This Monday, an exhibition of drawings by Uroš Tošković, a special painter, and according to art critics, one of the world's best cartoonists of the second half of the twentieth century, will be opened in the Gallery of the Cultural Center of Novi Sad. This May, in . The reason for both is the monograph dedicated to Uroš Tošković, authored by the collector Bojan Krljić, who devoted his passion to this painter of human destiny and master of the magic of drawing.
When today they ask what is the essence painting Uroš Tošković, art historians will say in chorus - his drawing, and especially his life. Few of them realize that his painting and his life are blinded, that they are some form of being and nothingness. He drew and painted the way he lived, so it's his umetnost his biography. He is a man who brought his life directly into art. It is a form of prophesying oneself. It was given to him that way - to prophesy and lift up what others bind and knit. His painting is an apocalypse, and the others are homemade. This is Tošković's greatness, truth and cry. His painterly thought is a sigh and exhalation of loneliness. His banner flies in the lonely desert.
Whenever I think of Uroš Tošković, I remember the poet Gerard de Nerval, who in one of his poems - El desdichado (Unhappy) - says: "I am inconsolable - lonely - without days, / prince of Aquitaine to whom the tower falls." / My star is dead – and anger at the stars / carries the black sun of immense misery”.
It happens that some association emerges from the vagueness that connects people, and it develops from it flowers of evil - like Nerval, Tošković is a "dark single". Both drag the same shadow, both radiate the same suffering. Suffering for what? In art, it doesn't matter for what. The two of them are from different times, but they collided in time on their paths, and when such a collision happens, then an unforgettable event occurs - chaos.
Uroš Tošković had several collisions in his life. His encounter with our painting of that time was a collision, fierce, devastating, with a lot of spiritual fire and fiery light. In that crash, everyone managed, picked up their scattered things and left, only Tošković watched the scene of that crash with nothing and no one. He simply did not know in which direction he was traveling. Therefore, from the beginning to the end of his journey, he was, in fact, the achasphere of painting then and now.
It took time to realize that from the beginning Tošković was speaking his painting language, unique in everything, which he spoke before the others - and we could call that language a protolanguage. It is most likely that the original man was born with anxiety and that he expressed it in a primitive language. Throughout time, anxiety has been most often expressed in art. Paradoxically, contemporary art has forgotten and rejected that language, so now we hear more mumbling than clarity, more noise than the wonderful hilarity of being. Because only in that language as people of this age can we understand and communicate.
In those days, Uroš Tošković did not depict the state of the society at that time, he did not participate in "renovation and construction", he did not look around and write down what he saw in a painterly way, but fell into himself. There he saw chaos and in the chaos he discovered all his hopelessness, pain, loneliness, restlessness, trembling, unconsciousness, trance, insanity, hatred, discord, anger, fear, disintegration of the human way, pain, depravity, madness, terrible dreams, human folly, spleen, black fog, black sun, arrivals before departures... Do we see today what he saw yesterday?
When I think of Uroš Tošković's painting, I find myself in darkness, in the misery of my thoughts. But not in the darkness of this night in which I am writing this, but in that darkness of painting between Giorgione's heavy twilight and Georges de la Tour's storm and lamp of solitude, between the lost world in the cobwebs of Miljenko Stančić and the chills of Dada Đurić. In the web of great catastrophe of this falsely beautiful and numb world of doom. His painting pulls me somewhere Down. That's why I don't admire his painting, but I fear that painting, because some kind of insatiable abyss trembles and shakes from his painterly thoughts. The abyss of myself.
Uroš Tošković - like Gérard de Nerval - "turned into a space brawler". He fought with the world, and no one noticed that he described these times in those times. No one will ever know and recognize themselves.
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