György Verebes painter, co-curator
Is there anything left for art to say? To say, to hold up, to show, to dance, to sing, to tell, to tell, to tell…
Is there anything that must be seen, not just looked at, but truly seen, seen profoundly and understood, realised, recognised as one recognises a face emerging in a long-forgotten photograph, or a velvety blanket once touched, which protectively covered our dreams for years, for decades, back when we were still pure, pure after a warm evening bath, and curious, endlessly curious about what will be, what would come next, about what awaited us in unknown places but among familiar faces who provided safety because they them[1]selves were safety with their touch, their scent, their soft words, the tales that painted upon the sky stories that never existed, and later, much later, we would realise that those stories had indeed existed, somewhere, sometime, perhaps nearby, perhaps right where my bed now stands, and perhaps not so long ago…
Is there something I must draw, something I must draw at any cost and then colour carefully, making it as beautiful and lifelike as I can because it must be captured somehow, in some way so I draw it to preserve it, and I paint the house and the street corner too.
Is there something else I need to learn so that I can do what my grandmother used to say; she said: “Don’t be afraid”.
Is there something I still must do, because, to be honest, I am still afraid sometimes and I don’t know whether my grandmother was afraid when she said that. But it doesn’t matter because she knew for sure she had to say it because it was the only thing that truly matters; I saw it on her face, in her eyes.
It is since that time I have been drawing, drawing, painting and singing too, and telling stories about all kinds of things that never existed, but when I draw them, paint them, or tell them in stories, they must exist because I have created them. I cannot create something that does not exist, I can only bring forth what was there yet unseen, who knows why, perhaps because everyone turned their heads away or perhaps, who knows. I probably turn my head away unnecessarily too instead of always looking where I should. But if there is someone who is known to always look where they should, then I want to meet that person by all means. That is why I draw, draw and paint, and show what I have drawn and painted, hoping that someday the person who I am looking for will notice, because I am sure that person is looking for me too.
So I keep drawing more and more things and make objects of all kinds because who knows what might catch the eye of the person who is looking in the right direction? I drill, carve, glue all sorts of things together, I think I have made many interesting things, at least that’s what people say but I am not entirely sure though I try to keep that to myself. Because I see that many other people do the same and they seem certain of what they are doing. I do not know whether they too are trying to send a message to the one who looks in the right direction, but I honestly cannot think of any other reason. In any case, we have increasingly been showing, together, what we have made, mainly showing it to each other but I know that others also come to see and, who knows, perhaps there it is among them the one who only looks the right way. So I get along just fine, feeling that I am not completely alone.
Well, I do feel alone a bit.
I have started assembling things too and I paint ever larger pieces, some of which resemble a bit what others make, but not much. In any case, I usually get good ideas when I see their work. I have learned a great deal too, and I share what I know, if asked. I also enjoy listening when others talk about these things. I usually make things that resemble something I saw, and I strive to make them as similar as possible, almost identical to what I saw, convincing myself that they are, in fact, the very thing, just slightly different. By now, I feel I am quite good at it. At other times, I put together things that resemble nothing at all, and when doubt creeps in, when I wonder what it is and why I made it, I reassure myself that there must be someone who understands or who will understand because otherwise I could not have created it. And besides, why should something always resemble something else? After all, I myself resemble nothing, although I cannot really know because I have never seen myself as a whole, only parts of what belongs to me. I do not know whether others, whom I see as whole, are truly whole because if they, like me, do not know, then it is not at all certain. But then I realise that the important thing is that I see them as whole, and I must admit that when I do, I feel a little envious because I cannot do the same for myself.
So it is all quite strange, but I do not worry much because in those moments my grandmother appears and says in her gentle and warm voice: “My dear child, never be afraid.” And then I think that I truly have nothing to fear because even if I were to lose my sight and I could no longer make drawings, paint pictures and create all sorts of objects, I would still have everything here, in my head, or perhaps not in my head because I cannot see that so perhaps I do not even have one, but it doesn’t matter now. Everything that belongs to me, everything that is truly me, I think, will still be here because it is impossible, it cannot be, that I do not exist.
Until then, I keep making all sorts of things, and in the meantime, I keep looking, sometimes, speaking and, rarely, singing (if one can even call it singing). But what I know is that I want to create objects of which there is only one.
Something for which there is no substitute.
I am sure that the one who looks in the only right direction is keeping an eye on that.
We have not yet met face to face, but I feel that person is near.
Perhaps I simply have not recognised him yet.
They say I am an artist. Is there something else an artist must say?