Jan Mlčoch

* 1953

  • “I guess the people high up in the police force presumed that the person would automatically be some kind of snitch. I think that there were others who had that specialised profession, back then there were special orders in enterprises, which I think they didn’t even have in Odeon. They had a cadre officer there. Well, so quite simply, they just took me twice to Hotel Moráň, there they explained that they knew I had a bad salary, that I already have a family, and that I could earn a little extra by informing them of what went on in Odeon. The paradox is that they were interested both in the editorial staff and in the management. When they failed to get my agreement, the comrade told me: ‘Well, perhaps it’s goodbye, but don’t say anything about our meeting.’ I said I can’t be silent, because of course I’d informed the company that I was going to the meeting. And when I returned to the publishing house, I went to the directorship, and I simply ratted out the cop to the cadre officer. That he’d also wanted to crack into the management - that they wanted to have some feedback on the management. I simply applied the principle of the sprinkled sprinkler.”

  • “I myself at the age of fifteen, when it was the year sixty-eight, it was the turning point for things inside me. I never was and still am not politically clear cut, but I saw it as a strange, odd time, when a lot of things were suddenly allowed. The collar suddenly came loose. Some people could breath again, but it was constantly connected with the Communist party - and especially with jokers the likes of Alexander Dubček, who - in my opinion - only made a name for himself by jumping head first from a three-metre bridge, otherwise he really was just a Party jester of the worst kind. So I wasn’t surprised that all went to pot.”

  • “Then I did this one event called Bianco, where I lay on the ground and spat into the air for an hour, until I was covered in spit. And then I wrote a signature for an hour and didn’t even finish it after that hour. That’s the year 1977, and it’s, I would say, a period-specific event, because back in 1977 a signature had an enormous impact. Much greater than before, much greater than afterwards. Just one single signature was the breakpoint of character. Either you signed the Charter, or you didn’t sign the Charter; you signed the Anti-Charter, or you didn’t sign the Anti-Charter. Back then, it really was: Say no to the devil.”

  • Celé nahrávky
  • 1

    Praha, 28.07.2016

    (audio)
    délka: 01:44:02
    nahrávka pořízena v rámci projektu Fates of Artists in Communist Czechoslovakia
  • 2

    Praha, 13.09.2016

    (audio)
    délka: 01:51:28
    nahrávka pořízena v rámci projektu Fates of Artists in Communist Czechoslovakia
Celé nahrávky jsou k dispozici pouze pro přihlášené uživatele.

I never asked what I could or could not do

Portrét současný 2
Portrét současný 2
zdroj: autor natáčení

Jan Mlčoch was born on 26 February 1953 in Prague. He grew up in Podolí in the family of his grandfather, the legionary Josef Mlčoch, who was also an art collector. This experience formed him. Although he graduated from a secondary technical school, he ended up getting a job at the depository of the National Gallery. In 1974 he took an interest in conceptual art, which meant organising various events that were considered provocation under the totalitarian rule. In 1978 he changed his job to work as an archivist at Odeon, a publishing house. His friends included a number of people from the sphere of unofficial art and the dissent. He never joined the ranks of the so-called official artists, who cooperated with the regime. He was not allowed to travel abroad, and he was interrogated by State Security. He became a respected theoretician of artistic photography and the curator of the photographic collections of the Museum of Industry and Art in Prague. In 2005 he received the Czech Photography Personality Award for organising the exhibition Czech Photography of the Twentieth Century.