“We’re all, more or less, fighting to survive in the art world.”
Sorina Tomulețiu affirms her spot as a self-taught artist in the art scene / Interviu de Klaus Philippi
As an artist, looking back to the pandemic period, Sorina Tomulețiu (36) says she earned five times more in 2019 than in the following year. She doesn’t have a degree in art, but she studied German and, above all, English, and she has done translations for the Sibiu International Theatre Festival for more than 6 years: she could always figure out if a play was a good one while working on the Romanian translation of the script. In 2012, after obtaining a masters’ degree in British Cultural Studies at the University of Bucharest, she clearly felt that she wanted to become a visual artist. “My mom used to work at the Franz Binder Museum,” Sorina Tomulețiu says, and the old building, which unfortunately has been closed for visitors, that hosted the universal ethnographic collection of Franz Binder (including a mummy), is a sad example of the deficient cultural policy in Romania. Lia and Dan Perjovschi, which Sorina often asks for advice, would avoid exhibiting at the National Contemporary Art Museum: it would be out of the question to depend on the House of the Parliament, the previously called “People’s House”! Independence is also a question of space.
As a student of the graphic artist, Gheorghe Pârcălăboiu, at the Children’s Palace, she was probably not conscious yet that, years later, she would turn again towards art. Sorina Tomulețiu began drawing and painting at five years old and temporarily stopped at eleven. “He (Pârcălăboiu) used to succeed in guiding you towards creating abstract works, even at that young age.” Some of her artworks are available as stickers, postcards and bookmarks at Humanitas bookstores, and her online page, www.sorinatomuletiu.ro/en, offers detailed information of the work of a self-taught artist. Klaus Philippi talked to the artist Sorina Tomulețiu, who likens her “mission” to the way in which historians and archaeologists fulfill their tasks.
You barely got the chance to speak during the debate “The echo of fascism today,” which took place on the evening of April 3 at Astra Public Library, where prof. Ioan-Marius Bucur PhD. and prof. Virgiliu Țârău PhD., historians from the Babeș-Bolyai University, discussed more or less among themselves; however, there were a few times, when, as a reply to the affirmations of both speakers, I could spot an affirmative smile on your face: what are the unspoken messages of art in your case?
All my artistic work is intentional. This is why I do not have unspoken messages. On the contrary, I am very much preoccupied with something very specific while making art.
To what extent do you rely on the public to figure out the meaning of your art on their own?
Most probably everyone understands something different. I’m motivated by the idea of a dialogue with the public, as it happened, for example, in the autumn of 2024, during my exhibition, “Imagining the war dragging to a halt,” about the war in Ukraine. During the three weeks, the exhibition was open to the public three times: once during the vernissage, once again on November 2nd, and, finally, for the finissage when I invited Ukrainians living in Sibiu, who see this conflict from a totally different perspective than we do: one of the artworks had the word “ϺИР” in it, the Ukrainian word for “peace,” and when they saw my artworks, the problem of peace that I was suggesting was approached differently. For them, peace means giving up the fight. Of course we want peace in that region because it is our neighbor and it concerns us. But with what price? They want victory!
What did your art say to them or what did it actually say?
Obviously, they liked the artworks and were not shocked by them. These are abstract artworks that do not directly allude to violence. I have approached this subject so that we do not become numb to so many images of war that are broadcasted in a continuous loop on television, which can desensitize us. This topic is also of a personal nature for me: my grandmother, who died in 2023 at 96 years old, was a refugee from Bessarabia, from which she fled with her family to escape the Soviet army’s ultimatum in 1940, so all the televised images of the war in Ukraine had a significant impact on her emotionally. The fact that I have also struggled with these emotions is obvious from my artworks; these were created similar to the action painting style of Jackson Pollock. I was delighted to see local Romanians and Ukrainians have a discussion. Meanwhile, the Ukrainian Center was closed, it was hosted in the offices of the Transylvania German Business Club on Mitropoliei street. Unofficially, there are around 3000 Ukrainians still living in Sibiu.
What do you think about when contemplating the birthplace of your grandmother?
As soon as the war ends, I hope I will be able to go over there. My grandmother lived in Cetatea Alba in the south of Bessarabia, currently Bilhorod-Dnistrovskyi in the Odessa region of Ukraine. Through my exhibition in Sibiu, I have met a young Ukrainian woman called Anastasia, who I have tried to help with whatever ever since. She and her partner feel very at home here in Sibiu and want to become Romanian citizens. I have felt an instant connection to people from Ukraine without knowing them very well.
How do you create artworks on politics and protesting?
My involvement in the protests of the civil society began with the case of Roșia Montană and I was also present in Bucharest on August 10, 2018, when my journalist friends filmed the gendarmes physically assaulting the protesters. When we saw that they were using tear gas, we initially retreated, leaving our position on the margin of the protest, but we later returned and witnessed the use of water cannons. The civil society and the expats were against such a government that gave the order to use brute force and that retired in illegitimacy and so I tried to get involved. My journalist friends began investigating the Dragnea case regarding Belina island on the Danube river, where local fishermen were threatened with being banned from fishing and I have created some illustrations for their documentary: the three-part film on Belina island, by Passport Productions, is entirely available on YouTube. The film crew eventually left Romania after being harrased and feeling the need to leave the country.
Your artistic approach is very precise, congratulations – how do you apply this to your translation projects?
I would love to translate books one day, but I am conscious of the fact that this is reserved for people in closed circles. I cannot choose what I translate. It’s simply something I do to finance my artistic practice. Without a second job, you cannot survive just by making art. However, my financial situation has stabilised and I have been able, with the support of my family, to put art first during the past few years. Without their help, there would be no progress in this regard.
What kind of fees or resources can you rely on for making art?
Until now, I have mostly exhibited in independent space, operated by other artists, so-called artist-run spaces. I haven’t exhibited in a gallery or museum yet, but, to be honest, I’m not really aiming for that. I do not want to depend on government funds for museums and, for now, I’m not applying for financing from the Administration of the National Fund for Culture (AFCN). Instead, I’m aiming for grants offered by non-governmental organizations, for instance, one from the ERSTE Foundation for the Salzburg International Summer Academy of Fine Arts. Occassionally, the fact that I do not have an art degree can be a problem.
It is true that art and culture are extremely important, but they cannot be taken out of balance with political issues related to health, sports, finance, education, environmental protection and issues that affect both the internal and external world. There are countless criteria that make the balance of the world seem very vulnerable. Where does this imbalance become obvious to you?
I would never cut the budgets for health, education and culture; these are three of the most important. However, still far too little is being done for culture, and the cultural agenda of the Sibiu City Hall, for example, places too much emphasis on folklore and traditions, while contemporary art is neglected. Non-governmental organizations, which have never been supported by the city hall, are experiencing difficulties; they are either closing down or reorienting themselves. We’re all, more or less, fighting to survive in the art world. Unfortunately, this is clearly felt in society; illiteracy has reached an alarming level. All areas of everyday life are interconnected and I suppose that politicians simply do not want to do more. As if they are trying to keep society trapped in stupidity and dependancy.
In 2022, you visited documenta fifteen in Kassel and the Venice Biennale: for us who live in Romania, both places are, of course, Western European art cities. Please tell us about the differences between them!
I found Kassel to be quite similar to Sibiu. During the week I stayed there, I was amazed at how an art festival that takes place once every five years changes the city. I also witnessed the controversy surrounding the work “People’s Justice” by the Indonesian artist collective Taring Padi. It had been exhibited outdoors, near the Fridericianum Museum, for three months, until someone had complained that the work contained a swastika, and it was now covered with a black veil. I was not able to see it again during my stay, as the criticism had already been taken into account. At documenta15, there were many works of art that you wouldn’t have seen at the Venice Biennale, especially art from the global South. The curatorial group of artists from Indonesia were asked to invite other artists from Southeast Asia, and a chain of invitations was created. You don’t find such a level of trust from the organizers at other large-scale art events. In Kassel, I also visited the exhibition of the Haitian group, Atis Rezistans, which presented sculptures made from materials and objects found on the street in the Roman Catholic Church of Sankt Kunigundis. These were exhibits related to the voodoo culture. There was electronic trance music playing on speakers, creating an appropriate atmosphere, and there was even a queue at the entrance. It was a fusion of cultures that you don’t find in Venice. In Venice, the emphasis is on the commercial aspects of art, and in Kassel, on the communal aspects. Venice seemed wonderful to me, a city where you can suffer from Stendhal syndrome, fainting from sheer beauty. If you avoid the tourist crowds, of course.
While the documenta15 exhibitions were spread all over Kassel, even in industrial areas where you wouldn’t expect them, Venice retains its classic style with its pavilions and palaces for the Biennale. I was very impressed by the exhibition by Anselm Kiefer from Germany, whose paintings took up entire walls of the Doge’s Palace, with objects fixed directly to the canvas. It certainly inspired my own exhibition about the war in Ukraine, “Imagining the War Dragging to a Halt,” in which I drew with charcoal and attached pieces of cardboard directly to the canvas, cardboard that would make you think of the aid packages sent to the Ukrainians. This was meant to convey that if war is right at your doorstep, you'll probably have to pack your entire life into boxes and run.