All summer, Prague people party at "Stalin," the open-air cultural center in Letná Park. The name comes from the world's largest monument to the Soviet dictator, which stood on the site until it was blown up in 1962. In 1991, Stroj času (Time Machine), an installation by Czech artist Vratislav Karel Novák, took its place. Locals call the 25-meter pendulum "the Metronome," and it's meant to symbolize the break with totalitarianism. A curious choice, when you consider that every swing also lends force to the swing back.
Stalin is in the same boat as many of Prague's cultural venues. In summer 2025 the center announced it would have to shut down its program entirely, only to be pulled back from the brink after public pressure—for now, at least.
Novák's pendulum turns out to be a fitting emblem after all. Since last December, the billionaire Andrej Babiš has led the Czech Republic for a second term at the head of a right-wing coalition, and cultural funding now swings with the same queasy rhythm. Venues are losing grants, winning them back after public outcry, then waiting for the next blow. Prague's art world is hedging its bets—looking abroad and to private backers to stay independent.
"There's a growing sense of uncertainty"
Hunt Kastner celebrated its 20th anniversary during the seventh edition of Prague Art Week. But even this gallery hasn't escaped the deteriorating climate. "There's a growing sense of uncertainty in the visual arts," says gallerist Katherine Kastner. "This trend was already emerging before the election. I've seen the shift most clearly in the work of younger artists who are coming of age in a time defined by instability, insecurity, and, to a large extent, fear of the future."
The National Gallery Prague is marking an anniversary, too. Historical exhibitions and new collection displays celebrate 230 years since the founding of the Společnost vlasteneckých přátel umění, the Society of Patriotic Friends of the Arts. Back then, it was a private initiative dedicated to bringing art to the public. Yet for all its longevity, the institution faces real challenges.
"If you look at the National Gallery's most successful exhibitions, they're shows by Czech artists," says Michal Novotny, who heads the collection of modern art and art after 1945. "The Giacometti retrospective in 2019—the first ever in the Czech Republic—drew barely 50,000 visitors. The exhibition of the Bohemian Baroque painter Petr Brandl, on the other hand, drew in 80,000 people in 2023."
Budget cuts and faith in culture?
Beyond dealing wth a conservative audience, funding the institution's seven sites remains a struggle. "The National Gallery's budget has been cut again and again since the pandemic. On top of that, before it left office, the last government told us to reduce our staff by 7%—which meant almost every department had to let someone go."
At the same time, the National Gallery shares responsibility for the Czech and Slovak Pavilion at the Venice Biennale. Under the title "The Silence of the Mole," the duo Selmeci Kocka Jusko and the artist Jakub Jansa are currently tackling how states turn culture into soft power. That two countries would jointly champion such a theme might signal faith in culture.
Given the political circumstances, though, it comes off as rather ironic. In 2024, Slovak culture minister Martina Šimkovičová fired both Alexandra Kusá, director of the Slovak National Gallery, and Matej Drlička of the Slovak National Theatre, while Jen Kratochvil, director of Kunsthalle Bratislava, resigned. In Prague, people fear similar meddling could follow in the Czech Republic. At least legal hurdles make populist attacks on collections harder, Novotny says. "The legislation severely restricts deaccessioning in order to protect state collections and their heritage from arbitrary decisions."
"You look for gaps"
"Historically, Czech artists have always sought out connections abroad," says Larissa Friedrich, a doctoral candidate in European cultural history at Charles University. "From the 19th to the late 20th century, Prague, Vienna, Budapest, Warsaw, Berlin, and Paris were tightly linked across borders. Those networks still matter today, since international collaborations and the E.U. help make up for missing state funding for Czech artists."
At the same time, she sees the art scene adapting to the political situation: "You look for gaps so you can keep carving out space despite the pressure. And private funding is precisely what makes that possible."
The rightward shift works a lot like climate change: it creeps in, and every anomaly that bucks the trend gets read as an all-clear. While art felt open-minded in Venice, the pendulum in Prague is swinging toward Moscow, where the Czech Center is reopening for the first time since Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine.
Artistic and political realities
In Prague, Tanya Lukin Linklater and Duane Linklater explore the lived realities of First Nations in North America and the role of Bohemian glass beads as colonial currency in "Crested/mâcistan" at the Rudolfinum. Meanwhile, after 25 years, the gallery Fotograf Zone, which also runs a festival and publishes a magazine, is having its funding cut off.
As part of Prague Art Week, the galleries Berlinskej Model and Karpuchina Gallery each present exhibitions that question normative body images. At the same time, the queer art space Světová 1, also on the program, had to fight to keep its funding after the Ministry of Culture turned it down without explanation, even though a jury had recommended it.
As with Stalin, it took public mobilization to secure the money again. Whether the uncertainty settles under a new government remains to be seen.