Sometimes, an incident appears so colorful that if we wrote it down, nobody would believe it. But the opposite can happen, too: fantasy starts to compete with reality. Jurga Tumasonytė once confessed that when interviewing visionaries for women’s magazines, they would be so boring that she’d have to invent new, more exciting characters herself. This
A Little Bit of Play, Art-House Style Read More »
translated by Rimas Uzgiris video by Jevgenij Tichonov organized by Saulius Vasiliauskas Copyright: Vilnius Review All rights reserved
Vaiva Grainytė – Chambers (BA thesis) Read More »
In the annotation of Jurgita Jasponytė’s second poetry book The Sharp Gates of Dawn, the book’s editor, poet Aidas Marčėnas noted that these poems are inseparable from the region where the poet was born and from the cultural memory embedded in the language of that region. The statement is meaningful yet complicated, because it implies that
Walking I love Vilnius, its paths, library the fingerprints pressed into bricks I love the ink on your hands I flow into your fissures and I scoop up the heights with that ink – this city’s relief allows it – I gabble nonsense while sense stays silent walking is my speech walking is my expression
Surreal moods I collected surrealistic moods while still living in Lithuania. And then, when I was looking at albums or sitting in Montmartre near the Salvador Dalí museum in Paris, more than once I tried to intrude into this artist`s mind. At that moment I did not know yet that layers of surrealism would greet
In Lithuania, Vaiva Grainytė is best known as one of the winners of the Golden Lion award at this year’s Venice Art Biennale (together with Lina Lapelytė and Rugilė Barzdžiukaitė). She studied theater at the Vilnius Academy of Music and Theatre and lived in Beijing during 2010–2011, where she wrote her first essay book Pekino dienoraščiai (“Beijing
What a vile duke is the sun Read More »
Chambers (BA Thesis) I cover my ears with the letter – a summons to appear before court in April. The envelope’s paper is thick, bearing a family resemblance to cardboard. I cover my ears as with a shield: I can hear the cheese and radishes fornicating in the fridge, where the sour cream screams out
When I read Daina Opolskaitė’s texts, I catch myself thinking of luxurious, diligently knitted lace, through which she observes simple people and their seemingly simple stories. Even though the author’s language is perfectly polished, this literariness does not overshadow the strong psychological charge in her work, involving the readers in the intimate and often painful
Daina Opolskaitė: “I Am Precise; I’ll Make the Time for Long Edits” Read More »
The beginning of the end Snowy winter in a cold church, we Clambered up scaffolding, Covered with a dirty cloth. You showed me unveiled frescoes – Few centuries old, Grayish green, Pale. Tuberculosis-like. I saw you loved them no less Than me. I saw your eyes sparkle When you were talking about them. And I
The Miraculous Man It’s perfectly simple. That’s just how it will be. When the moment is right, and we’re allowed to, I will marry Gvidas. Because the right moment eventually comes for everyone. On that day, I’ll wear a long white dress. My cousin Silvija, just back from London, will fasten the tiny silk buttons
