Some more skulls - continuation of the one year old note. (Illustrations for The Ship of Fools by Sebastian Brant.) 
Some more skulls - continuation of the one year old note. (Illustrations for The Ship of Fools by Sebastian Brant.) 
(Opening speech of a poster exhibition)
It was only once that I felt that it is a must, important and it also makes me feel good to talk about pictures, to transform the images, which once I could form on a piece of paper, further into words and also to explain my intentions and to make them clear to the viewers. It took place in a foreign country at the end of the last millennium on a graphic design congress. In a theatre, I had to say some words on me and also to give a lecture and present a slide show on Hungarian posters including mines, too. I tried to give just the basic information on the pictures and almost never referred to what was visible and therefore evident. I gave my speech in English, the audience wore earphones and some interpreter behind the screens translated it into Spanish. After a while, I saw that the audience could not see what I meant. Some took off their phones, asked the others next to them to explain what they saw, to interpret what they heard.
Somewhat later, the interpreter informed me on an embarrassed voice through the speakers that he could not follow me and would like me to return to some of the phrases I used and to explain them to him because he could not see what they referred to. Of course, I agreed on it and also told him to come next to me to the stage, so he could easily notify if something would not be clear. He told me through the speakers that he was coming and some minutes later two men appeared on the stage, they were the interpreter and a man leading him as the interpreter was blind - from the moment he was born, as I later got to know. He had never ever seen. It was easy to see that he could hardly or not at all imagine what I meant by the meaning of illusion, when I was talking about works of mine that have different meanings according to the distance and the angle you look at them. Moreover, there were the anamorphic distortions, the visual paradoxes, “optical hanky-pankies”.
I had to change my conception on the whole, I shouldn’t apply any of the images in my speech at all. However, my words should have been “visual”. It could not have been very exciting to my actual audience, but he started to enjoy it very much, and – though ashamed of – I also did. I managed to get over the shame you feel if the other person is lacking something you have got, though you do not deserve it. And I didn’t have any moral scruples, as he could not “check” if it is the truth that I am talking about or if I lead him by his nose.
Of course, I thought I was telling the truth, or – to be honest – when I was not, I did never keep it as a secret. Let’s face the truth: our profession, commercial graphic design is about cheating. The art of “hocus-pocus”. Just consider the following fact: the product you’d like to sell should be presented as something better, more attractive than what in fact it is. No matter whether your product is washing powder, sanitary napkin or a theatre performance or – especially - a political party. Can the graphic designer be forgiven if he notifies you in good time and makes it evident with some visual effect that you have got into the world of illusion, if he acts the way the famous Hungarian illusionist did and says right at the beginning that “watch my hands, because I’m cheating”?
Let me take the risk of giving another statement on whether words have anything to do with those fields of art whose materials are other than words. As a layman, I’m absolutely aware of the fact that my statement is not at all strong and easy to attack. It was taught that works of art means the unity of ‘content’ and ‘form’. So, it is only ‘content’ that you can transform into words. Their more “important” part, their ‘form’ can never be interpreted like that. Our clearest art, the art of music has only form, therefore, it can never be told. You are able to understand, feel, be passionate about, die for it, but are unable to translate it. If we accept that convergences do exist among the arts – just to avoid the idea of development – I believe in the progress of a kind of abstraction to music forms.
But we went too far. So, it is the connection between words and visual communication that I wanted to dedicate this opening of the exhibition to. I used to had a workshop for young poster-designers in the same country where I met the blind interpreter, and I wanted them to work according to the following phases: first, put into words what your posters are going to be about, that is, the ‘message’. You can also write it down. After this, read these words through once, twice, three times, four times, etc. You will see that there are words, even sentences that you don’t need. Delete them. Reading them through more times, you’ll still find words or phrases that can be deleted. “Minimize and reduce”. And when you won’t need any of the words, of the letters even, can tell that you are ready with your poster.
(Despite of my adventures with the interpreter, I still believe that a good work is not in need of words. This exhibition is neither in one. So please, forgive me for talking so much.)
Some years ago, I was asked to design a poster for the jubilee 20th Poster Biennial in Warsaw – Posters are said to be the art of “here and now”. I wanted to describe this relationship in that poster.
Exhibition in Gallery 9.
- Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel?
essence was that artistic imagination could find new, rich imagoes in splotches of plaster work, cumulus clouds or coloured pebbles. – “One only has to throw a sponge full of paint at a wall, and it will leave a stain, in which beautiful landscapes can be seen, human faces, different kinds of animals, battle scenes, cliffs, seas, clouds and forests and other such things.” If we can believe some of the research concerned with the beginnings of the arts, already prehistoric man in Altamira set to work in such a way that he got an “insight” into the image of the animal to be painted on the relief of the cavewall, and its pigmentation. If this is indeed how it happened, the explanation pertaining to the theory – namely that this intuitive method of working would be some sort of primitive creative form befitting prehistoric man – can hardly be substantiated.
Such depiction would postulate the presence of a combination of two fundamentally different representational systems – let us call them iconic and symbolic, or quite complex cerebral function. The scientists would most certainly say that the synchronised function of the more intuitive right hemisphere and the more deliberate left hemisphere is the key.
every novelty, and even a quite free cultural atmosphere, if we consider the other side. Mediaeval magic and modern natural sciences fit well together in Prague, in fact, often merged together. Kepler, Bruno, Dee. The worldview of the natural scientists bustling about Prague was fundamentally anthropomorphic: they imagined the universe as a single living, gigantic organism, which does not obey external physical laws, but is rather driven by the spirit striving for harmony.
The fact that the Archimboldian pictures are literally metamorphoses: sea creatures, plants, fruits, or just a stack of books that transform before our eyes into a human portrait, is evident, but they also metamorphically cross over into the language of artistic representation. Just as sentences are built up from words of autonomous meaning, the “phrase” of the Arcimboldian
picture is constructed in the same way. All the depicted real objects are in actual fact the words used for the denomination of that certain super-real creature. This concerns a lifting out of the empirical world, and this ensuing staircase of reality obviously bears a correlation with Platonic ideas on the one hand, and with Surrealism on the other... “Two representations in a single picture”, or as it was phrased by the rediscoverer of the 20th century, Salvador Dalí, “two truths in a single position”. Furthermore, two “truths” opposed to each other. Since the large-scale exhibition in Venice in 1987, for which they attempted to gather many such images, which demonstrated similar effects, art history has designated this method the Arcimboldo effect.
Many years ago, during my poster-drawing studies at the Academy of Applied Arts, it came to my mind that precisely the poster, which we often see from a great distance, and at other times we practically bump into, this mural advertising would be an especially suitable medium for representations of double meaning. One image for the distant observer, and the other for the one who is willing to come closer. The revival of the genre could also have come to my mind, since until then the poster had been considered as the most clear-cut entity to be drafted and to least incur trouble or wasted energies. Also for reasons of content, it was exciting at the time to raise the question of multiple representations in a single picture, since we were living in the era of censors hunting for hidden messages.
Or was it already the era of the vexation of censors? In the case of the so-called applied arts – my acquired profession of poster and book illustration and the like – the problem of curtailed independence also always emerges. Well, I believed, perhaps naïvely, that with the second, the mask of the often concealed depiction, I could enjoy greater freedom. Of course, understood within the capaciousness of the notion of freedom was also the compulsion nestled in the possibility of choice: we have to decide: here are not ready panels, but only possibilities.
The viewer is actually a partner in creation: s/he takes a stand alongside one of the meanings of the picture. Or does not accept it and gives up. We are sentenced to freedom. Perhaps it is not by chance that Shakespeare characterised Hamlet, this herald of existentialism, who was tending toward despondency, with the habit of seeing images in the irregular forms of clouds.
The phenomenon of a hidden image within the image is a specific case when the technique of anamorphosis aids in concealing or discovering the secret. In art history, we use this expression for those compositions which have been distorted to become unrecognisable through a sophisticated geometric construction; yet if we examine them from a particular viewpoint, or if we place some sort of bject with a reflective surface on top of them, then the hidden image appears after all – resuming its original form. In accordance with two methods of this “retransformation”, there are two types of anamorphism. The first, which was employed already in the early Renaissance, is the group of so-called perspectival anamorphoses, while the other – which appeared only during the period of Mannerism and the Baroque – is the reflective anamorphoses. Shakespeare was certainly familiar with perspectival anamorphosis; moreover, a few lines from Richard II refer so obviously to anamorphic distortion, that we can rest assured that the technique called “perspective” was not unknown to theatre-goers in a London either.
I have been engaged with anamorphoses for quite some time (I drew the first sometime in the second half of the seventies), but naturally, not only the resurrection of this antiquated genre stimulates me, but I also experiment with its continued development. “Nothing but confusion”, we read from Shakespeare;
but I would like if instead of the “confused depiction”, there was a basic anamorphic depiction as well, and this image of autonomous meaning would gain a new sense, a second meaning, if we were to inspect it from another point-of-view. If we regard my etching entitled Shakespeare’s Theatre straight on, as we do traditionally, we see a London theatre from the late 16th century, with actors, audience, onlookers. If, however, we stand to the right side of the wide panorama, and we look from a very flat angle, so that the wide picture tapers into a slender, vertical ribbon, then the elements of the theatre disappear: more precisely, they transform into a portrait of William Shakespeare.
The other picture belongs to the group of reflective anamorphoses. The virtual portrait of Edgar Allan Poe appears in the mirror, moreover in such a way that the horizontal elements of the drawing, appurtenances of the illustration for The Raven create the details of the portrait. If we lift the cylinder, the face disappears, and the empty, yawning room remains, together with the scattered objects, shadows, and the dreaming-remembering man inclined toward the face. The anamorphic technique, in fact, corresponds to the poetry compsition model suggested in Poe’s essay entitled, “The Philosophy of Composition”**. The artist should first dismantle and deform reality, then with the aid of fantasy and the intellect, fashion a new, but unreal world from these elements of reality. In this creative work – at least, according to Poe – there is no need for so-called inspiration, nor is there a place for irrational melancholy or for subconscious instincts. The arts should be delimited from uncontrollable emotions, creativity should be led by the intellect, and thus, pure art can be produced on a purely mathematical basis. Whether we re-read his poetry, or Poe’s self-dissecting study expounding the origins of The Raven, the feeling strikes us that Poe was deliberately concealing something: it is as if the mystical-metaphysical obscurity of his poetry and the cleverly provocative brain-storming of his The Philosophy of Composition were merely aiming to divert attention: lest we detect the despondent agony of a conflicted soul, lest we take seriously the first person singular narrator of the poem, and naturally, lest we identify him with Poe. While I attempted to work with the deliberateness and calculation recommended by Poe, I too suspected the obstacles to this scholastic consistency. And I would like to continue to believe that the “inexplicable” plays a role in every creative work, and not a trifling one. I think that Poe, too, however much he tried to hide it, was of the same opinion.