Without Stepping Back. The Beginning of the Lithuanian Season in France

In recent days, my thoughts have kept returning to the article I have to write in the context of the ‘Lithuanian Season in France’. Although I have visited extraordinarily impressive exhibitions that should inspire me, I cannot shake off a certain inner doubt. Seeing artists from my country exhibited in such prestigious spaces as the Pompidou Centre undoubtedly evokes a sense of pride, but at the same time it raises the question, Why do we need to leave our country to view our cultural heritage through different eyes? Could we not experience the same sense of discovery at home? This question puzzles me and holds me up: I don’t know where to begin. How can I find the right narrative that not only meaningfully analyses the exhibitions but also avoids being superficial? This internal conflict between pride and doubt compels me to rethink my approach. Does our culture require external recognition for us to value it as something special? Why do we feel the need to ‘validate’ our cultural identity on an international stage? Perhaps this contradiction is at the heart of my reflections. Maybe there is no need to seek a forced, artificially complex analysis. If there is a continuous dialogue in my mind between pride and subtle disappointment, perhaps that is exactly what needs to be discussed.

I want to emphasise that the disappointment is not directed at the work of our artists: they are undoubtedly of the highest calibre and worthy of global attention. However, our efforts to appear ‘special’ often seem forced, as if we are striving to showcase our uniqueness, while in reality, many of the exhibition visitors are the same Lithuanian curators, guides or cultural figures who come as tourists, eager to see Lithuanian art outside the country, but still maintaining a closed, familiar circle. Judging by the opening events and the predominantly Lithuanian audiences in attendance, one wonders whether these events truly reach the French public, for whom they are intended. On the other hand, the season has only just begun, so it will take time to assess whether our art will attract a broader French audience. As the French philosopher and sociologist Pierre Bourdieu asserts, cultural and social groups compete for symbolic capital: recognition, status and prestige. It is precisely international recognition that becomes this symbolic capital, granting a nation the opportunity to enhance its self-esteem. We feel an existential need to be recognised in order to recognise ourselves.

The dilemmas of the reflection of identity are revealed clearly not only in the impressions of the visitors but also in the artists’ works, as is exemplified by Paulius and Svajonė Stanikas’ exhibition ‘Origins’ (curated by Julija Palmeirao). Their longing and search for a place between two cultural spaces become the central axis of the exhibition. Displayed in the former residence of the French composer Ernest Chausson, now the halls of the Embassy of the Republic of Lithuania, the exhibition exposes the tension between concepts of place and identity. Despite spending several decades abroad, the artists cannot fully detach from their Lithuanian roots: there is no escape. The labyrinth of installations in the exhibition feels insistently uncomfortable, as the space allotted for their massive drawings seems too confined: they need more room. It is in this aesthetic and physical friction that a dissonance of perspective emerges: the ghost of their spiritual homeland seeps through the aura of the aesthetic homeland (France), where the artists now work. This confrontation between two cultural spaces not only highlights the interplay of personal and national identity, but also reflects broader contemplations of contemporary artistic practice.

The artists delve into the creative legacy of Oscar Milosz, the first envoy of independent Lithuania to France, a poet who wrote in French yet maintained a profound connection with Lithuania throughout his life, despite never having lived here. With his paradoxical dualism, representing Lithuanian culture while living and working in a foreign cultural context, Milosz serves as a symbolic key to the narrative of this exhibition. His work encodes universal themes of exile and origin, resonating with contemporary artists seeking connections between personal and national identity. This existential divide between two worlds, two languages, becomes the central idea of the exhibition, inviting visitors to reflect not only on Lithuania’s cultural diplomacy, but also on the nature of national identity and its place in the global context

When ‘home’ becomes an abstract concept rather than just a physical place, the artists consciously integrate fragments and narratives from their personal lives into their work: models of sculptures by Paulius’ grandfather Petras Vaivada, a drawing by their granddaughter, eggs purchased cheaply while wintering in Argentina, nicotine gum. These elements of everyday life intertwine with narratives reminiscent of Milosz’s fairy-tale motifs, while also exploring the contemporary and historically significant themes of the diaspora, particularly among Lithuanians in France. In this way, their work becomes a field for both personal and collective memory, where cultural migration and the search for identity meet with intimate reflections of daily life. In order to rethink our identity, beliefs and values, we are compelled to go through a symbolic act of catharsis, burning them, so to speak, in a metaphorical eternal flame, where destruction and rebirth are inseparable. The artists express this idea in an installation where a projection of flames is set beneath a piano, and a cross rising from the piano connects earthly creation with transcendent, spiritual atonement.

In one space, the poignant lament from Aukštaitija, a historic region in northeast Lithuania (‘Farewell, farewell, my dear home / Farewell, my native village …’), evokes associations with the documentary ‘The Language You Cry In’ (directed by Angel Serrano, Alvaro Toepke, 1998). The film tells the story of an African-American family who passed down a song from generation to generation that was long thought to be a meaningless lullaby. It was only later discovered that the song’s lyrics were, in fact, a preserved fragment of an ancient language from Africa, dating back to pre-slavery times. This discovery revealed deep cultural connections, demonstrating how, even under conditions of oppression, authentic identity and heritage can be preserved. The lament and the film’s story create a meaningful parallel: both reflect the enduring preservation of cultural memory, transcending geographical and historical constraints.

This exhibition interestingly resonates with the discourse established by Anastasia Sosunova’s video work Agents (2020), currently on display in the Pompidou Centre’s exhibition ‘Art contemporain en Lituanie de 1960 à nos jours. Une donation majeure’ (Lithuanian Contemporary Art from the 1960s to Today. A Major Donation). Sosunova’s piece not only reflects on the history of folk art, but also explores the fluidity of cultural identity, revealing the agents of the times, both symbolic and real. The film explores the impact of strict lockdown measures on people and their creativity, while, set against a backdrop of traditional wooden sculptures typical of the region, the artist documents the spontaneous creation by visitors of objects of folk art and temporary structures in forests and parks. A video work by S&P Stanikas, displayed on a manger-like structure crafted from chairs, similarly explores the examination of collective and symbolic frameworks. It incorporates folk dance choreography, where the synchronised movements of many people form various geometric shapes and symbolic patterns. At first glance, the simple folk dances evolve into a complex narrative, speaking to the relationship between community and individual identity. However, the artists give this seemingly nostalgic composition a fresh perspective: filmed in a contemporary setting, presented in black and white and sped up, it adds a light but unmistakable tone of irony. The video subtly balances between a respectful gaze towards tradition and a critical reflection on contemporary identity, as if questioning how much of this synchronisation remains authentic and how much becomes trapped within the confines of formal rituals.

In Agents, Sosunova reflects on the myths related to national identity that were forcibly imposed on us during the Soviet era. These myths emerge like a carved golem, rigid and mechanical, representing a distorted reality that we were forced to accept as an authentic expression of national identity. Using this imagery, Sosunova questions how much these constructed symbols of identity truly reflect our cultural essence, and how much they were manipulatively created constructs. One of the most striking examples is the folk dances performed at song festivals, which we now perceive as symbols of the national identity. However, as Sosunova points out, the majority of these dances were created or reworked during the Soviet period by the choreographer Juozas Lingys. This fact prompts us to reconsider our relationship with so-called ‘national’ symbols. Do they genuinely convey our authentic cultural experience, or are they simply projections of Soviet ideology? Sosunova asks uncomfortable but important questions in her work: How do we perceive our identity when much of it was shaped under political oppression? Can we rewrite these imposed narratives and rediscover the roots of our identity beneath the layers of historical manipulation?

However, perhaps more important than the fact of Lithuanian artists’ exhibitions taking place in Paris are the meetings and discussions that these art events provoke. For instance, during my visit to Jonas Mekas’ exhibition ‘Summer Manifesto’ at The Film Gallery, I struck up a conversation with a gallerist, originally from Romania, and her friend, who had come from Lebanon. What started as a discussion about Mekas’ work soon expanded into a conversation about pop culture and various socio-cultural and socio-political events across the globe. We spoke not only about the situation in Lithuania, but also about their respective home countries, reflecting on how these issues mirror global trends and impact us all. I believe such discussions form the core of cultural dialogue, freeing us from isolated cultural perspectives and engaging us in a broader, more inclusive conversation. We are citizens of the world, not just participating in European culture but actively shaping it. In this context, national identity becomes one of many aspects that enriches the broader dialogue, rather than the sole focus through which we define ourselves.