The desert is growing, but the growth itself – rusted, broken. It must be dismantled, the concrete formed from the sand must be returned to its original form, the beautiful, bitter, homogeneous, prophetic solitude of the sand grains. The house, the man, the sculpture, are all crying words in the concrete desert.
Gergely Mindák’s visions of the city finally leave behind the realm of scale, tectonics and relations of creation (this space would have been the original form of the city) and move out into the desert, the homeless home of hermits and demons.