These small-sized watercolours are my first impressions of my stay at the National Academy of Arts, Sofia. All of them were made in my studio during my erasmus program, and they picture the atmosphere and life in the atelier. Some of the paintings are more like a mesmeric, fictional image based on the place’s spirit.
The soil underfoot is enough for me - 29 May 2018
(Labor Gallery, Budapest)
'I like the spring much more, at this time we sow with the mama.'
‘My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death.’ (Psalms 22, 15.)
photos by Boglárka Zellei
Тhe exhibition is closely connected to the memory of my grandmother and her personal relation to religion. Besides my old works in different media, my most recent project was presented: a series of sculptures carved from potatoes.
Potatoes are tightly linked to agricultural work, especially in my home where our whole family took part in the process of growing. Eminently monotonous, this is a repetitive working procedure, a sort of meditation or a prayer.
In the life of the peasantry work and religion were always organic elements of life. On my grandmother’s shelf a lot of religious relics could be found: crucifixes, pictures of saints and figures of Virgin Mary. Copying these relics into potato sculptures I try to preserve memories of a life in which work and religion composed an inseparable unity.
I inherited a pigeon heart - 26 January 2017
(Telep Gallery, Budapest)
"I will not tear myself away." My hand is in his hand. I wander together with him To every beautiful place. He makes me the first of maidens, Nor does he grieve my heart.
She wears a signet ring and has a lotus in her hand. I kiss her before everyone that they all may see my love. She enraptures my heart, and when she sees me, I am refreshed.
The stables are ready for him while horses are waiting at the stations The chariot is already harnessed— no time to rest on the way. Only on reaching his sister’s house will he will be truly happy.
Come to me, let your beauty be seen, let father and mother be glad. Call all my people together in one place, let them shout out for you, brother.
I am to you like a bit of land, With each shrub of grateful fragrance. Lovely is the water-conduit in it, Which your hand has dug, While the north wind cooled us. A beautiful place to wander, Your hand in my hand
I wish I were her Nubian slave who guards her steps. Then I would be able to see the colour of all her limbs!