Mentored by Ján Kralovič
Entering a temple may be an act of recognition, initiation, or simply an aesthetic experience. The same applies to entering a gallery. In the case of the exhibition Ora et Labora at the Regional Gallery in Prešov, these two experiences intertwine. We find ourselves in the exhibition space – white walls, light, dispersed objects, installations. At first sight it appears to be an ordinary gallery setting, yet its perception is disrupted by the deliberate blending of the sacred and the secular – spatial arrangements evoking a temple, sacred symbolism, the visual language of religion question the clear boundary between a gallery and a sacred site. Is it a gallery? A temple? Or merely a simulation of one?
The exhibition Ora et Labora, curated by Adam Macko, consciously engages with this dynamic. It seeks to bridge the divide between art and spirituality, between a gallery and a temple, between the secularised world and the need for transcendence. The curatorial text states that the gallery becomes a temple – but is this an authentic transformation, or merely an imitation? This tension persists throughout the whole exhibition. Some works reinforce it through their visuality, while others undermine it with a critical stance towards religious tradition.
The ambitious curatorial intention is evident already in the title. The Benedictine motto Ora et Labora – “pray and work” – becomes a handbook for reflecting on the exhibition’s message. Yet this is not solely a historical reference, but an updated principle that resonates in the contemporary world. How can the spiritual dimension of creation be linked to its physical aspect – labour? Macko opens a dialogue between the sacred and the profane through works that address religious symbols, questions of spirituality, and the act of work itself as a creative process. It is precisely this re-actualisation of the historical motto that provides the exhibition with a wider context – not merely nostalgia for the loss of the sacred dimension, but a search for its place in today’s society.
At first glance, it is clear that the exhibition does not form a homogeneous whole. Contemporary artists’ works enter into dialogue with pieces from the gallery’s permanent collection, yet the confrontation does not always function coherently. While some juxtapositions are stimulating – for instance, Martina Chudá’s installation with the historical painting of the stoning of St. Stephen – others are lost in a disparate mixture that lacks a solid curatorial foundation. Some works directly reference Christian iconography, while others engage with it only at the level of abstract symbolism. Dezider Milly’s Potato Harvest in Šariš directly paraphrases Herbert’s Laborare est Orare (1862), in which physical labour is depicted as a spiritual act. In contrast, Matúš Lányi’s video art transposes Notre-Dame onto Spiš Castle, thus quite literally materialising the idea of transferring a sacred space into the secular realm.
The Dialogue of Light and Darkness
The exhibition’s concept is most strongly expressed in the architectural division of the space, enhancing the impression of ritual initiation. Macko divides the gallery into two parts – Capella Lumis and Capella Obscura; the Chapel of Light and the Chapel of Darkness. This dichotomy refers, on one hand, to the mystical division of reality, yet at times appears more a formal gesture than a deeper intention. This is evident in the ambiguous visual separation of the exhibition areas – the Chapel of Darkness is manifested only in Martina Chudá’s work placed in a darkened room. The rest of the exhibition is illuminated, leaving visitors unsure where the differentiation begins or ends.
A powerful moment of the exhibition lies in Richard Marco’s works. In his series The Midas Stigmata, the artist explores wounds and sacrifice, which at first glance evoke Christ’s stigmata. Yet Marco develops the motif further – coins placed on the wounds symbolise the stigmata of regimes – the cyclical repetition of historical mistakes, the failure to learn from the past. With mythological resonance, referencing sacred motifs, the artist interweaves the symbolism of greed (King Midas as a metaphor of consumerism)[1] with the cyclical nature of history, in which past errors never disappear, they only re-emerge in new guise.
The artwork of Miroslav Žolobanič is represented by a larger body of works. His approach brings together minimalism, geometric precision, and organic forms. In Homo desiderans (man yearning for meaning), Žolobanič does not present his works solely as “sacred objects,” but reveals the process of spiritual searching and fulfillment. Is spirituality the true meaning, or is it labour? Can spirituality be grasped through minimalism, or is it inseparably bound to traditional iconography? The answer to these questions are the author’s forms of contemporary spirituality, though their interpretation is not always apparent at a surface reading. Žolobanič’s practice recalls the tradition of Russian Suprematism, particularly the spiritual dimension of Kazimir Malevich, who regarded abstract forms and pure geometry as a medium of spiritual expression, independent of traditional religious imagery.[2] Similarly, Žolobanič rejects straightforward sacred aesthetics, working instead with visual abstraction. His works thus avoid definitive answers, offering space to seek spirituality within a contemporary visual language.
Martina Chudá’s installation Nulla Culpa invites viewers into an intimate act of confession, closely imitating the (for many) humiliating confessionals of Catholic churches. The kneeling viewer, however, faces not a priest but their own image “from below,” projected onto the wall ahead, captured by a camera hidden in the kneeler’s pedestal. This voyeuristic perspective on the penitent suggests that true contrition may not stem solely from individual guilt, but may also be imposed by social structures shaping the mechanisms of penance. The accompanying painting of the stoning of St Stephen from the gallery’s collection serves as a hyperbolic reference to punishments that should fall upon true sinners. The “old and contemporary” dialogue in Chudá’s installation thus transcends personal reflection, provoking thought on the power structures that shape our moral compass.
The visual works of Monika Stacho fall within the exhibition’s thematic framework, yet within the web of the curatorial concept they appear too literal and isolated. Her photographs of sacred spaces do relate visually and thematically to the exhibition, however in the context of other works they appear as a foreign element, lacking sufficient anchoring. The upward gaze from a kneeling perspective, probably meant to evoke consecration or reverence, loses its intended force due to the sterile installation – displayed on white fabric, they resemble unfinished decorative elements rather than integral parts of the exhibition. Absent is the contextual depth needed to move beyond documentation of sacred space into its interpretation.
The final sequence – Capella Lumis – proves more convincing. Here the curatorial concept comes into full force. The exhibition space is arranged like a church nave, with Peter Župník’s photographs recalling the composition of four pairs of side altars leading the viewer toward the “high altar.” This is where the (arte)fact ceases to be mere decoration and acquires ritual power, recalling Hans Belting’s theory of the image “before the era of art.”[3] The photographer’s sensitive vision reveals details hidden from the human eye for centuries – imperceptible corners of the sculptures from the workshop of Master Paul of Levoča. This becomes the materialisation of Ora et Labora par excellence: prayer reflected in work (of both sculptor and photographer), and work in turn reflecting the sacred.
Spirituality as a Process
Ora et Labora represents an effort to link artistic practice and spirituality. The artists create a new version of sacred iconography in an era when traditional spirituality is losing its firm grounding and increasingly risks becoming a mere formal-aesthetic strategy. At a time when the crisis of faith leads to the gradual emptying of churches, which serve more as aestheticised historical backdrops than sites of spiritual experience. A gallery can become a temple – but it can also remain only its empty illusion. The exhibition thus asks: is spirituality in art merely an aesthetic gesture, or a genuine existential act?
Labour itself is presented on two levels – as a creative process that can simultaneously be a spiritual gesture, and as the exhibition itself, which is the result of a kind of work. Marco, Žolobanič or Župník both approach spirituality as a process (the journey is the goal). Their work does not only employ symbols but attempts to decode and re-contextualise them in the present. Other works rely on visual evocation of the sacred without deeper dialogue (Stacho). The exhibition thus oscillates between two poles – between the sacred space as authentic experience and as a gallery construct. It remains up to the viewer whether to embrace this fiction as ritual and become an active participant in a hierotopy,[4] or to accept it only as an aesthetic staging and remain a passive observer.
If the Benedictine Ora et Labora once united prayer and work as inseparable aspects of spiritual life, today this relationship appears fractured. The exhibition touches upon the problem of alienation – whereas in the past labour was closely tied to identity and spiritual transcendence, today it is often reduced to mechanical activity devoid of deeper meaning. In this light, Ora et Labora can be read as a critical reflection of the present, where work remains a necessity, but its spiritual dimension is increasingly lost. The exhibition suggests that artistic practice may represent one possible means of spiritual renewal – becoming a tool that redefines the relationship between physical creation and transcendent experience.
Through diverse visual strategies, the exhibition crosses the boundaries of traditional perceptions of the temple and sacred space, while cultivating a dialogue between past and present. This confrontation emerges as a considered curatorial gesture that questions the place of spirituality in an increasingly secularised world. The exhibition balances innovation and respect for tradition, addressing not only the aesthetic but also the conceptual dimensions of the sacred in art.
Translated by Kamila Talarovič
Martina Mrázová completed her doctoral studies in 2025 in the field of art history at the Faculty of Philosophy of Trnava University in Trnava and at the Art Research Centre of the Slovak Academy of Sciences. Her research focuses on visual representations of God in medieval art and visual culture. She holds a master’s degree in art history from the University of York and a bachelor’s degree in art history and visual culture with Spanish from the University of Exeter in the United Kingdom. She has completed research stays at Masaryk University in Brno and the University of Vienna.
Ján Kralovič completed studies in art history at the Faculty of Philosophy of Trnava University. From 2012 to 2016 he undertook scholarly research in the Division of Visual and Cultural Studies of Research Centre at the Academy of Fine Arts and Design in Bratislava. He currently lectures at the Department of History and Theory of Art at the Academy of Fine Arts. In his latest research, he focuses on the medium of the book. In 2014 he published Teritórium ulica: Umenie akcie v mestskom priestore v rokoch 1965 – 1989 na Slovensku (Territory of the Street: Action Art in Urban Space from 1965 to 1989 in Slovakia) and at the beginning of 2017 monograph on exhibitions in homes and activities in the “normalizations” period, titled Majstrovstvá za dverami (Championship behind Doors: Bratislava Championships in the Shift of Artefact /1979-1986/ in the context of home exhibitions 1970s and 1980s).In 2024, a comprehensive monograph edited jointly with Daniel Grú) on contemporary curatorial and exhibition strategies was published.
[1] The story of King Midas comes from ancient Greek mythology and is described by Ovid in the Metamorphoses. Midas, the Phrygian king, asked the god Dionysus for the gift that everything he touched would turn into gold. At first, he rejoiced in his wealth, but soon realized the horror of his wish. The myth of Midas thus became a symbol and a warning against greed and meaningless consumerist desire leading to self-destruction.
[2] In his collection of texts On the Non-Objective World (Bratislava: Tatran, 1968, trans. Nadežda Čepanová), Malevich develops the idea of art as a path toward transcending the limits of material reality. In the context of Suprematism, he emphasizes that the essence of art does not lie in representing reality, but in its ability to evoke pure emotions. He sees new abstract forms as means enabling a deeper and more spiritual experience of one’s relationship to the world.
[3] Hans Belting studied images “before the era of art history,” when images were understood primarily as functional objects of religious cult, and not merely as aesthetic artifacts.
[4] Hierotopy is the creation of sacred space, in which, through the interplay of art, architecture, rituals, and other elements, a spiritual or supernatural dimension is made present.
