Did Mikuláš Galanda really have such a broad scope and the ability to bring artists together and inspire them? Is that still true today?
I think so, though perhaps in a slightly different way than the viewer might expect. The exhibition is not conceived as a monument to a single genius, but rather as a living organism of relationships, encounters, and mutual influence. Galanda is present here as a quiet yet very powerful thread—as someone who managed to inspire an entire generation, even though he himself could no longer be a direct part of it. We focused on the group of Galanda’s followers, which emerged spontaneously—from friendships, chance encounters, shared trips to entrance exams, or conversations in studios. They were young, emerging artists from various towns—mainly from the areas around Žilina and Martin—who gradually found a common language.
They were fascinating people who are impossible to forget. Each one had a strong personality. What brought them together, and what legacy did they leave behind?
The founding members of the group were Andrej Barčík—its initiator—Rudolf Krivoš, Milan Laluha, Milan Paštéka, Ľudovít Štrompach, Anton Čutek, Vladimír Kompánek, Ivan Štubňa, Pavol Tóth, Zdeno Horecký, Miroslav Marček, and Róbert Dúbravec. They had neither a unified program nor a precisely defined goal. Rather, it was about the energy of the times, the need to create freely and respond to a changing world. And that is precisely Galanda’s legacy—it is not a specific style, but an impulse. The legacy endures as something that managed to unite very different personalities. When a visitor walks through the exhibition today, they see how this energy branches out—how each of the artists went their own way, and yet something invisible held them together. When we were devising the concept for the exhibition, we agreed that we would focus only on their work during the group’s active period, when their development was most striking.
How many works and by how many artists are featured in the exhibition?
The exhibition features 135 works by 16 artists, which is in itself a fairly substantial scope. But more important than the numbers is the fact that this is a very focused selection—each artist has their own place here, their own voice. Some of the works come from the SNG collections, which were systematically built up over decades, and some from the private collection of art collector Ivan Melicherčík. It is precisely this dialogue between the public and private collections that gives the exhibition a special depth. Some works are not usually exhibited; others have had interesting histories—they were hidden, moved, or changed hands. Visitors thus see not only “art history” but also the stories of the paintings and their journeys through time.
Mikuláš Galanda was also a sharp-witted thinker; he knew how to express himself both verbally and in writing. He and Ľudovít Fulla were classmates at the School of Applied Arts in Prague; later, they even published (sporadically) an avant-garde magazine (1930–32) called Súkromné listy (*Private Letters*), which is a unique work of art in its own right. They are also referred to as a manifesto and remain electrifying to this day. How did the curators incorporate them into the current exhibition?
We wanted to present Súkromné listy as something more than just a historical document. They are actually small artistic explosions full of ideas, humor, defiance, and the joy of creation. These private letters were published twice, in two editions. Collector Ivan Melicherčík owns both editions and provided us with the originals, which we have on display. For me personally, these letters are proof that Galanda and Fulla were not just painters, but also thinkers who felt the need to communicate, provoke, and raise new topics. And this energy is surprisingly alive even today.
Galanda later met with Full in the studio on Trnavská Street. Does the SNG have information about the studios where Galanda’s group worked? Do you know any descendants of Galanda’s group? You, too, grew up in Bratislava’s artistic quarter—do you have any memories of Galanda’s group?
Stories about studios are often fragmentary, but all the more powerful for it. We know that studios weren’t just workplaces—they were places for meetings, discussions, and sometimes even arguments. I’m lucky to have grown up in an environment where the Galanda group and their families lived. I know the children of several of them—we grew up together, met up, and played in the street. To me, they weren’t “great artists” back then, but neighbors I saw every day. And perhaps that is precisely why I perceive their work differently today—not as a distant canon, but as something very alive, very human.
And how did that art affect you as a child?
Honestly—I encountered it before I even knew what I was looking at. Their paintings hung in our home, and toys by Vladimír Kompánek were part of my childhood. It wasn’t until later, when I started studying, that that special moment came—when you realize that what you took for granted is actually part of Slovak art history. It’s a strange feeling, even touching. Looking back, you realize how lucky you were to have seen these people not just as names in a textbook, but as living personalities.
What do you like most about this current exhibition? Is there anything left unsaid?
What I like most is precisely that diversity. The fact that every artist is completely different, and yet they create a shared narrative. And yes, there will always be something left unsaid. The exhibition is just one possible interpretation. In a few years, it could look completely different—with different emphases, different questions. And that’s the beauty of it.
Is there still material in the storage facilities (or in private collections) for future exhibitions?
Certainly. The Slovak National Gallery is a collection-building institution that houses nearly 100,000 collection items. Many works from the storage facilities are waiting to be rediscovered. Perhaps the current financial consolidation situation is forcing us to turn more to what we already have—and to find new connections within it. Sometimes it is precisely in the storage facilities that you discover works that surprise you more than new acquisitions. For me, it was extraordinary that when we were preparing this exhibition, all the artists were represented in the collections of the Slovak National Gallery.
Today, we realize that many significant figures of the Slovak art scene have been sidelined over the past twenty years. Management or curators who did not favor certain artists simply did not purchase their works. If this had happened in the past, we would not have, for example, Ľudovít Štrompach or Zdeno Horecký in the SNG’s storage today. Fortunately, the Slovak National Gallery respected these artists in the past as part of their respective eras and acquired their works for its collections. The SNG’s collection policy will change. It is necessary to add works by several artists who may not have been to the former management’s liking, but who nonetheless produce high-quality work. Here, antipathy or sympathy is irrelevant.
The exhibition also features a collection of works by the Galand family from the aforementioned collector, Ivan Melicherčík. Are there any unique pieces in this collection? You mention, for example, Pink Nude, which depicts Mrs. Galandová. What makes this work unique?
Ivan Melicherčík is the doyen of Slovak collecting. He is one of the greatest private art collectors. Collecting is a joy and a passion for him—as he himself says, an “obsession.” The painting Pink Nude has a powerful story behind it. Mrs. Galandová walled it into a wall during World War II to save it. And after the war, she retrieved it from its hiding place. It is no longer just a work of art—it is a witness to history. And when you see that painting at the exhibition today, it carries all these layers. Mrs. Galandová never wanted to sell the painting. She kept it her entire life and, at the end of her life, donated it to Ivan Melicherčík in gratitude for his care of Mikuláš Galanda’s name and work—and for looking after her as well. It is a unique work, and gallery visitors now have the opportunity to see it at the exhibition.
One of the first exhibitions by the M. Galanda Group was opened by their contemporary Milan Rúfus, and it was quite an event. Does this exhibition also hold the promise of a strong response?
I believe so. Rúfus knew how to articulate the essence of things—and the Galanda artists conveyed it through their art. Every era needs its stories and its return to values. This exhibition is not just about the past—it’s also about how we view art today. If we succeed in conveying this energy and inner truth, the exhibition will find its audience.
So what are the exhibition’s attendance figures like? Will this grand project fade away amid unfavorable circumstances?
These are not easy times, and culture is always among the first to feel the impact. Attendance fluctuates; people have other concerns, often existential ones. But I believe that art is particularly significant in difficult times. Perhaps not in a mass way, but in a profound way. Culture has survived worse times and has always found a way. It is sad how heavily politicized culture is today. The quality of the work is not examined, expertise is not examined; political views are examined. Unbiased professional reviews of exhibitions are not being written; instead, political pamphlets are being written, often full of lies and misrepresentation. For example, there are public calls to boycott visits to the SNG. And subsequently, the very same people calling for the boycott criticize us for low attendance. What is the actual goal of these initiatives? Are they really concerned about the gallery, about keeping it running, or is this about politics?
At least for a time, a major discovery could unite everyone. Do you think all the works by the Galanda group have been cataloged? Could an unknown, unique piece turn up?
You can never rule it out. Works are constantly turning up in private collections, in attics, in forgotten drawers. I remember a case where someone found paintings by Bazovský under a bed. That, too, is part of the adventure of art—you never know where it might still be hiding.
How much time should visitors set aside for the exhibition? How much space have you allocated for it?
If they want to immerse themselves in the art thoroughly, they can easily spend several hours. The exhibition is spread over two floors and offers plenty of space for quiet contemplation and reflection. And that is perhaps the most important thing in today’s fast-paced world—to slow down and let the paintings speak for themselves.
