Art Installation: Budapest

My brother and I have been in Budapest for the last 2 weeks working on a sculpture installation at Art Quarter Budapest. AQB is a collection of maze-like buildings spread across the very Southern part of the city. Everything has a name: Building A, Building D, "The Nest," the AQB Garden. There is a newly constructed brewery, Haggenmacher with the slogan, “The bride is thirsty.” There are multiple galleries, a laundry room, my little room with a big window, a shared kitchen and social area. AQB unfolds around us:  artist studios and residences, a cafe and chocolate factory, welders and builders and creatives. There are mines and caverns, gardens and rooftops, stairwells, tiny doors, and elevators.

Being at AQB and having unbridled time to make, make, make is amazing. Every morning, the day unfolds with creative potential, but also the possibility of a slower pace, time to think, write, read and nap. It feels luxurious to have this space to let my mind wander.

As we settled in, Mark and I were able to start gathering the pieces for our sculpture on the first day. We had a very specific idea of what we wanted to make, a material list, and tools we needed to borrow. We settled on calling this project, “I’m drowning in seawater. Wait, no, I’m having a sunset swim,” because these past few months, Mark and I have been talking about our relationship to creativity, sadness and joy. We are using this time to explore the relationship between ourselves, the outside environment, the barriers of the external world and how we mimic those structures in ourselves. As we look around, and incorporate outside factors into our lives, they can be weights or wings, satisfaction or sadness. In times that barriers are created in our external world, internally we can mimic these structures, holding down our lighter selves in the service of incorporating (or submitting) to external factors. However, these factors can be seen as weights or wings. Satisfaction or deep sadness can be found near the dirt, and also in our imagination.

I feel unbelievably proud of this project for a few reasons. Truly, this was a collaboration with Mark, from start to finish. The idea and theme struck a chord for both of us, we formulated a beautiful idea, and then we navigated bringing the idea to fruition. To go through this process with any artist, I assume would be amazing, but to do it with my brother, was a gift. 

This project in particular, really blended our skill sets. Mark is more technology and structure based, and I tend toward being more analog and organic. Bringing these two dynamics together was like weaving neon with desert stones. I loved the dynamic of fitting rough-cut and splitting wood between angle iron bracing. I loved the crisp light from warm LEDs casting shadows over dried, pressed clay. 

We initially intended to put the sculpture in the AQB garden, but as we watched the weather, we saw that rain was inevitable. Because the clay pieces I made were raw, and Mark had to have a dry and secure way to hook up the lighting for the sculpture, we needed to find an indoor location. It dawned on us that we should use the mines at AQB. This underground maze of giant tunnels is a cold and creepy underbelly. The temperature drops by 20 degrees the minute you step inside, and daylight is sucked away. The tall, arched ceilings drip with dust, and the air is old and stale. Without light, the darkness is thick and seeps into every corner. 

But also, it is alluring and spectacular. The space presented itself as an opportunity that is so unique- a perfect place, especially for this sculpture. We also realized that wherever we travel to make art, there will most probably be a garden or outside space we can create in. But, having an old mine at our disposal to build a sculpture in, is an unbelievably unique environment. And for this particular sculpture, the dark cavernous space would bring a depth to the installation. 

As we brought our materials and put them together in the mine, we worked with headlamps, phone flash lights, and a battery charged spotlight. At one point, all the lights went out, and I squeaked out a terrified shriek as my eyes adjusted to total, damp darkness. We spent two days fitting and screwing boards to angle iron bases, and attaching the LEDs and connecting the wires. Then, we created the arch of the line for the individual sections, balancing them on bricks from the front of the mine shaft to the back. Once we tested the wires and made sure that the lighting worked, I finally added the pressed ceramic pieces. 

The final outcome was not what I imagined. Having set up with giant lights, the shadows cast by our sculpture had been an integral part of the installation process. But once completely installed, we turned off the spot lights and turned on the LEDs, under lighting the sculpture. Without the giant spot lights, the cavernous room became a quiet, dimly lit sanctuary. The sculptures seemed to float above the warmly lit iron bases, and the reflected light on the floor became a mirage of lighted pools. Above this soft light, our pressed clay faces floated, caught between the cut boards, looking out at the curved mine walls. 

   .        In this moment, seeing the suspended ceramic faces, and thinking about our creative process, I suddenly wondered, “are our faces caught within the boards of clay, being held? Or, are the slabs of clay pulling apart the sticks and creating tension, extending out?” I realized, it is both. That is the creative process. That is the weight and wings.