Centres of Gravity | Péter Menasági: Melancholy

Péter Me­na­sá­gi: Me­lanc­holy

Me­lanc­ho­lia, which de­no­tes the state of des­pon­dency and de­pr­es­si­on, is one of the four tem­pe­ra­ments, known since Hip­poc­ra­tes. Pre­vi­o­usly cons­idered the most dang­erous and ad­ver­se mood, re­sult­ing from the ex­cess of black bile, me­lanc­ho­lia was re­in­terp­re­ted by the Neo­pla­to­nists fol­lo­wing Aris­tot­le, who descri­bed phi­lo­sop­hers, poets and ar­tists as me­lanc­ho­lic, and they emp­ha­si­sed its po­sit­ive as­pects. They cons­idered me­lanc­ho­lia a dang­erous but pri­vi­le­ged gift of ar­tists.

Al­brecht Dürer’s comp­lex se­ri­es of cop­per­pla­te eng­ra­v­ings, Me­lenc­olia, also cap­tu­res this state, which is int­ros­pec­tive yet opens up a uni­que pers­pec­tive. The al­che­mi­cal-phi­lo­sophi­cal know­ledge the ma­s­ter’s works con­vey exp­lo­res this state in grea­ter depth and ins­pi­res us to furt­her con­temp­la­ti­on. This me­lanc­ho­lic state of being is the­re­fo­re ne­ces­sary for ar­tists and thin­kers to pro­du­ce works de­ri­ved from an­ci­ent, trans­cen­dent know­ledge. Péter Me­na­sá­gi’s art has al­ways been cha­rac­te­ri­sed by a si­mil­ar, sub­li­mely me­lanc­ho­lic but often ext­remely dif­fi­cult state, ref­lec­ting the po­pu­lar and oft-qu­o­ted rhyme that the poet At­ti­la Jó­zsef chose as the motto for his vo­lumes: “He who wants to be a piper, to hell he must go / It is only there he can learn, the bag­pi­pe how to blow.” This ar­cha­ic folk verse con­ta­ins everyth­ing that sha­mans or ar­tists need to ex­pe­ri­en­ce to ful­fil their cal­ling. The art of Me­na­sá­gi, ins­pi­red by his per­so­nal ex­pe­ri­en­ces, add­res­ses exis­ten­ti­al is­sues as deeply as a des­cent into hell, the imp­rint of which is dis­cer­nib­le in all his dens­ely tex­tu­red works.

While the sculp­tor ini­ti­ally crea­ted non-fi­gu­ra­tive, geo­met­ri­cal, me­di­ta­tive works with a re­du­ced lan­gu­age of form and rich in sac­red sym­bols, he disp­lays fi­gu­ra­tive works at this Mű­csar­nok ex­hi­bit­ion. He made the first sculp­tu­re of this kind for a pub­lic com­pe­tit­ion: a mo­nu­ment to the hero of ’56, Péter Mans­feld, ina­u­gu­ra­ted in 2004. The full-length ar­chi­tec­to­nic bron­ze sculp­tu­re erec­ted in the Buda dis­t­rict of Ró­zsa­domb stands bet­ween gra­ni­te blocks and de­picts the mar­tyr loc­ked up in the pri­son of rep­r­es­si­on. His fi­gu­re is an al­le­gory of un­fair treat­ment and per­so­nal suf­fe­ring. It is the very pri­son where the na­tu­ra­lis­ti­cally de­pic­ted young man with a per­fect body is con­fi­ned that be­co­mes his sh­ri­ne. The motif of eter­nal con­fi­ne­ment evokes the trag­edy of Mans­feld, made tim­eless by Me­na­sá­gi’s work.

The three works disp­la­yed at our ex­hi­bit­ion, which are more ab­st­ract than his pre­vi­o­us pi­e­ces and can be seen as a co­he­rent whole, were based on the ar­tist’s pub­lic works. The new works are lin­ked by a com­mon title, Me­lanc­ho­lia, and the li­ter­ary texts cho­s­en as their sub­tit­les. There is a re­semb­lance bet­ween the lines qu­o­ted from János Pi­linsz­ky’s poems and the dense fabric of Me­na­sá­gi’s sculp­tu­res: they exp­ress the trag­edy of human fate, the aban­don­ment of the in­di­vi­du­al and the state of sad­ness felt over exis­ten­ce. Each of the three dark grey fi­gu­ra­tive sculp­tu­res ap­pe­ars enc­los­ed in or stand­ing on a geo­met­ric me­tal­lic block, also of a dark tone. The spa­ti­al po­sit­ion­ing of the fi­gu­res is int­ent­io­nal and has a par­ti­cu­lar sig­ni­fi­cance in each case: they are po­sit­i­on­ed in the sphe­re below, the sphe­re above and the sphe­re in bet­ween these two, thus sym­bo­li­sing the tri­nity of these worlds. The un­worldly state is de­fi­ned as a kind of in-bet­ween po­sit­i­on on the bor­der­line bet­ween life and death, out­si­de and ins­ide, above and below. The pas­sage bet­ween the worlds is pos­sib­le in an in­di­vi­du­al way but it can also be achi­eved spi­ri­tu­ally, th­ro­ugh the coll­ec­tive un­cons­ci­o­us.

The first sculp­tu­re in the Me­lanc­holy se­ri­es, sub­tit­led Fal­ling, in which we must fly (Pi­linsz­ky: Temp­ta­ti­on – ex­cerpt), is a male nude stand­ing on a blade-like dia­go­nal, do­mi­nat­ing the ex­hi­bit­ion space with the dy­na­mics of moving out of the space. The state bet­ween de­par­tu­re and ar­ri­val is cap­tu­red by a de­fen­ce­less fi­gu­re stand­ing above eye level, akin to the Ecce Homo image of Ch­rist. The body awa­i­ting jud­ge­ment is ex­po­s­ed, wa­i­ting for its fate to un­fold. The work cap­tu­res a state of tipp­ing out of ba­lance, a mo­ment when everyth­ing is still open, anyth­ing can hap­pen, and it is up to the vie­wer to pre­dict the out­co­me. Thus, the work ex­pects ac­tive think­ing and par­ti­ci­pa­ti­on from the au­di­en­ce.

The se­cond work of the se­ri­es, sub­tit­led “Howe­ver wide cre­a­ti­on / It is nar­ro­wer than the barn” (Pi­linsz­ky: Eno­ugh – ex­cerpt) is a full-fi­gu­re sculp­tu­re sho­wing a rec­li­n­ing male nude at eye level, in a metal slab prot­ru­ding from the wall. The float­ing fi­gu­re sym­bo­li­ses the in-bet­ween state of exis­ten­ce, re­mi­nis­cent of the pri­mal state in the womb, but it could also cap­tu­re the mo­ment be­fo­re pas­sing. As with Mant­eg­na’s Dead Ch­rist, the vie­wer can only see the body of the sculp­tu­re in fo­res­hor­te­ning, una­b­le to make con­tact with its – clos­ed – eyes, just like in the case of the pre­vi­o­us sculp­tu­re above us, stand­ing on the dia­go­nal.

In the third work, sub­tit­led “You left the light on in the cor­ri­dor” (Pi­linsz­ky: A Four-Liner – ex­cerpt), the fi­gu­ral ele­ment is a conc­re­te head sculp­tu­re, enc­los­ed in an il­lu­mi­na­ted, par­ti­ally open iron box, wa­i­ting for the vie­wer to stop in front of it. Pas­sing along the cor­ri­dor-like path, we enter an in­te­rim space, which may sym­bo­li­se the road to birth and death. Ar­ri­ving at the head, the vi­si­tor tries to face the sculp­tu­re, which is oddly im­pos­sib­le. The sculp­tu­ral-tech­ni­cal bril­li­ance of Me­na­sá­gi is the cre­a­ti­on of ‘the ga­z­eless eye’, which con­veys a kind of empt­iness but at the same time an eter­nal sight ex­al­ted to a sac­red di­men­si­on. Conf­ront­ing these sculp­tu­res ins­pi­res us to en­gage in a spi­ri­tu­al en­coun­ter with our­sel­ves, en­ab­ling us to con­temp­la­te and app­re­cia­te the va­lues of life with me­lanc­ho­lic aware­ness. The three sculp­tu­ral fi­gu­res of the Me­lanc­ho­lia se­ri­es cap­tu­re a state of exis­ten­ce that is ex­pan­ded into in­fi­nity and goes hand in hand with li­ving th­ro­ugh the dif­fi­cul­ti­es of life, ack­now­led­ging the war­ning of me­men­to mori and emb­ra­cing the phi­lo­sophi­cal cont­ents as­so­ci­a­ted with it.

Réka Fa­za­kas, cura­tor of the ex­hi­bit­ion


Cent­res of Gra­vity | The Li­mits of Rep­re­s­en­ta­ti­on in Con­tem­por­ary Sculp­tu­re

Péter Me­na­sá­gi 

Bu­da­pest, 1973

He lives and works in Gyer­mely.

He gra­du­a­ted in sculp­tu­re from the Hun­ga­ri­an Uni­ver­sity of Fine Arts in 1999, under the su­per­vi­si­on of Ist­ván Ben­csik and Zol­tán Karmó. In 2009 he re­ce­i­ved his DLA from the Fa­culty of Arts at the Uni­ver­sity of Pécs, where he ha­bi­li­ta­ted in 2021. He has been tea­ch­ing as a se­ni­or lec­tu­rer since 2010 and as an as­so­ci­a­te pro­fes­sor since 2017. He has hea­ded an in­de­pen­dent class at the De­part­ment of Sculp­tu­re at the Hun­ga­ri­an Uni­ver­sity of Fine Arts. Since 1996 he has re­gu­larly ex­hi­bi­ted his work at do­m­es­tic and in­ter­na­ti­o­nal ex­hi­bit­ions and par­ti­ci­pa­ted in sym­po­si­ums. His most im­por­tant pub­lic sculp­tu­res are: Péter Mans­feld Mo­nu­ment, 2004, Bu­da­pest; Loc­ked Door, Na­ti­o­nal Mo­nu­ment to the Ger­man Mi­no­rity of Hun­gary, 2006, Bu­da­örs; Port­ra­it of Dr. Ignác Szabó, 2018, Ta­ta­bá­nya. He rep­re­sents a do­mi­nant trend in Hun­ga­ri­an art with his au­to­no­mous non-fi­gu­ra­tive and fi­gu­ra­tive sculp­tu­res. Ba­lanc­ing on the bor­der bet­ween the sac­red and the pro­fa­ne, his works exp­lo­re fun­da­men­tal quest­ions of exis­ten­ce. He ma­inly uses tra­di­ti­o­nal tech­ni­ques, rend­er­ing them in a con­tem­por­ary way. In ad­di­ti­on to his small sculp­tu­res, his mo­nu­men­tal pub­lic sculp­tu­res also de­monst­ra­te a dis­tinc­tive and ori­gi­nal path. His work has been re­cogn­i­sed with nu­me­rous awards, inc­lu­ding the Mun­ká­csy Award in 2018.

2023. March 24. - June 25.
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2023. February 10. - March 26.
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