The 50th anniversary of the Lithuanian Photographers Association presented a perfect occasion for us to catch up with those who contributed to its establishment and development. Our interlocutor is Antanas Sutkus, a man who led Lithuanian photography to its heights and served as the Head of the Society for many years. We talk about the establishment and activities of the Society.

 

What was the impetus that gave a start to the Society and launched the whole school of Lithuanian photography?

 

First of all, it would be wrong to assume that Lithuanian photography began with the establishment of the Society. It would be equally wrong to overestimate my role because at that time I was merely an administrator. It is difficult to tell which photographers were the originators of Lithuanian photography, at least because quite a few of them could be considered both Lithuanian and Polish. When I came to Vilnius, Adauktas Marcinkevičius was already active there. To me, he was a major authority. His works were truly modern and many young creatives were inspired by him.

 

It is also important to remember that, contrary to what some tend to believe, Sutkus was not the main reason for the Society’s emergence. There was a whole team that worked along with Sutkus: Macijauskas, Kunčius, Rakauskas, Luckus, Straukas, Kalvelis—they became important contributors to the Lithuanian cultural society. Our main task was to promote Lithuania. We were not saying it explicitly, but our photography was speaking for us. This comes as no surprise as the whole Soviet Union was teeming with dissidents. The checks were frequent, the formation of groups was under strict control.

 

Speaking of the historical events that gave birth to the Society, I should mention that it was all a matter of accident. I once took a portrait of Lionginas Šepetys’ son. The latter happened to like my work, so we got acquainted. Then I began cornering his father, who at that time was the Minister of Culture. He was the man who signed the foundational documents. Only later, during one of the show openings, Šepetys confided that it was actually his wife who helped him to finally make up his mind about the Society. She told him: “Stop teasing this poor lad. If he won’t make it, so be it, but if he succeeds and makes it happen, then wouldn’t this be good for the young generation?” So we felt like dissidents or partisans: united by a common idea. This was how culture operated. Spiritual support was rather typical during the occupational period.

 

Could you tell us about your activities after the establishment of the Society? How did you manage to convince the photographers to join in?

 

At that time I traveled across the whole country as a brand designer for the food industry. These days we had no means of image manipulation, so everything was done naturally. Vitas Luckus was the first to start using photography in advertising. I remember how, soon after the establishment of the Society, we were visiting the small towns in Lithuania. So we popped in to one of the local shops and stumbled upon this huge photographic image of Tania (Tatyana Luckienė-Aldag, Luckus’ wife). Back then, this was a truly impressive thing to see, and this image has stayed with me throughout the years.

 

As far as artistic activities are concerned, we simply started gathering wherever and reviewing each others photos. However the situation gradually improved—we acquired some financial strength and our field of activities expanded significantly.

 

It was truly beneficial for photographers to join the Society: most of the members were able to set up their own darkrooms; as a reward for their exhibited photos they used to get three times more photographic paper than they donated; for each new story we used to give them free film; and we would generally maintain a supply of the newest equipment. We helped our members in every possible way. We helped them with getting the flats and cars. I remember I made the list of everyone who needed a flat and I took it to a high ranking official who, after my trying hard to convince him, told me to go see the Deputy Prime Minister the next day. So I found the Deputy Prime Minister’s office packed with people, all furious with me. Apparently, their requests for the same ‘goods’ were suspended because the Deputy was waiting for me.

 

What was the most memorable thing from the whole time of your service?

 

The most memorable thing was that we ended up with the ten best hard working photographers who, thanks to the Society, had all the necessary creative freedoms. Such was our upbringing that the communal interests were just as important as the personal ones.

 

I’ve got some painful memories too. If it wasn’t for the Society, I wouldn’t have had lost my family. But then, thanks to the Society, I didn’t lose my country. My wife once asked me: “If you had to choose between me and the Society, what would it be?” Perhaps it was foolish, but I told her the truth, which brought my personal life to an end. Yet both family and the Society were like anchors that held me in Lithuania. One of my pals once told me: “Antanas, if you went to America, you’d end up either as a hobo or a millionaire”. On the other hand, I am now rediscovering everything that I once lost because all these works that once remained in my drawer, are now exhibited across the whole world.

 

But back then it seemed like there wasn’t much I could do. There’s no need to be sad or envious if you understand that everything depends only on you.

 

How did you decide to open up a specialized art library?

 

I once took part in the excursion around the Verkiai Palace. As the guide was telling us about the history of the palace, he happened to mention that 25 percent of the whole area was taken up by the library. I then realised: “So this is what history making really is about”. I was inspired to create a library that would take up the same percentage of space in our Society. Assembling it turned out to be a difficult task. We would buy books in the antique shops of Moscow and Saint Petersburg because they were more affordable there. I later realised that I should acquire books from the Latvian and Estonian art theorists whose personal libraries contained many valuable items and theoretical works. After a while Estonian Minister of Culture forbade his countrymen to sell us their books! We then agreed that the books would be transported to us via cars, and we would pay enough for the seller to get a new car. In addition to that, during his every visit to Lithuania, photographer Jonas Dovydėnas would always bring at least two boxes worth of books. This way the Society became a gathering place for not only for the Lithuanian intellectuals or the inteligentsia, but for our foreign guests who never missed a chance to visit it during their trips.

 

It seems that the Society was compensating for the absence of an official photographic education in Lithuania. Could you tell us a little about the Nida seminars that used to be regarded as unofficial ‘exams’in the field of photography?

 

Discussions were the most important thing. I recall one occurrence that illustrates the atmosphere of these events pretty well. Because of our close collaboration with many foreign photographers, they used to be frequent guests during the Nida seminars. So, once, during a talk by one of those notable guests, me and Macijauskas were interfering with our loud debates about the photographic theory. Eventually we got kicked out of the room, but we just sat on the steps at the entrance and continued our discussion. But we got carried away so much that people had to come and hush us because the keynote speaker had to interrupt his talk! So dialogues were an important part of both Nida seminars and the Society as such. These discussions—and sometimes even open quarrels—would spawn many great an idea.

 

Or another example. Luckus once rented a tow hitch for bringing the 500 mounted prints. When all these prints were displayed in the exhibition space, the debates between photographers became so heated that open brawls were avoided only thanks to Milda Šeškuvienė, who bravely stood in-between men.

 

It couldn’t have been otherwise. Creativity is intangible, yet it is an encounter with reality. You have to be ready to understand this reality, which is exactly what proves the existence of God. If, during a single half an hour you happen to make 5-10 shots that end up traveling around the world, while the other thousand of shots you made after are worthless, then you have to talk to somebody about this!

 

How would you describe the international collaboration?

 

I always said that this was the golden age of Lithuanian photography. During those long years of work we had a chance to meet many world-class photographers from around the world. It was a rather simple procedure: we had our people in Moscow, so we would offer our guests a luxury hotel, a guided tour around Lithuania, and an encounter with our professional photography. The guests were happy to accept our invitations.

 

Perhaps, Cornell Cappa’s visit was among the most significant moments. Cappa, who worked as a director of the International Photography Center in New York, wanted to get some war photos from the Baltic region. After visiting Moscow and finding nothing there, he came to us. Even though we didn’t have too many prints of this topic, but we managed to assemble an improvised exhibition of our work which left Cappa completely astonished: “This is it, my business trip is accomplished”, he told me.

 

We were also active in presenting our work abroad. It is worth remembering the early days of the Society and the birth of the school of Lithuanian photography. When we had our show in Moscow, we were attacked by the bemused senior photographers who didn’t seem to understand what we were trying to achieve, what it was all about, and, most importantly, whom did our art represent. This was the topic of our conversations with the Russian photography critic Anri Vartanov. It was during one of these conversations that he coined a term “school of Lithuanian photography”, so that everybody would know how to refer to all this. The term is still widely used today. The censorship wanted us to stop using this term because it was too pretentious and reeking of national initiative, but I kept telling them that this was just a provisional term for something that was still underway.

 

I was never regarded as a ‘traditionalist’ myself, which might have helped me to maintain good relations with foreign contacts. It wasn't by accident that I was invited to accompany Jean Paul Sartre during his visit in Lithuania. I was considered bohemian, unpredictable, defiant, etc. Because Šepetys had then just gotten back from his visit to France, where he visited many key cultural institutions, he realised that a guy like me was exactly that the French needed.

 

How do you see the contemporary field of photography?

 

I see one main problem in our field: people lack a unifying idea. Of course, this requires a lot of idealism because the laws of market are not applicable everywhere, which we need to understand from the very start. Victory is in the hands of the strong—not the strongest—because the former is better at adapting to the new conditions.

 

However I think that today, even if the young ones are shying away from the school of Lithuanian photography, it still remains in the blood of those who are yet to come to the field of photography, as they should.

 

 

Photo by Domas Rimeika