Kortárs magángyűjtemények III.: Antal-Lusztig Gyűjtemény

Short listing

An exhibition resurrected from the Godot Gallery's original WordPress archive.

Full exhibition text

The Godot Gallery respectfully invites you to the…

Paintings, sculptures and boxes

Bigger size

for the opening of the exhibition titled …,

What is the Antal‑Lusztig Collection?

Presents a selection from contemporary art materials.

Opening: 2003 on 3 December at 20.

Opening: Gábor Ébli, art critic.

Exhibiting artists:

Bereznai Péter, Birkás István, Deim Pál, efZámbó István, feLugossy László, Földi Péter, Gaál József, Káldi Kata, Károlyi Zsigmond, Köves Éva, Lakner László, Lois Viktor, Méhes László, Swierkiewicz Róbert, Tamási Claudia, Taubert László, Ujházi Péter, Váli Dezső, Vojnich Erzsébet, Wahorn András, Zoltán Sándor, Zsakó István.

The exhibition can be viewed until 2003 December 23.

From Tuesday to Friday 10-18 and

on Saturday from 10 to 13

at a different time, with prior arrangement

Földi Péter /excerpt/

This year marks the third time the Godot Gallery is presenting its Contemporary Private Collections series. Our aim is to draw attention to the collection that has been revived with new momentum since the system change—a field where museum‑grade preservation often mixes with the prestige‑driven investment of corporate patrons. More and more people are discovering that one of the most exciting, varied, and most personal‑expressive realms of collecting is contemporary visual art. Our current exhibition is truly special: Antal Péter’s classical collection is perhaps the largest and most extensive in Hungary. Its pieces have appeared in countless exhibitions, catalogues and monographs, but until now have always remained in private ownership and unnamed. This is the first time the collector is revealing his identity and personal choices.

Gaál József /excerpt/

How can we connect Csontváry, Szinyei, or even Gulácsy to contemporary art? What standard do the masters now deemed classic set before the work of today? Conversely: what can we see from today’s artists looking at their pictures that reveals the – perhaps eternally valid – modernity of their own work? Beyond the quality of each masterpiece, these questions make a collection of art exciting, in which the whole arc of modern Hungarian art is present, from Nagybánya to today’s pixel painting.

The origin of the collection goes back to his great‑grandfather, a man of great erudition, who from the late sixties already supported the early art‑object purchases of his then‑secondary‑school grand‑niece.

The collection exceeds the boundaries of painting. The comprehensive material derived from the legacy of the sculptors Dezső Bokros Birman and Ferenc Medgyessy is on display. Imre Ámos's works stand out in the graphic collection, which also recall the close friendship with collector Anna Margita. In the Debrecen home, a separate display cabinet now also holds ancient archaeological artefacts.

The museum quality and depth of the collected classical modern material did not constitute a barrier before the inclusion of contemporary art. Ország Lili ikonosztáz on the wall, the varied‑technique works of Bálint Endre or even the spectrum of Kondor Béla’s pieces, partially brought back from abroad and long regarded as dormant, shows that our post‑Second World War living art, through the grandson, had from its outset and well before official canonisation found a way into the collection originally founded on the classics and on the contemporary work of the great‑grandfather who died at the age of seventy‑nine, and who remained actively alive until his last days. At that point it was decided that this would truly become the shared Antal‑Lusztig Collection and remain so: the taste of the two generations may have differed, but their commitment to quality and a few overriding stylistic principles provided a common denominator for the material that spans almost a hundred years.

In 1978 not only did the grandfather die, but Ország Lili departed as well. The death of that person interrupted the development of the contemporary part of the collection. The personal presence of the female artist, who almost assumed a maternal role, was far too important alongside the young man who had just earned his diploma that, without acknowledging her contribution, the purchase of contemporary art could not have continued. A decade and a half followed, during which the classical collection steadily grew richer, and the contemporary part that had been acquired up to that point fell into a quiet classicisation following the death of the masters, but there was no opening towards new contemporaries.

Lakner Laszlo /detail/

This also had an aesthetic reason. As the generation that had fed on classical roots before the Second World War was leaving, a phase of modern art came to an end. Choosing from the newer contemporaries was much more difficult, especially along the Antal–Lusztig programme, whose core elements even today remain expressive (although not exclusively figurative) painting that employs deep shades of colour, and the capture of dramatic conflicts in a partly existentialist, partly spiritual reading. This artistic credo, however, seems little representative of today’s contemporary artists. The struggle between classic modern and contemporary values thus became truly acute when the collection of contemporary art was started a second time.

The earlier contemporary material was added to the collection with an unmistakable splash of zest, but is there, and if so, which of today’s trends will we see in exactly the same natural unit a few decades hence with the earlier twentieth‑century material? Though he has been collecting contemporary works again, and with growing momentum, for ten years, this doubt still shadows Antal Péter’s choices. That uncertainty, openly embraced by the collector, also lends human value to his purchases: who would not rather choose the safe option and sit on classical laurels? The uncertainty likewise explains why the collector buys from a fairly wide range of today’s artists, even though the current exhibition only presents a narrower, selected subset on a few criteria.

Gábor Ébli:

Pictures, sculptures and boxes from the Antal‑Lusztig collection

How can Csontváry, Szinyei or even Gulácsy be linked to today’s contemporary art? What standards do the masters, now regarded as classics, set before contemporary creators? Conversely, what can we learn from their - perhaps timeless - modernity by looking at their works from today’s artists? Beyond the quality of individual masterpieces, these questions make a collection where the entire arc of modern Hungarian art – from Nagybánya to today’s pixel art – intriguing. The collection’s origin traces back to a highly educated great‑grandfather, who from the late sixties began supporting even his nephew’s early art‑purchase endeavours while still in secondary school.

The collection extends beyond the boundaries of painting. Bokros Birman Dezső and Medgyessy Ferenc sculpture, presented from their bequest, provide an overarching material. Impression Gráfica stands out, and the material of Imre Ámos is also a remembrance of the close friendship linked to collector Anna Máriťó. In the Debreczian home, a separate showcase now houses ancient archaeological objects as well.

The museum quality and depth of the collected classic‑modern material did not pose an obstacle to the incorporation of contemporary art. The iconic Ország Lili placed on the wall, Bálint Endre’s various‑technique works or even the spectrum of Kondor Béla’s pieces, partly brought from abroad and long considered dormant, shows that our post‑Second World War living art, through the grand‑grandson, had already begun, long before official canonisation, to find its way into a collection originally founded by a grand‑father who lived until his last days, was aged ninety‑nine, and had at that time formed a collection based on the classics and his own contemporaries. Then it was decided that this would indeed be, and remain, a joint Antal‑Lusztig collection: the two generations’ taste may have differed, but their commitment to quality and a few stylistic principles provided a common denominator for the slowly centennial‑spanning material.

In 1978 it was not only grand‑dad who passed away, but also Ország Lili. His death halted the building up of the contemporary portion of the collection. At that time the young man had just obtained his diploma, and the personal presence of the artist who had almost played a maternal role was too important to be overcome without that credit, otherwise the purchase of contemporary art would not have continued. A year and a half later, during which the classic collection grew relentlessly, the contemporary section bought up to then was silenced to classicise by the masters’ deaths, yet no opening towards new contemporaries took place.

It had an aesthetic reason as well. With the departure of the generation that fed on classical roots before the Second World War, the era that was considered a generation of the sixties and seventies came to an end, closing a chapter of modern art. Choosing among the newer contemporaries was far more difficult, especially in the Antal‑Lusztig programme, whose core elements remain even today the expressive (albeit not exclusively figurative) painting using deep shades of colour, and the capture of dramatic conflicts in a partially existential, partially spiritual reading. This artistic credo, however, appears to be hardly characteristic of today’s contemporary artists. The struggle between classical modern and contemporary values therefore became truly acute when the collection of contemporary art was restarted a second time.

Káldi Kata (detail)

The earlier contemporary material has clearly been delicately incorporated into the collection, but are there, and if so, what are those today’s trends that will be seen in the same natural unity with the earlier twentieth‑century material some decades later? Even though the collector has been collecting contemporary work again, and with great momentum, for ten years, this doubt still haunts Antal Péter’s choices. This uncertainty, openly embraced by the collector, gives the human value to his purchases: surely who would not rather choose the safe, and sit in classical bay-leaves? The uncertainty also explains why the collector buys from a fairly wide range of today’s artists, while the current exhibition presents only a narrower, selective assortment on a few criteria.

Not a deliberate decision, the Iparterves material is not on display in the gallery. Imre Bak, Ilona Keserü or István Nádler are already practically considered consensus values. In another exhibition, however, it would be worth filming a long segment that, in the collection, and in line with personal taste, would be quantitatively infinitesimally lighter than the colore‑ist naturalist direction, but would reach the neo‑avant‑garde from the early constructivist‑impressionist avant‑garde (Lajos Kassák, László Moholy‑Nagy, József Nemes Lampérth, and even the genius Ede Bohacsek).

This direction is represented at the current exhibition only by a miniature bronze of Deim Pál and an ensemble of five small pictures by Károlyi Zsigmond. To the same extent, Kata Káldi and Éva Köves each have one piece displayed. From the "great" generation of the sixties‑seventies, László Méhes and László Lakner (Száj) each have one work on view, and the organisers’ daring choice is to pair Claudia Tamási, a recent graduate of the college, with her new paintings (Ajkaim). Among the artists who thematicise the possibilities and dilemmas of painting, the collection includes large‑scale works by Fehér László and Szűcs Attila, although none are currently on display.

The collection’s dense, dramatic thrust and the emphasis on evoking the tensions of existence through striking brushwork and a plastic texture make it unsurprising that a collector is devoted to the works of Gaál József (Corpus), whom he discovered at the Seville World Exhibition in a joint exhibition with Tóth Menyhért. The contrasting palette of his work is found in Földi Péter’s Aszály, where the bold citrouille‑yellow usage shows that the evocation of the oppressive feelings of human‑animal life is not a function of dark hues. A similarly large pink painting by Földi was omitted from the show due to size constraints, but given the almost effortless mastery of the bright yellow and pink, it is worth pondering how such a “pop‑colour” palette could be made substantive through the depiction of profound dilemmas.

Efzábó István (excerpt)

The light and the heavy pair appear, although in another context, in the Wahorn–efZámbó–feLugossy demonstrations in Santendrei Triász. With the striking illumination of Lajos Vajda's materials in the collection, interest in the creators of the Lajos Vajda Studio may seem natural, yet in reality only a larger material was transferred from L to Antal Péter. It is more instructive to see which fragments of the grotesque visual world the collector chose. The often amorphous character of the forms, invoking subconscious elements, does not set these works too far from the dramatic procession that forms the backbone of the collection.

The image of Robert Swierkiewicz (Dream Comes and Vanishes) represents the evocation of the uncanny through harsh colours and strong gestures, while the seemingly narrow palette "swims" in an infinite number of shades in which Váli Dezső and Erzsébet Vojnich each create melancholy and meditation in their own paintings. A further group of artists from the middle period is also represented in the collection and partially in the exhibition (Peter Ujházi, István Birkás), who seek to produce the effect precisely by rejecting masterful painting, and by widening the use of materials – for example by integrating parts of sand, fabric or plaster into the pictorial field.

The collection shows an interest in the materials and in stepping out of the two‑dimensional surface, with works by the former contemporary sculptors (Schaár Erzsébet, Vilt Tibor) who are now regarded as classics, and the exhibition also features the small‑scale works of the grotesque‑leaning (Zsakó István) and the reductionist drama‑investigating (Taubert László) artists, as well as the large statue of Lois Viktor.

The radical broadening of the notion of art within the collection is best hinted at by the boxes displayed in a separate room, almost as a chamber‑exhibition. Bereznai Péter and Ujházi’s box‑compositions draw their elements from both Central European history and the heartrending crucibles of ordinary human existence, while Zoltán Sándor’s surrealistic boxes pay homage to both Magritte and Ország Lili, inviting dialogue between the exhibited painterly material and the scholastic‑mimetic as well as grotesque‑abstruse motifs.

Overall, taking the material as a whole, does this problem overshoot the original question – do these works meet their classical predecessors? In some cases artists and works will only be decided in the future. But in general there is a clear ambition for common quality, a rejection of merely historical differentiation between the classical and contemporary. A contemporary piece may pose a question and utilise entirely traditional means, if it reflects today's problems, it remains a companion of our time, just as an installation or c‑print. The reverse is also true: a contemporary work may reject any element of artistic tradition, and yet if it speaks to perennial human dilemmas in a unique form it will eventually be grouped with classical values. All of this suggests a strong continuity between classical, modern and contemporary art, divisions that the profession often delineates too sharply. For the collector and the institution, the quality of each work is more important than artificial historical cliches.

It is especially instructive to reconstruct all of this in relation to a comprehensive twentieth‑century collection. After all, the future‑oriented nature of modern art derives from its programme of severing ties with the past, whereas today’s contemporary works are precisely playing with historicity as a freely manipulable semiotic compound. From this dual perspective one can understand why a vision‑oriented collection does not hinge on the history of fads, and in particular not on geometric abstraction. That thread is present, and even operates within contemporary material – but only as one possible reading. Now that the avant‑garde has gradually turned every wave into history, this question in fact occupies everyone: how can one see the conceptual‑philosophical and sensory‑humanistic projections of art in balance, reconciled with one another? The Antal‑Lusztig collection answers this quite plainly: the role that art plays in modern life encompasses both aesthetic‑form experimentation and political‑worldview activity, yet even in their combination it remains far broader, and is deeply tied to facing the perennial questions of the human condition.

The Antal‑Lusztig collection’s contemporary art selection is on display at the Godot Gallery between December 3 and 23. — Gábor Ébli

Press contact