, and I give them clear instructions on what to do, where to do it, and how.

I can see it here in the unfinished painting. It has areas that have been outlined but not yet coloured in…

Of course, there are plenty of painters who do the whole process themselves, but they, in turn, have assistants to stretch their canvases, prepare the paints and wash the brushes. Some painters need dozens of brushes whilst working, which have to be constantly replaced, so they have staff to do that. It’s all about time. It used to be called a ‘painter’s workshop’. It’s a studio where several painters work under a single name. Historically, painters had assistants who were so well-trained that they could work in the artist’s own style. It depends on how a particular artist works and what they do. There are, of course, techniques that cannot be replaced, because they represent the authentic expression of their hand – and I have that too. In panel painting, which I am partly involved in, everything is strictly defined anyway. An assistant working on a piece cannot imbue it with their own style; they cannot improvise. However, it is true that I work exclusively on many pieces myself; each one is under my artistic direction from start to finish, and I am also involved in the craftsmanship of each one.

However, it takes courage to talk openly about it…

It seems perfectly normal to me. People should know how my work is created, and most of them realise that one person can’t possibly manage it all. The idea that I’m running round the studio one minute with a paintbrush, the next with a welder, and the next sanding or varnishing, is absurd.

Your work sells really well. Doesn’t that tempt you to increase your output?

That’s simply not possible. I know full well where I could technically increase production – and it would make commercial sense – but art doesn’t work like that. You have to come up with every piece, go through a sort of creative spiral, and sometimes it takes me two days to come up with an idea for a painting, sometimes it takes a month.

Each of my pieces is a genuine original; there’s no technical way round it. For many of the clients who come to me, this unfortunately means the choice is rather limited.

Do you also paint to order?

It’s an extremely rare occurrence, and it comes down to three key factors. Firstly, I need to have an understanding of the subject matter, and it must align with my artistic expression. When that does happen occasionally, the second crucial factor is complete artistic freedom. I also insist that the whole project be left entirely to me. It is out of the question for anyone to correct me. The third important aspect is the financial side of things; it is simply more expensive.

How many projects are you working on at the same time?

Even on ten things.

A great deal has already been written about Pasta the artist. But what about Pasta the person? Where are you from?

I’m from Prague, though there’s a bit of a technical catch. My mum took me to Trenčín, where her family lives, to give birth to me, as part of our socialist republic at the time. But I’ve been living in Prague since I was a month old. We keep in touch with the Slovak side of the family; when we get together for Christmas, there are loads of us.

Do you have artistic roots?

Mum was a flight attendant, and Dad worked in the terminal at the airport, so not exactly from here, but on the Slovak side of the family, my uncle and Mum herself dabbled a bit in the arts. On my father’s side, it’s more down to his taste, sensibility and style. He never pursued it professionally, though.

Did your family encourage you to draw at home?

Yes, absolutely, in every single way. In fact, even though my parents didn’t like it, they never forbade me from doing graffiti. They weren’t happy about it, but they knew there was no point in trying to stop me. My dad used to give me sketchbooks, pencils and books on fine art for Christmas, whilst my mum would bring me spray can nozzles from America – which weren’t available here back then – as well as magazines and books. When I flew to Dubai with her at the age of fifteen, I bought spray cans at the local market instead of souvenirs.

In a profession as creative as yours, is it possible to set aside time for work and time for rest?

Just five years ago, I didn’t know what a weekend off was. I used to go on holiday, yes, but that sort of regular doing-nothing – I’d never experienced that. But my body and mind started to tell me otherwise, and I realised I needed to slow down. Even now, I still work on Sundays, but only to a limited extent. I sit down for a while, sort a few things out so I’m ahead of the game for Monday.

So have you started to take more time to relax?

I like to relax, but I can’t keep it up for long – I always need to be doing something. I have to earn my rest.

Is that why you bought a holiday cottage?

I felt a strong need to relax. We used to go away for the weekend to various resorts quite often; I could almost make a living as some sort of hotel ‘mystery shopper’. I’d travelled all over the country and began to realise that I needed my own little retreat in the countryside. I found it just outside Prague, on the edge of the Brdy forests. It’s right there, tucked away by the woods. I realised this at the eleventh hour; perhaps if I hadn’t managed it, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.

What stage is the cottage at now?

Even though it’s a place to relax, it’s naturally turned into a project. The cottage is already built, and I’ve started building a small wellness area there, which includes a swim spa. We couldn’t decide whether to have a pool or not, or what sort – I’m not really a fan of those rubber in-ground ones you see in gardens. Then one day the architect pulled out a USSPA catalogue and I knew straight away that this was it. It ticked all my boxes – in the swim spa I can both swim and relax. I was extremely impressed by the technology – I like things that are well thought-out; it’s foolproof and can be controlled via an app. So I’m thrilled – it’ll be up and running very soon. When we’re talking about the higher-end segment, the swim spa simply looks the part and, in terms of functionality, delivers exactly what I’d expect from something in the ‘luxury’ category.

What does true luxury mean to you?

Time. It’s a cliché, but it’s true. It’s the most valuable commodity today. When we pay someone for their work, we’re essentially valuing the time they’ve devoted to it. These days, you can even buy time – through a service that allows you to get somewhere faster, or avoid having to queue, for example. That’s why time is the most important thing in my life.

Oner Paste

One of the most prominent figures on the contemporary Czech art scene. In recent years, he has been making a name for himself in the genres of pop art and cartoon aesthetics. At the heart of Pasta’s work lies acrylic painting and the creation of hanging paintings, as well as the design of three-dimensional objects and sculptures, and the realisation of large-scale paintings in public spaces – in Prague, for example, in Dejvice, Jižní Město or at Anděl metro station. Pasta Oner’s work was part of the Czech installation at the World Expo in Shanghai in 2010.