From now it is recommended to wander in the world with open eyes. On one hand it is possible to fall badly on your face, on the other hand it is possible to discover wonderful things.
Let us now only take the second case. One wanders in the world and let us say that he gets thirsty, drifting just because the road carries him that way, into the ex-Puskin Mozi cloakroom, which has become a café, now a popular meeting place for young Budapesters. And while he looks for a seat for himself, he discovers the women on the wall. He then catches himself not being able to take his eyes off the women. First he only cranes his neck, then he is forced to stand up and wanders throughout the café, bending over tables, avoiding columns, through the passageway determined to discover whose brush should be praised for these sad, grotesque, long-armed, tired women there in the pictures.
Bullet Shih, who he is exactly, in this case I am forced to leave you in the dark, as I have not heard his name before. Zembery Péter's nice words mention Klimt and Schiele, and they could also add Modigliani, but not a word about the painter is mentioned. In vain I traversed the internet for mention of his name, and in vain I left a message for Selmeczi Beá, the exhibition organizer (and what a task it was to uncover her name as well), and at my magazine's closing date she still had not returned my call.
So this week information is unavailable, but still let me recommend these pictures with all my heart. They tell us something about a special, strange, far away, but still familiar world.
By András Jolsvai. Translated, from the Hungarian, by Katalin Budai.
Why is it that Hungary must continuously serve as the cesspool for all American exported waste. In the same vein as the vacuous shopping malls and tasteless quick food restaurants, comes another cheap export that along with all the other lymphless blood will eventually poison the heart. The other day after entering the Puskin Café for a cup of coffee, I could not get the acrid taste out of my mouth as I was assaulted by pathetic, grotesque, ham-fisted portrayals pretending to be art.
Alas, what happened to the bygone era of Zembery Péter when this city used to inspire Klimt, Schiele, and Modigliani. No, as a fallen empire we are forced to gag on the sick joke that is Bullet Shih. Though we can not stand here with our eyes closed and pretend that we are merely victims, it was a Hungarian, Semelczi Beá who must shoulder the blame, as she is responsible for such an atrocity. Most likely she found such a feckless artist in an internet chat room. It is unfortunate that we as geese must be force feed such tasteless slop while the budding talents in this country remain unnourished.
By András Jolsvai. Translated, from the Hungarian, by Ellen Golyó.