Photography. Painting. Pastel. Sculpture.
Melbourne. Budapest.
Artist Statement
It brings life. It brings joy. It carries what language cannot.
For me, expression through colour and form is fundamental to capturing the human experience. Particularly the woman's. Particularly the displaced Hungarian's. I use whatever medium the work asks for, to translate the higher guidance flowing through my heart and my hand.
Pastel. Oil. Pencil. Camera. Stone. Each one says something different. None of them are decoration. They are the way I make sense of being alive.
Living in Budapest, my motherland, transformed my understanding of what it means to belong to a nation, to a people. That realisation rearranged my practice. Colour took centre stage and has never moved.
The work is intuitive. Deeply personal. Inspired by minimalism, I let the art speak while vibrant colour leads. I draw on echoes of a past life as an explorer, an innovator, an inventor. The pieces are at once simple and transcendent. They invite you into another world, where you can quietly explore your inner landscape and meet every part of yourself with honesty, and with openness.
My sister is fifteen years older than me. When she gave birth to her second son I asked to be in the room with her, to document the moment. Witnessing the birth of Levente was profoundly euphoric. In a time of record low fertility, being there as my sister risked everything to bring the next generation into the world became one of the most eye opening experiences of my life. The photographs hold what I saw. The miracle, and the raw magic of childbirth. A quiet testament to life's beauty, and to its fragility.
In the heart of Melbourne, on the opposite side of the world from Budapest, the Hungarian community I grew up inside keeps its traditions alive. Folk dance. Vibrant costumes. Song. Language. Food. Music. The shared customs that hold a people together when the country itself is far away. This work is documentary, and it is also personal. It is the record I have wanted to make since I was a child, watching the older generation do the work of remembering.
"The art speaks. Vibrant colour leads."
This work is intuitive. Deeply personal. I sit. I put down colour. The painting tells me what it wants. Sometimes it takes years. Sometimes it is finished in an afternoon. I have stopped trying to predict which is which.
In three dimensions the same hand keeps working. Fabric becomes flesh. Plaster becomes presence. Light becomes a material in its own right. The figure is never still. Always mid breath. Always mid turn. Always mid becoming.
The figure released into the landscape. Sculpture as a living encounter. Light and fabric and ground holding each other.
A practice does not arrive alone. These are the names I carry.
For the way light becomes a room. Becomes a material. Becomes its own reason.
For colour as vision. For geometry, intuition, the unseen made visible long before anyone thought to ask.
For honouring the present. The photograph as historical witness, before it is anything else.
For honouring the displaced. The Hungarian eye that learned to see twice.
About
Pirosmani's saturated folk world. Parajanov's heritage as tableau. Both are kin to my own search. How colour and ritual carry meaning that words cannot. Georgia would extend the same line. Fieldwork in a culture where colour has never stopped meaning something.
I was born in Melbourne. My heritage is Hungarian. I work across photography, painting, pastel, and sculpture. My practice has two threads. One is documenting the present as a raw historical record for the people who come after us. The other is translating colour as it flows through the body.
Time spent living in Budapest, my motherland, transformed my understanding of what it means to belong to a people. I work between Melbourne and Budapest.
James Turrell and Hilma af Klint live inside how I think about light and colour. Robert Capa and André Kertész live inside how I think about photography. I want to record the present so future generations can see where we succeeded, and where we missed the mark.