Marty Jankus
I was 8 years old when I first felt eyes following me and staring a hole in my chest. I was a chubby and feminine boy and I chose books and dolls instead of friends, always talking to myself and writing love poems to other men. I kept it a secret, but as the years went by I had more holes in me than anybody I knew. My post-Soviet city did not want to allow me to be different. Even the walls and fences of the old town were staring at me with judgement.
I grew and the holes in my body turned into my morning cereal. I was craving to be looked at and humiliated, but wanted to set myself free of this sick hunger, so I got on a plane and never looked back. I was ravenous in my new home and the lack of stares left me empty. No eyes were following me as I walked down the street. I was at peace, but I missed the sounds of a battle.
The Watchers is a series of multimedia works reminiscing my complicated inner battle with eyes. My sculptures look back and leave a hole in the viewer, leaving mixed feelings about the experience. Some people think it is frightening and unsettling to look into the eyes of my dolls, some – start laughing, some – avoid eye contact all along. My paintings and prints look back at the viewer and showcase the difficult relationship with nationality and home. The figures in paintings are scared and empty, uncomfortable, surrounded by the faces emerging from wooden surfaces and following their existence. The paintings replicate the textures of the old town of my city, but denounce the muddy colour scheme, traditionally followed by the artists of my country, in order to lose any association with the culture. The prints look at the viewer quietly, with grief, reminiscing of my queer uncle, who took his own life, amongst many other queer Lithuanians and left me alone. The abandoned clothes laying in an empty and silent environment do not want to be seen, but have to accept that they are being looked at and stare back.
The Watchers will stare a hole in your chest, haunt you, and leave you conflicted. A person gets used to being stared at and when the eyes are gone they feel like something is missing.
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