Radka Hrabovská worked at the Secondary Vocational School in Hlohovec and currently teaches at the Elementary Art School in Hlohovec, Department of Fine Arts. She has illustrated nearly twenty books, and her work Contours of Fear has also been published in book form. The international jury awarded her the Excellent Award for an outstanding artistic achievement and for her socially engaged approach to addressing pressing issues of the present. Contours of Fear is installed in the sacred zone on the side altar table of the chapel in Hlohovec Castle.
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Why did you transform Contours of Fear into a book?
I love books and often encouraged my students, even at secondary school, to create them. My diploma thesis was also about The Book as a Phenomenon of Humanity. In this case, I wanted the theme to serve as a chronicle of our memory — and one of the strongest symbols of human memory is the book.
I embroidered and stitched the book entirely by hand — the cover is made of handmade paper, into which I sewed an abstract embroidery. The inside is made of tobacco paper, where I depicted Ukrainian prisoners released from Russian captivity. They are the bodies of survivors.
Why this rather terrifying theme?
That question gives me chills here in the chapel, but I’ll answer. My grandfather once fought at the front — not for long, maybe half a year — but he partially lost his hearing there. And although he was a hunter, he could never kill an animal. His yard was full of creatures he brought from the forest — he cared for and nurtured them.
He didn’t speak much about the war, but shortly before he died, he confided in me about his German imprisonment and other horrors from the front. He said he didn’t even know why he was telling me this.
As a kind of memento?
Probably. Since I have four sons, war issues affect me personally. When the Russian aggressor invaded neighboring Ukraine, I couldn’t bear the thought of my boys being sent to the front. I remember at the beginning of the war, when we were painting the children’s room, my husband had to turn off the radio and news broadcasts. He literally forbade me to listen. I was paralyzed, tears were streaming down my face, everything hurt…
And then those horrific images from the war started appearing…
Yes — the massacre in Bucha, or the body of a Ukrainian journalist who didn’t survive torture. I cried while reading that uncensored article. Then I saw the photos of Ukrainian prisoners released by the Russians. It reminded me of Auschwitz.
I thought Europe’s war frenzy had ended with the Second World War. It’s unbelievable that it continues into the third millennium.
Did you feel you had to respond artistically?
Yes — to wash off the dirt from my soul. That’s also why I used tobacco paper, which resembles human skin. When I visualize these images, I get strong flashes before my eyes that I must realize, otherwise they would tear me apart. So I began embroidering into the paper.
Were you able to do it the way you imagined? Didn’t the paper tear?
I was surprised how smoothly it went. Tobacco paper looks fragile, but it’s very strong. It holds knots and threads well — only my fingers were pricked all over. In fact, the book is slightly bloodstained in places, but that still fits the theme…
Whenever I come to the chapel, I notice a different page is open — proof that visitors leaf through it.
It’s as if you’ve drawn invisible maps on the book’s surface — are those the “contours”?
I can’t read maps; to me they’re pictures. The only maps I understand are contour lines — from them I can read the slope of the terrain. And those contour lines symbolize the layering of fear.
In some places the contours dissolve, and there I’ve embroidered traces. On the first page, the embroidery is barely visible, but in that empty space I placed the silhouette of a human body. Only through touch can one perceive it — as contour lines.
Of course, the suffering of people doesn’t end with prisoner exchanges and returning home. After release, unbearable anxiety, panic attacks, and trauma set in — for them and for their families, on both warring sides.
You’re a painter, illustrator, and graphic artist, but your work also shows strong conceptual thinking. How does your creative process unfold?
When something touches me deeply, it takes effort to process it emotionally. When I saw the suffering of the prisoners, I knew I had to embroider it into paper.
My own scarred body has undergone many surgeries — my legs have been operated on multiple times — and those stitches are like scars that remain. Some scars are invisible, and that’s why I must leave a trace.
I’m essentially an introvert and absorb everything that comes to me. I want to understand why certain things happen — so I read a lot, study, and take in many conversations. When I finally reach the moment of creation, I notice that flash — and I must bring it to life with my own hands.
Contours of Fear is displayed in the castle chapel next to works by Włodzimierz Cygan, Elwira Sztetner, and Helga Cmelky. How does it feel to be among them?
I am deeply honored to be part of the triennial. I never imagined I would receive an award. I try to exist humbly alongside these great artists, whom I respect and whose work I’ve followed for a long time.
My congratulations to the entire triennial team — it’s a fantastic group of people with enormous hearts.
You are also presenting other works at the triennial, displayed elsewhere. What is their interpretation?
My other work installed in the “Black Kitchen” is The Fundamentals of Radiology, based on printmaking — a medium I’ve loved since studying under Prof. Karol Ondreička.
The piece works with the projection of X-rays, where the hardness of the images is transferred onto gauze using relief printing techniques directed toward the viewer — it mirrors, veils, and wraps. But what should be veiled and at the same time revealed? Its interpretation is that, through the use of hospital materials and X-ray frames, the images become deformed and narrowed — just as human perception is twisted and distorted by the pressure of media and social networks.
And then I also present within the group Three Ices (Tri ľady), together with my colleagues Ivana Krajčovičová and Zuzana Sedláková, with whom I’ve been collaborating for more than a year. We explore intimate feminine themes, and in the exhibition we worked with women’s underwear, using metal wires in our piece In the Loops of Reality.
PhDr. Ľudovít Petránsky
