Miroslav Tichý

Miroslav Tichý was a 22 year old student of drawing and painting at the Academy of Art in Prague when the Communist Party gained control of the government in 1948. Tichý was very vocal in his opposition to the new regime and he was eventually detained. He spent the next eight years in various jails, detention centers and psychiatric institutions.

After his release Tichý returned to his hometown of Kyjov. His psychological condition and bouts of alcoholism made it impossible for him to keep a job. Although he continued to make a few drawings and paintings he apparently wasn't able to maintain much enthusiasm for it. His days were spent wandering around the small town apparently at random, watching the women. Tichý developed a reputation as something of a Peeping Tom.

There is no doubt there is an element of voyeurism in Tichý's work, though it is uncertain if his voyeurism had a sexual component. He took pleasure in looking at people…mostly women and usually without their knowledge. The women he spied on didn't have to be young or pretty or scantily clad; they just had to be female. Nobody will be surprised to learn that at some point in the late 1960s or early 1970s Tichý, like so many other such voyeurs, turned to photography.

What IS surprising is how he did it.

Tichý may have been something of a degenerate, but he brought a certain level of creative genius to his degeneracy. Since he was much too poor to buy camera equipment, Miroslav Tichý made cameras from the materials at hand. His cameras were a collection of wooden spools, cardboard mailing tubes, cigar boxes, tin cans and lenses crafted from the eyeglasses of children. Some of his lenses were even extendable.

Because his home-made cameras had no viewfinders, Tichý was forced to guess about the composition of the photograph. However, since his photography was driven as much (or more) by his fetish than by artistic concerns, his criteria for success was fairly broad. Traditional elements of composition have no meaning in the world of the fetish.

Tichý's methods of photography were those of a stereotypical voyeur. He wandered the town with his camera tucked under his long coat or a sweater. He would quickly shoot the photograph, then tuck the camera away again. He was known to conceal himself in bushes or behind objects in order to get his photographs. He photographed people everywhere...at the beach, at the market, walking on the streets, sitting on their stoops.

He was as perversely obsessive about the number of frames he shot as he was about his subjects. Tichý would shoot up to one hundred photographs a day. If he reached the number 100, he would stop. Because his cameras were home-made, they didn't abide by the usual 35mm standards. A roll of 36 exposures might provide him with perhaps fifty shots.

The photographs produced by these makeshift cameras are obviously primitive and unrefined. The focus is rarely correct, the exposure is often incorrect, the subject may not be entirely in the frame. The images are grainy, strangely cropped, torn, sometimes pasted on cardboard or cardstock, often decorated with ink or pencil. For the most part, Tichý took little care of the images once they were printed.

But the images are infused with a weird sort of dreaminess. The subjects are often engaged in the most mundane of activities, but because so many of them were photographed unaware, the motions and movements are completely unstudied and natural. As you look at the photographs, you gradually become aware that these everyday situations and trivial moments are really remarkably lovely. There is something almost theatrical and poetic about a woman raising her hands and turning her head.

Tichý's photography came to light by coincidence. Harry Buxbaum, one of the psychiatrists who had treated him in Prague, had also been born in Tichý's hometown of Kyvoj. In 1981 Roman Buxbaum, the doctor's nephew, went to Kyvoj to visit his grandmother. He noticed the old man lurking in the streets and alleyways, and learned from his grandmother of the link to his uncle. Eventually he met Tichý and began to chat with him. He became intrigued by Tichý's home-made cameras and asked to see the photographs made by them.

It was clear Tichý never intended for these photographs to be seen by others or exhibited. In fact, it seems likely he had no intention of keeping them for himself. When Buxbaum went to look at the photographs, he found hundreds of them scattered haphazardly around the old man's rodent-infested hut. Many were just lying on the floor; many of them were crumpled, torn, nibbled by mice, and covered with a decade or more of dust. Apparently Tichý lost interest in the photographs soon after he developed them. The fetish seemed to be fulfilled at that point.

Buxbaum began to write articles about Tichý and organized an exhibit of his work. The strange old man's photographs drew both critical praise and curiosity. His small, odd prints began to sell. Eventually Tichý's work was exhibited in Brno, not far from his hometown. Several residents of Kyvoj came to the opening, hoping to see if they could recognize themselves in the photographs. Tichý did not attend.

Miroslav Tichý is very old now. He still lives in Kyvoj, though he no longer takes photographs. He seems uninterested in his newfound celebrity and ignores the money he has received from it. He has called the exhibitions of his work "a waste of time" and describes the world in general as "a double big shit." While he isn't exactly a hermit, he is generally solitary. Some of that is undoubtedly a product of his personality, but it is likely that his aversion to bathing or changing his clothes also plays a large part.

There is no doubt that Tichý is more than merely eccentric. Is he a pervert? By most Western standards, yes. Is he a genius? By most modern standards, yes. Is he an artist? In the sense that he creates art, yes. Does it matter whether or not he intends to create art? I don’t know. I’d like to think it does matter…but I really don’t know.

I do know this: I like the fact that Miroslav Tichý exists. I’m sure he would be happier if he was better adjusted…but I’m glad there are maladjusted people out there. I’m sure he would be healthier if he drank less and bathed more…but I’m glad there are people who ignore what is good for them. I’m sure he would be a more productive artist if he wasn’t quite so wrapped up in his fetish…but I’m glad there are people whose priorities are so wildly divergent from mine that I can’t understand them.

It’s very selfish of me, but there it is. I’m glad the world contains people like Miroslav Tichý.