ART IN THE FIGHTING CITY
Hungarian artists who have dared to mark the uprising of 1956
IN THE summer of this year a letter came from Budapest inviting artists, both in Hungary and the West, to enter a competi- tion, submitting a piece of work on the theme 'The Fighting City'. The group responsible for the letter is called L'Incon- nu. The aim was to mark and remember the Hungarian uprising of 30 years ago.
To those who know Eastern Europe, the letter was remarkable on two counts. First, there were five names firmly placed at the end of the letter — names which were obviously not pseudonyms. Second, the statement itself was strong, calling for dialogue and discussion in a country where only one line of opinion is officially allowed: the line dictated by the Soviet Union. Some of the artists who read the letter asked themselves whether Hungary was not after all a rather freer and more open society than they had been led to believe.
Responding to the idea, they sifted through photographs, books and journals and set to work. Some works were then despatched by post, to meet the closing date of 30 September. One artist travelled to Budapest in person. He travelled heavy, his painting hidden amongst his clothes, in the bottom of a large suitcase.
The more abstract the painting, the less stressful is the entry through Budapest airport. However, some of the paintings sent have been figurative and realistic. One painting shows the last meeting of the Union of Writers and Journalists. The leadership of this union, naively certain that the West would not ignore them, had made a famous final broadcast on 4 November 1956:
This is the Hungarian Writers' Association speaking to all writers, scientists, writers' associations, academics and scientific orga- nisations of the world. We appeal for help to all intellectuals in all countries. Our time is limited. You all know the facts. There is no need to review them. Help Hungary. Help the writers, scientists, workers, peasants, and all Hungarian intellectuals. Help! Help! Help!
The painting depicts a group of men and women sitting and standing round a table, while the playwright Gyula Hay speaks those words. The written words are in- corporated into a composition of black, white and grey shapes through which a feeling of apocalypse pervades.
Another painting consists of three fi- gures amongst buildings. A corpse is being carried, Christlike, as if from the cross towards the tomb. Black, red and pink combine to create a Goya-like sense of catastrophe and in the background the shapes of the city are visible in pale blocks of fire.
As the summer drew on and the work accumulated, the five organisers of the event fell increasingly under police suspi- cion. Three of them are artists in their own right, another is a samizdat editor and the fifth takes part in organising the flying university. Two of the original founders of the group had lived in Szolnok, but had been so persecuted for their creative work, and for their wish to live a life natural to their artistic interests, that they were forced eventually to leave their home town, coming to Budapest two years ago. Most of them were born after the Soviet invasion, but all have inherited the spirit of their parents, who were among those who fought most bravely for a freedom which (as the official state ideology constantly emphasises) is historically impossible. Like much that is produced in Central Europe their work is reminiscent of the 1960s. Happenings, minimalist expression, events of the 'Gilbert and George' type — all are conducted rather cheekily with verve and Wit. In the last year the group has orga- nised and participated in over 20 exhibi- tions in Budapest. Wherever they go they stamp their insignia — L'Inconnu — on walls, on paper, on boards, or on flesh — their lettering in the style of the Solidarity logo.
We associate the Sixties with mass frivol- ity, narcissism and anarchic release. At first it is difficult to look on the new type of Central European artist, for all the world like a gentler imitation of Allen Ginsberg, with the respect that he deserves. In Budapest however (as in Prague and Brno), the appearance belies the work — vivid, direct and declamatory it may be, but it also shows, with its frequent use of religious symbols and historical references, a kind of searching after authority and historicity. In this it is as far as can be from the antinomian self-indulgence of the Six- ties.
The situation of the Hungarian artist is in one way less happy than that of his Czech or Polish counterpart. For his work has the backing of no organised attempt to restore the social order to which it refers. Hungary has neither a mass movement of Opposition, in the manner of Solidarity, nor an institution like Charter 77, devoted to the maintenance of law and to the defence of society against the apparatus. Nor has it any strong Catholic or Evange- lical ties. Art cannot be seen therefore as one part of a general effort to legalise Opposition. Official propaganda notwith- standing, this makes Hungary not the most, but one of the least disposed of East European societies to reform itself from Within.
The Budapest artists recognise that meaningful change will come only if people associate independently from the commun- ist state into multifarious intellectual and social groupings. Unlike the Czech or Polish authorities, these who wield power in Hungary do not usually imprison their fractious citizens. However, the group Which dared to invite their Western col- leagues to join with them in remembering the humiliation of their country will be punished in a more subtle way. They will enjoy none of the privileges, such as they are, of socialist society, and will live henceforth a life of meniality. Last week they were threatened with expulsion from Budapest should they try to publish photo- graphs of the work that was sent to them. Meanwhile we should perhaps join with them in questioning the propaganda which presents the Hungarian experiment as the human face of communism.
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