“Art and activism belong together“

Interview by Jess Smee

Ms. Mirga-Tas, in your textile artworks you often stitch garments from your family or friends. Why did you start doing this?

For me it’s not just about finding the right fabrics, it's about preserving history. Clothing carries the spirit, emotions, and memories of its wearers —  and that's what gives my work strength. These days, it’s not only people from my own community who give me clothes. For my exhibition at the Collezione Maramotti in Reggio Emilia, Italy, people from the local Sinti community gave me traditional garments. I spent a lot of time with these families, looked at their photographs, heard them recount their memories and learned how they view our collective history. In Gothenburg, members from a Swedish Roma community gave me clothing that was around a hundred years old. I felt honoured.

Why did you choose to express yourself through the medium of sewing textiles?

My techniques are inspired not only by Roma culture, but by women’s handicraft in general. As a child, my grandmother taught me how to sew. She made all her own clothes. Back then, it was common for women to sit together, sewing quilts, chatting about personal things, laughing or singing — this memory sustains me right up to the present day.

In your studio in Czarna Góra in southern Poland, you continue sewing together with other women.

I live with my family in the Bergitka Roma community. My aunt Stasia works with me, as do other women from Roma communities or from the neighborhood. It is a community activity.

The British Roma author Damian Le Bas described the people in your works as “half-present, in a kind of supervised rebirth.” Do you see it that way—that they live on through your works?

I like that definition very much. Using old fabrics and incorporating the stories of real people breathes life into the works, even if someone has passed away.

Since representing Poland at the Venice Biennale in 2022, you have exhibited internationally. How does it feel to suddenly be so visible?

For a long time, hardly anyone was interested in my art or in Roma culture. But today things have changed: My works can be seen in many sites, even the National Portrait Gallery in London. For me, it is symbolically significant that portraits of Roma can now be seen hanging alongside historical images from the British Empire: you can see the powerful and the marginalized sharing the same space.

Your works often contain references to European art history. Are you trying to adjust our understanding of history to include long over-looked Roma perpectives?

From the 15th to the 19th century, it was almost exclusively non-Roma artists who chronicled our community — and these drawings and paintings were mostly negatively connoted or stereotypical. We are shown sitting on carts or portrayed as “dirty”. We are often painted without clothing, especially the women. I try, in a way, to address artistic clichés about Roma. I work with historical images, for example by the Baroque artist Jacques Callot, to challenge these entrenched patterns of representation.

How did you adapt these works, for example in Re-enchanting the World at the Biennale?

At first, I wanted to give the depicted figures more dignity. I clothed them! It was also important to me to show that they were not “Egyptians,” as people thought at the time, but were actually Roma. They were not nomads — these were people forced to the move because they were persecuted. In 17th-century France, Roma people were enslaved and often killed without legal consequences. In the 20th century, an artistic trend emerged that idealized a kind of “Gypsy style.” It was a passing fascination, a fad rather than real understanding. Maybe not all Roma know about every detail of their history, but all have experienced racism and the stereotypes in their everyday life. We cannot simply turn away from these attitudes when we are tired of them. This is our life. It's related to our tragic past which must be remembered and told.

In your works you depict people doing everyday chores like hanging out laundry, chatting, or smoking a cigarette — why are you interested in these scenes?

I want to show that Roma communities lead very normal lives. Most of the time, people only pay attention to us when something negative happens. But behind seemingly banal scenes, moments from our everyday lives, there is often a great deal of pain. Take the painting of a smoking woman, most recently shown at the Brücke-Museum in Berlin, which is based on a photograph of a woman detained at a German camp in 1938. All those depicted in those photos were later deported to Auschwitz. My art connects the everyday and the tragic.

As you do this, where do you draw the line between art and activism?

For me, the two belong together. They are intertwined. I select important stories and undertake  a great deal of research. But when I create something, I approach it as an artist: I am thinking about composition, sketches and aesthetic considerations. For me, art and activism cannot be separated.

How does your local community react to your success nationally and internationally?

When my work was shown at the Venice Biennale, they celebrated with me, they donated clothing and photographs to inspire my future work. In many ways they were proud but there was also a sense of normality. To most people here, I am not a celebrity, I'm just someone simply getting on with her work.

Interview by Jess Smee