A. V. E. Wallenstein

Before I began exploring the subject of Wallenstein in my painting, I had to overcome my superficial knowledge of Czech history, my aversion to the concept of history as endless wars, my revulsion to glorification of great warriors. Even the Czech version of his name, Valdštejn, sounded rather German than Czech to my Byzantine ear. I read various texts, looked at pictures and interviewed my friends and acquaintances from Jičín region, Moravia and Prague as to their opinions of Wallenstein. Their answers were quick, as if they‘d been expecting the question, not even asking for details as to which Wallenstein I meant. Their answers were full of emotion: either aggressively negative, or enthusiastically positive, as if the politician in question was still alive and influencing our lives. They were united in that had it not been for Wallenstein, we would be living in a different Europe. It is also possible that the Europe of Wallenstein‘s visions is only being realized now. All of a sudden I felt that this Duke of Friedland is involving me in his life in much the same way as the heroes of Shakespeare‘s stories involve us in theirs. We don‘t judge them, nor defend them, but we live their stories with them.
During the one and a half year of this painting adventure I experienced a great drama with Wallenstein: his deep loneliness after the death of his parents, the dreamy world of a teenager, the unfailing faith in his lucky star, the power he achieved, which equalled the might of a king, the enormous building activity he launched in his dukedom. And he faced all this alone, from the age of twelve. He was granted only had fifty one years before his star burnt out. They say that his career started with a betrayal. It may have been sincere conviction, though. He then waged wars to provide his emperor with an extensive realm. And the gratitude of the emperor? He had him vilely murdered without a trial. Rid of a possibility of defence, 370 years after his death he still has to resist slander. Nor did his bones remain in the tomb he had got built in the heart of the Carthusian monastery in Valdice. A loner among loners. However, it was in vain that the dead warrior hoped for protection from the Carthusian servants of God, as they were equally helpless when opposing acts of soldiers and politicians.