Kriszta Dékei:

Sack, Sack Full of Sack…

Report on the Surprise Event Series

And they are those who gave a tremendous reception to the surprising movement of the luxurious museum benches in postmodern green and orange on view at the Surprise 2 exhibition (30 November 2001 – 17 January 2002) in the Institute of Contemporary Art (ICA) – Dunaújváros — and with that, the surveillance occurring from the peculiar (moving) viewpoint of the exhibited works (Jeppe Hein). The museum furniture, which otherwise beckoned to ease the exhibition visitor of their compliance with expected comportment and role (calm and intensive contemplation of, as well as intellectual insight into, the works, alongside the regeneration of the run-down physical condition — tired leg muscles), suddenly was transformed into a seating object serving a closed trajectory, on which, radically severed from our habits, we could only be merrily glancing and enjoying passengers.

In a surprise exhibition – in which we would wish to be astounded and stupefied in accordance with our expectations, since this is what is promised us – perhaps the most cunning idea, if we should be surprised at this, is that we cannot see the surprise. Due to the disfunctioning of the projector, István Szilasi‘s work will remain an eternal secret for me; on the contrary, I can blame only the inadequacy of the condition of my own lung-capacity for the fact that I was unable to fill Eike‘s Smoking Room with smoke with the aid of the water-pipe, and hence, I missed out on the spectacle of colour and light effects provided by the laser-lighted smoke, promised in advance by those in the know.

There were some works, however, that so much agitated others that it was not joy, but anger that confounded their common sense. A local teacher, namely, descended so far that, overstepping his role of the passive recipient, he actively expounded, i.e., he wrote his condemnatory words on the work of Albrecht Schafer. On the enormous print were visible Berlin kindergartens, just as one busies oneself with the assembly of the “maquettes” of famous buildings from building blocks — all of this in black-&-white, in the style of press photos smelling of the propaganda of the seventies. The gentleman’s later exposed transgression (its traces successfully removed from the artwork) displayed regret and even claimed incomprehension at his own conduct. We could comprehend all of this, certainly, as a free, creative act, or, in other words, the total disregard for conditioning — if the heated defacement of works of art would not be such a widespread practice nowadays.

However, Hajnal Németh could have been daydreaming in her video-loop (Striptease or not?) paying homage to the masculine tradition of “in our hands, beer; on the TV, woman undressing”. Of course, here he might have felt himself even more deceived: the female figure standing on the Lágymányosi Bridge, i.e., she really sensually removes her red bra — but just then, the skin-tight, striped t-shirt on the woman’s body obscures the erotic spectacle to be seen. It is in vain that at the end of the spectacle, the lacy undergarment flies into our face (i.e., the camera): the woman takes it off, slowly (underneath the t-shirt!), and reapplies it to her body, so that everything can start again from the beginning. The lively, unfolding movement series from the outset renders impossible orgasm from the customary position of the viewer — the sexual excitement deriving from the peeping and the impersonality; in the title of the work, however, the question raised induces the broadening (or closing, depending upon whose mood) of the semantic limits of a concept we considered to be precisely defined until now.

Similarly going contrary to our every expectation is the work in which, following the scanning of an image/object of our own discretion (according to the personal decision of the viewer, who is able to choose even among her/his own possessions), the image of a different — randomly generated — picture/object appears (Ádám Lendvai). The visitor encouraged to create, ultimately, does not meet with her/his own artwork, but nor is s/he reduced to leaving empty-handed: so functions the black-box model as transcribed in the language of visual art.

We can also meet in the exhibition with artworks that appear to be of an entirely traditional genre. Such is Olav Westphalen‘s sculpture entitled Diving-Board, which, in fact, not the artist, but another builder realised on-site, on the basis of the plans given. Here, too — as in the case of the previously noted creation — the theoretically clear-cut relationship between the artist and the realised artwork breaks apart, though, from an art philosophy approach this problem would seem to be a bit over-chewed. Perhaps — if we wish to summon staggering content from an artwork at any price — we can approach it by way of its title: what we see is a rather wobbly and afunctional trampoline, which is not at the edge of a swimming-pool, but stands in a basement space of the gallery. Well, indeed, we have already been taken in, since on the basis of our external experiences, we would like to delineate the interpretational fields of a sculpture. So then, where can we start if it then turns out that this is not even the title of the work?

Eva Maria Wilde‘s installation does not wish to influence us with a title (Untitled). The enormous, chameleon-like columns, like so many miniature skyscrapers, are arranged in the ring of colourful, geometrical motifs, stretching over the wall. In this space, I took a long and generous time; perhaps because it seemed refreshing and relaxing that finally a work did not aspire to bewilder by all means. But perhaps it is only my vigilance that has slackened.

On the verge of regaining my composure, I settled myself into one of the pair of armchairs in the lobby, when it suddenly emerged that I was using a concealed artwork – a practically imperceptibly altered internal constituent of the exhibition space – by one of the outstanding representatives (Atila Menesi / Christoph Rauch) of post-conceptual art. Above the corner inviting comfortable lounging about, stretched the word spurring to action (Forward), reinterpreting the situation, subtly colliding the irresolvable opposites between two activities.

Similarly, practically in mimicry, the two works (Lucky 1, Lucky 2) of Dominic Eichler — the lucky horseshoe and the receptacle placed before the entrance — melted into the environment. I had a strong suspicion that in the latter might be excrement (or its imitative material), being that this is the classic material that brings luck, but luckily (!), by chance it was not — in any case, it would only be by an adroit gymnastic feat that one could have stepped into it.

My dearest experience of the Surprise exhibition in Dunaújváros was of the video works of Ádám Lendvai. The video études of several minutes or seconds by this student of the Intermedia Department consisted in part of sparkling and quite witty finger-exercises (Secrets, Bare Mountain, Letters), and on the other hand, of quite original flashy commentary in answer to serious, theoretical questions (Before the Mirror, The Y2K Problem, Desktop). One more little sack, with a red apple — the nibbling of this, however, would once and for all burst open the boundaries of this essay. Let us put this into the (apple) cupboard: this will come in handy on colder days…