The 50th anniversary of the Lithuanian Photographers Association is a perfect occasion for us to talk with those who contributed to its establishment and development. This is our conversation with Vilius Jasinevičius, the founder of the Kaunas section, and a former head of the Kaunas Photography Club.

 

How did you end up being a photographer? After all, during the period of 1952–1955 you studied electrical engineering, meanwhile it was journalism that most of the photographers came from.

 

The passion for photography came from my family. My father was a veteran of independence wars of 1920–1921. He was a cavalryman, and, when he was working in the stables, he sustained an eye injury. The closest suitable medical centre was in Kaunas, which was where he had to move with the whole family. It was in Kaunas that I first saw his photos. I was amazed by these images emanating with the traditional aesthetic. Since then all I wanted was to make pictures and be better at it than my father was.

 

Furthermore, when I started working in the Institute of Industrial Engineering, my colleagues started organising their photography shows, and this was also where I began a more serious acquaintance with photography.

 

What was the beginning of the Kaunas Club of Photography?

 

During the early post-WWII years the daily Kauno tiesa had a photography section supervised by my boss. This formation did not last long, yet its alternative was needed. Kaunas Club of Photography was launched as a response to that.

 

Soon after the launch I learned that certain Mr. Pocarskas was appointed as the first chair of the club, although I have never seen him. Later we elected Rimgaudas Maleckas as a chair, however he barely attended any of our meetings which were always held every Wednesday night. Then we had Vitas Luckus as a chair. He was an ambitious man. I remember the stir he caused when he once brought his photo glued onto a wooden panel—this was something nobody has ever seen before! Luckus was perfect for this position. Unfortunately, in the autumn of 1963 he got conscripted. Because at that time I was already a deputy, many colleagues supported my candidacy.

 

I found my work experience useful for my new position: I had annual business trips to Moscow, Leningrad (curr. Saint Petersburg), and other countries of the USSR. I considered each trip as a chance to advertise Lithuanian photography.

 

Kaunas Club of Photography used to organise a lot of exhibitions, for which it was highly renowned. Could you tell us about your first exhibition?

 

Sure, I remember it pretty well! Inspired by the modernist prewar Lithuanian photographers, we decided to launch our first show.

 

There were many unhappy authors of whose propagandist works that did not make it to our 'show of tikes' as they called it. During the opening of the show they launched into critiquing the Club for its inefficiency. So it happened that we had some delegates from a Latvian photogrpahy club at the opening. After hearing out the rants of one frustrated speaker, a renowned Latvian photographer Gunārs Binde stood up and replied: "Perhaps a comrade would like to tell us how he understands the social realist art which he sees as lacking from this show?" Apparently, the accuser was not well versed in art, so he went silent and was never seen in our Club ever since.

 

From the very first days of our Club, we collaborated with foreign photographers and organisations. Not only did we introduce our work to them, but we also educating ourselves about what was happening in other countries, which was also a major source of inspiration for us.

 

After the opening, I was summoned to the Party Committee to explain myself about one photo of a nude featured in our first show. Because I was free to choose my companion, I brought Povilas Karpavičius who knew many foreign photographers and was even having letter exchanges with Jan Bulhak himself. So me and my renowned colleague enter a room with a long table at the far end of which we see a senior deputy. Karpavičius had a whole suitcase full of foreign photography catalogues that featured nude photography. So he immediately laid them all down on the table in front of the officials. Ponderous and bemused, the officials eventually allowed us to put the nude photography back on the wall.

 

Could you tell us more about your collaboration with foreign oranisations?

 

As I already mentioned, our goal was not only shows—we also sought close collaborations. We worked mostly with people from Moscow, Leningrad and other corners of USSR.

 

I was particularly surprised by the differences in how propagandist photography was understood across different countries. For example, when we received the works of the Moscow Photography Club, we realised that their goal was the same as ours: instead of propaganda, they sought to show the same things as we did. But we had experiences that were less pleasant. For instance, we once were setting up a show in Leningrad, and, out of series of 20 pictures, only one image got displayed. During the opening, one photography pundit from Moscow started demonstrating the rejected works as "examples of bad photography". When he pointed at one of my works and asked for the author's name, I introduced myself and asked whether we'll be allowed to take the 'disqualified' works back home. Apparently, these works did not rise up to the standards of soviet art: they were all too experimental.

 

How did you manage to get the premises for your Club?

 

I kept sending various requests to the authorities, explaining why our Club needs its own premises, but to no avail. In a way, the whole story about acquiring the premises is based on a chance meeting. When I was still working as an electrical engineer, I had to make do in a small room with only minimal conditions. So it happened that Žybartas Simanavičius, architect, worked in an attic nearby. We both worked long shifts, often until late, so we would meet for a chat, and eventually became acquainted. One time I casually asked him: "Since you're designing the corner building in the Rotušės Square, why won't you help us find premises for our club?" He liked my idea so much that he even designed a project for a gallery and an administrative building, even though we had no official approval for all that! This strange situation was resolved in 1971 when, after the debates and discussions, we established a Kaunas section of the Society. This gave us confidence of a serious organisation and we started sending requests to Kaunas city council, eventually convincing them to find us the premises we needed.

 

In 1978 you moved to Vilnius. What do you remember from your work there?

 

I worked as a deputy chair in Vilnius Society up until 1985. One of the first things I remember about it is that Antanas Sutkus took very good care of his team. This included caring for their health, wages, and living conditions, even during the time when he himself was in hospital. Sutkus had a lot of authority among photographers. I recall how Luckus would come to Sutkus' office and they would both smoke a pipe—a habit that Luckus had picked up from his boss.

 

I think it was not an accident that the Society was so successful and long-lasting. There was a lot of tolerance and good management. These are also the very same things I would like to wish the Association today.