Marina Viculin on work of Igor Kuduz

I don't know what kind of conclusion others had about polariods, but I remember them as a type of hole. In way you wouldn't expect, polaroids don't record a visual situation, but rather scorched time. This may like a very literary term, even though this was not my intention. I only wanted to make a note, before I forget. And it's not easy for me to write down how I noticed what it is I don't see on polaroids, to write down the memory of what I saw that I didn't see, and to record the way in which I've seen it.

I'm troubled by the form of writing. Igor Kuduz was also caught by a medium. He was caught by the polaroid. You can't help it; if you want to create art, you have allow yourself to get caught. We know nothing about those who didn't let themselves get caught, not even that they didn't allow themselves to get caught.

Igor Kuduz's polariods aspire to be a type of recording without intent. It's simple: Show yourself to me! However it is impossible to return to innocence. When Igor chooses polaroid as his medium, he is well aware of his choice. While, on the one hand he really wants to step away from the visualization, on the other hand he chooses this medium not only because it's fast and direct, but above all, and precisely because of its „slightly scorched visuality“.

I'm interested in the meaning of scorched visuality, and what is the secret of its appeal. I would say that the limited, undefined nature of the polaroid is almost more erotic than Igor's models. What am I trying to say? We need to discover why the polaroid does not carry an actual piece of visual information, why its'a recording of a hole in time. The whole thing of course applies to these 6,2x9,9 polaroids for home use; those other, large, expensive ones, with their unique character, signify a completely different story.

The polaroids we're talking about are very sparse and limited, their visual note is completely basic, and it makes them a field of limitless associations. They reject the redundant, however they point to what is outside the frame, outside the frame in space-time! A well chosen medium!

The camera was almost always placed above the model. The model, or two of them, in interaction, are in some unexpected, more or less eroticized situations. And that's the structure. Something that should resemble an authentic story. And what is actually going on?

Igor wanted to peel off the layers, he wanted to get rid of the visual code, he wanted to bare the recording of events, or rather he wanted to bare the event of recording. It's them under the camera who expose everything. They don't require questions, or encouragements, each of them is wound in a unique way. When the brake is set loose, they spin about on their own.

Maybe it would be fair to start speaking form the first person, because it could happen to anyone of us. It could be us under the camera. We show everything – how we want to be seen, and how we see, and with how much force we can enter a confrontation. We reveal ourselves to the eye of the camera in the best, most precise, and completely luxurious manner when all options of disguise are generously offered. We place a mask on our eyes and completely take off our clothes.

I'm thinking about how my text seemingly shy from the issue; presented with provocative scenes where girls kneel chained to the floor of some sex shop, I'm talking about characteristics of polaroid as a medium. Am I afraid to cut into the matter directly? It's true, while I'm writing this I'm also exposed, as if I'm kneeling on the floor in front of the camera. And I say I'm not afraid of confrontation with the provocative object of representation, and that in all honesty, this limited world of the polaroid hole appeals to me as the one more exciting, and more erotic. This is probably not the whole truth, because here's where my limitation comes into play.  Neither I, nor Igor, can enter the story as completely innocent subjects.

Regardless of the desire to peel off layers, and penetrate deeper underneath the skin of the visible, his code is, whether visual or conceptual, inescapable and legible. My code is also legible. I can already hear the questions, which are tapping the roof like the first drops of rain: Do these images become art when they are exhibited in a gallery? Are they already art in the moment when an artist makes them, because infected by knowledge, he's still working with a concept. It's very neat, because these are the questions which we all gave up on, a long time ago. However, the code cannot be avoided, and the only thing we can do, is to crack it, and it seems that we can only crack it through artistic practice. That is why I fear, we have no choice; we must let ourselves get caught.