It seemed like a secret—and in some ways, I guess, it was. Rolling over the Vltava River in his little car, Stepan Rusnak expertly maneuvers through the tight corners and cobblestones of the Lesser Town, squeezing the small black hatchback into a tiny parking space. We walked a block to the John Lennon Wall.
Sitting across from the French Embassy on a leafy corner bend in a back street, the Wall has been a magnet for both love and dissent since the 1960s. Initially, couples painted on poems, and in the 1980s, after Lennon was assassinated, an unknown artist painted his portrait here. As that decade progressed, the artwork and messages on the Wall became more political, calling for democratization and liberalization. “The KGB, they were always here, watching,” said Rusnak, his eyes tracing the opposite side of the street.
But while we paused for a couple photos, we weren’t here for John Lennon. Passing into a sunny courtyard behind the Wall, Rusnak led me to a doorway partially obscured by foliage. While hundreds of tourists pass by just steps away, few—or none—would know about the special place we were about to enter. Rusnak knocked loudly. A moment later, the door swung open.
Czech Shapers
We were in Prague, on a warm fall day, in search of makers. One of the most beautiful cities in Central Europe, it is also one of the most creative. Whether out of necessity, or inspiration from place itself, Czechia’s capital has long been a prime place to play, and build, and shape, and make.I’ve witnessed this on multiple visits. It is fitting that the country’s first post-communist president, the late Václav Havel, was a poet and a playwright. Still a national hero, his absurdist plays mocked the communist system, and by the late ‘60s were banned in the Czechoslovak Socialist Republic. Imprisoned several times for as long as four years at a stretch, he spearheaded dissident initiatives, including the influential Charter 77.
Charter 77 was prompted by the arrest of Plastic People of the Universe, a Czech rock band. The manifesto called for the government to honor human rights. Rock music was also a key subaltern voice in this era, with Plastic People the biggest band and underground concerts an opportunity for Czech people to express themselves freely. When communism fell, American rocker Frank Zappa was invited for an official state visit, and hundreds met him at the airport. The Rolling Stones even financed the lighting system for the Prague Castle.
Arriving at the Castle for my first visit in a long time, I passed a stoic guard in a colorful uniform. In another of Havel’s post-communist touches, he assigned the task of replacing the severe Soviet-era attire to Theodor Pištěk, an Oscar-winning costume designer. The new uniforms are still formal, but look like something out of a storybook.
Glass Makers
I checked into the Four Seasons Prague, itself a place for creatives, including a resourceful mixologist who dabbles in absinthe like the old alchemists, and a Michelin-starred chef. My room overlooking the river and castle had been outfitted with a record player. Next to it sat a limited edition record, the “Eternal Beauty of Vltava.” Spinning it, the classic song “Vltava” (“The Moldau”) was fresh, re-recorded by Czech pianist and composer Tomáš Kačo: The perfect soundtrack to peer outside that window and watch that river flow.It was still in my head when, with Rusnak, I approached that door almost hidden behind all the leaves, near the John Lennon Wall. Almost as an after-thought, he motioned to a massive, nearby tree. “It’s 280 years old,” he said. “Beethoven used to sit underneath it, and compose.”
After knocking, a door opened on a whole other world. A huge room, lined with impossibly hot ovens along one side. Part of a monastery, the space once served as stables. Later, the communist government installed a massive electrical generator inside.
Now, after spending many hours and significant amounts of money renovating the place, Martin Janecký blows glass here. He grew up in a town known for glassmaking, and is the son of a glassmaker. He’s lived around the world, teaching and learning the art and science of glass.
After walking me through his small gallery, we sat outside in another sunny courtyard. He said it feels right, to be back in his home country. “Glassmaking in Bohemia,” Janecky said, with a small smile, “goes back hundreds, even thousands of years.”
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