Drawing in Freedom: Ileana Pintilie interviews Dan Perjovschi

This interview was prompted by Dan Perjovschi’s first retrospective, which took place, fittingly, in Timișoara, Romania, September 3–October 26, 2025. Fittingly, because it was this city and the Zona, Eastern Europe festival (1993–2002) that defined an important chapter of his story. With a keen interest in the regional context and the historical and artistic qualities that bound us together across Central and Eastern Europe, I launched this performance art festival in 1993 in Timișoara, the city that marked the beginning of our liberation from dictatorship. I chose performance art because there was an urgency to express and because artists’ bodies had become the most fitting medium through which to respond directly to the communicative needs of a society in the process of rebuilding itself. My expectations were truly met: through this regional collaboration, our shared characteristics came to light, themes of common concern were developed, and questions that troubled us all found a space for exploration. At the same time, the festival created an international context that enabled artists to move freely and make their voices heard, building bridges in every direction.

Installation view of Dan Perjovschi. Romania: A Retrospective 1985–2025. Photo by Vlad Carpencu; courtesy Contrasens.

Perjovschi was involved from the very first edition of Zona, for which he created a conceptual performance entitled Romania. In the context of those times—one of isolation from societies considered free—the artist, like so many of his fellow citizens, felt a deep frustration at being confined within borders, as if trapped inside a former prison camp. For this emblematic performance, the artist had the name of his country tattooed onto his arm, a stark “anti-action,” lasting in its effects, as well as a brand of conscription and an act of revolt against the post-communist regime of the day and against an entire obsolete political system.

His recent retrospective at the Corneliu Miklosi Museum (housed, remarkably, in a former tram depot converted into an exhibition space of impressive scale) was also titled Romania, as a tribute to the artist’s action, which Perjovschi regards as foundational to his entire artistic career. This wide-ranging exhibition presented his work across several decades: beginning with the 1980s under communism; moving through the 1990s, a time of interminable transition; arriving at a moment of freedom, in expression, in movement, and in both national and international recognition.

Detail of wall drawing in Dan Perjovschi. Romania: A Retrospective 1985–2025. Photo by Vlad Carpencu; courtesy Contrasens.

The Tram Museum space was organized around two central axes: a longitudinal wall spanning the full length of the hall, where Perjovschi was able to draw and in the most authentic performance mode; and a long support structure, nearly the same length as the wall. On the latter, lay the precious archive of Revista 22, a publication published by the artist continuously from December 1989 to today, which contains critical texts on Romanian politics and society alongside his drawings. On view in adjacent, smaller spaces better suited to more traditional kinds of museum display, were various thematic clusters organized around different aspects of the artist’s work. What caught my attention was a personal timeline of performances created throughout his career, beginning with photographs and documents relating to his participation in collective actions alongside fellow artists of his generation, including members of the Atelier 35 group in Oradea.

Equally compelling were some of his earliest solo initiatives, several marked by striking originality. I will mention only one: the installation Red Apples for Lia (1988), dedicated to his wife and artist, Lia Perjovschi. While waiting for her to return from a trip, Perjovschi wrapped their entire apartment in large sheets of white paper, covering the furniture and windows. The outside world was deliberately shut out even the television screen that might have broadcast messages from beyond. Over the paper, he drew Lia, or scenes of the two of them together, further expressing his feelings through texts written in tandem with the drawings.

A series of photographs bear witness to the wrapped apartment, suspended in a state of waiting in the absence of its inhabitants. This installation was significant in revealing Perjovschi’s way of working: he began with drawings, first in sketchbooks, then expanded onto paper used as a surface to cover an entire space, and later onto any support at all (walls, glass). This manner of drawing, which involves the artist’s whole body and unfolds before an audience, can itself be considered an authentic performance. From this practice, too, comes the ephemeral quality of his drawings, destined to be erased, as the artist has always expressly wished.

Ileana Pintilie: I would like to discuss your recent retrospective in Timișoara. First, the title of the exhibition, Romania, handwritten on the entry door of the exhibition space, seems obsessive to me. How do you explain it?

Dan Perjovschi: The title of exhibition comes from my performance in 1993 at the first edition of the Zone festival. Timișoara then, Timișoara now. Things are connected. The repetition on the door of the tram depot has two explanations: one is conceptual, the other one is practical.

Let’s start with the practical explanation: because the banners were vertical, there would have been a huge gap between the title and everything else so I repeated the title, Romania, to fill a blank space. Also, the banners had white letters on a black background to match the black wall in the depot. The empty space would have given a funerary impression. Now the conceptual explanation: as anyone could notice in the section of the exhibition dedicated to Revista 22, I have been drawing about Romania every week for thirty-five years. While adding international activities to my CV, I was still concerned with Romania. Yes, you can call it an obsessive gesture.

IP: The retrospective took place in a former tram depot converted into an exhibition venue and hard to manage. You had the inspired idea to create a platform for your drawing—a long wall painted in black. How did you structure the themes and the progression of the drawings with a white marker on the huge wall? 

Installation view of Performance Art gallery. Detail of wall drawing in Dan Perjovschi. Romania: A Retrospective 1985–2025. Photo by Vlad Carpencu; courtesy Contrasens.

DP: Drawing, like performance, continues throughout the exhibition and is a central element of the retrospective – a horizontal backbone running parallel to the segment about Revista 22. The history of the world (mine) and the history of Romania are placed face to face. I needed a very visible element to support the gigantic space of the depot. The black (and empty) wall had this function. Besides, from a practical point of view, on a black wall you make two drawings in white and everything looks full; on a white wall, you have to make twenty …

I am probably one of the few artists who (through drawing) can physically redraw their career. I relied on that and on the fact that I could do it alone, regardless of the funding or logistics of the project. Look, if something had gone wrong, I would have made the retrospective only from the drawn wall and brought in the “Tram of Freedom” and parked it on one of the rails. I always have a practical side to everything I do. I manage to cope with the situation regardless of the conditions; I adapt to the terrain and the context.

The wall is divided by metal structures into nine sections, so I calculated that each section would cover approximately three to four years of my work. I started with 1985–1989, the lesser-known part of my creation from the time of the dictatorship, and continued in four-year intervals, marking my success in the 1990s, the international career that began before the 2000s – the drawing titled I am not exotic I am exhausted marks the beginning of using the English language alongside drawings – up to the present day, with the drawing It won’t be easy, it will be Nicușor. I made a strict selection (I produce hundreds of drawings each year) from Revista 22, international exhibitions, and social media. Some of my drawings are more well known and have become a sort of brand. I repeated those as well, just as musical bands include the hits of their youth in today’s concerts.

Detail of wall drawing in Dan Perjovschi. Romania: A Retrospective 1985–2025. Photo by Vlad Carpencu; courtesy Contrasens.

IP: In an interview we did about ten or fifteen years ago for ARTMargins Online, you told me you were “drawing for freedom” (this was also the title of the interview). What are you drawing for now?

DP: The freedom is still there. But I’d say I no longer draw for freedom, rather, in freedom. I value each and every moment when I am (still) free. Otherwise, look at the world we are living in. When I draw now, I have an agenda. I took the role of artist-citizen seriously and this is what I do. I am a drawing provider for a variety of causes—protests, civil engagement actions, charities, community projects. I am very happy I can do this.

IP: Today, we are witnessing our ideas, the things around us, nature, even our planet not being the same as a decade ago. What has happened to us globally, but also at a national level? What is different than before?

DP: We have accelerated. Everything is in fast-forward mode. So our mind is lagging behind. Some people have lost their senses because of money. Meanwhile, the awareness of the evil of our lifestyles has become global. We keep learning about one tragedy after another in real time and this makes us feel that everything is lost! We are much less exposed to resilience and the solutions to prevent the situation from going downhill.

I was involved in several big community projects in Romania, including Roșia Montană, Eminescu’s Linden Trees in Iași, and Văcărești Park in Bucharest where the civil society won against both political and economic pressures, so the authorities had to withdraw. I am optimistic in the long run. Yes, it is true that, on one hand, there are many people who don’t care about anything at all, but on the other, I have seen people closing the ranks to support smaller- and bigger-scaled projects for a better planet, for a better society. There’s the European Green Deal and there’s also “drill, baby, drill.” This is who we are. It’s up to each of us to pick a side.

IP: Given this continuous outer pressure and the increased risk of global threats, what is left for an artist to do? What are your survival strategies in this artistic field, where all these crises are more acutely felt because of the fragility of our human condition? 

DP: I have a series of drawings around the statement “I can’t defend my country with my drawings.” “I cannot bring peace with my drawings,” but what I can do—and, believe me, I do it all the time—is to make myself heard as an artist-citizen. I draw in order to understand and to bring together, not to destroy or divide. I am critical, but I also have empathy. This is an artist’s mission: to offer empathy. I criticize, I satirize, I make people laugh or frown, but I am not malicious. I want a more intelligent, more profound, more open world.

I have always been a man who believes in an open society, where every person can find their right place. This is what I promote in my projects. Ethically, rather than aesthetically. I’m not interested in the superficial beauty of the world, I am interested in its deeper vision. I learned to adapt to the context and to control it. My drawings have permeated, book covers and protest banners, my graffiti walls and museum façades, my prints T-shirts, my posts Instagram. I am a fluid matter that can infiltrate and occupy new spaces. This is what I do. I liberate spaces and territories so my art can surface and exist.

Installation view of publication gallery in Dan Perjovschi. Romania: A Retrospective 1985–2025. Photo by Vlad Carpencu; courtesy Contrasens.

IP: Since you talked about the general context in which we find ourselves, do you think humor can help? Is humor still a weapon to fight anxiety and to provide the viewer with a more detached outlook?

DP: Yes and no. Let’s not forget what happened with Charlie Hebdo.(In 2015, 12 journalists were killed at this French satirical magazine for creating controversial caricatures of the prophet Muhammad.) It depends on the type of humor, and when and why it is used. I stopped using mere humor alone several years ago. My drawn installations are textures that combine an activist slogan, a philosophical statement, and an ironic and critical drawing. Humor alone can no longer make a difference. When you mock others, you end up mocking yourself.

Once, when I was in Sydney, in 2008, I was drawing on the façade of the Art Gallery of New South Wales and a lady said to me, “Finally, some intelligent graffiti!” I liked this idea. So now I am making intelligent drawings, or rather, drawing-texts. I want an intelligent public and, therefore, an intelligent society. We must find solutions and stop the destruction of society as well as nature. After so much evolution, we can’t be so stupid and ignorant.

IP: How do you connect with the audience ? What would you say about your artistic practice then and now ?

DP: I have always taken into account conversations with the public, since drawing and performance were doubled by my live interaction with the viewers. Early on, I drew for two months every day. In the meantime, however, some actions have gained more prominence, for example, my 1989 installation The Big Portrait from Sibiu. At the time, the public could throw darts to a central red portrait of a dictator. The installation was deliberately confusing, with many drawings, some of which were hanging, some collated. But the action was clear, so people threw the darts.

Red Apples for Lia from 1988, where I wrapped my flat in white paper and drew all over it, was my first environment, and is  now considered a foundational work within my career. And as I mentioned before, Romania remains my most important and courageous action, which I continued ten years later with the laser erasure of the tattoo.

All my actions and performances have a radical air about them, an impression of courage in black and white. I was young then, bursting with creativity and expressivity; I was intoxicated with freedom. My current artistic practice, while now perhaps considered mainstream, has remained somehow alternative and, especially, performative. I draw on walls. With or without a public, this is still a performance, which becomes more memorable when, at the end, the wall or the space is erased and repainted. (You may have seen that I displayed a screen with recordings of these erasures in my Timișoara retrospective.) I no longer make performance art as such or, in any case, not according to the classical definition of the term. I think it can also be considered a performance that Lia and I never set foot in the National Museum of Contemporary Art at the Parliament Palace in Bucharest, since it opened in 2004 without consulting the artistic community. Similarly, under the umbrella of performances I include all my artist talks, workshops, and discussions with the public. To me, these are all performative acts.

Ileana Pintilie

Ileana Pintilie is an art critic and historian, a professor and doctoral supervisor at West University of Timişoara, Faculty of Arts, an independent curator, and former member of ARTMargins Online’s advisory board (2000 -2010). Her main research area is Eastern European performance and action art, mainly during the Eastern Bloc’s communist regimes. She has curated several editions of Zona, Eastern Europe Performance Festival (1993-2002), as well as exhibitions on the Romanian neo-avant-garde of the 1970s. She is the author of Ştefan Bertalan. Crossroads (Triade Foundation, Timişoara, 2011), Ștefan Bertalan. Visual Structures, 1960-2000 (K-West Verlag, Essen, 2020), and Constantin Flondor. Wege zur Form (K-West Verlag, Essen, 2022).

Dan Perjovschi

Dan Perjovschi is an artist, writer, and cartoonist who lives and works in Bucharest and Sibiu, Romania. He is recognized internationally for his politically inspired drawings, performances, and site-specific installations. His work has been shown in numerous solo exhibitions at the Museum of Modern Art (New York); the Art Institute of Chicago (Chicago); the Hamburger Kunsthalle (Hamburg); the MOT Museum of Contemporary Art (Tokyo); the Museum of Contemporary Art Kiasma (Helsinki); the 48th and 52nd Venice Biennale (Venice); the 9th Istanbul Biennale; Hamburger Bahnhof (Berlin) and Manifesta 2 (Luxembourg). His most recent retrospective took place at the Corneliu Miklosi Museum, Timisoara, September 3 -October 26, 2025. He is represented by Jane Lombard New York and Michel Rein Paris/Brussels.