Balázs Kicsiny invites us to cruentation in the Artists’ Club, opening up not just one, but a crypt-worth of tombs: Baron Henry Carey’s checkered sarcophagus, source of infection for the contagious »checkered doubt«, Malevich’s suprematist grave with the Black Square, the tomb of Imre Nagy, buried with the Kádár regime as well as that of János Kádár’s 56 (without skull), who buried Imre Nagy with the revolution. Or even (with Yorick’s skull) Hamlet’s father, returning as a vengeful ghost.
Derrida started his hauntological program with Hamlet exactly thirty years ago to summon Fukuyama to cruentation and confront neoliberalism, which envisaged the end of history, with the spectres of open-ended futures and unfinished pasts.
Kicsiny uses the age-old furniture of the Fészek as a trauma medium to evoke its ghosts from the deepest strata of the artists’ club and make them confess in a spectropolitical séance. But they interrogate and protect each other, talk to and conceal each other in this uncanny construction, until we understand that it is the corpse that is calling us in this cruentation, that what is at stake is not the past but the future, and we are the ones who have to confess, since, as Derrida stated, »the last one to whom a specter can appear, address itself, or pay attention is a spectator as such«.”
Barnabás Zemlényi-Kovács