Inverse | Kisterem Gallery
It is in the light of the foregoing ideas that I interpret even the title of the exhibition of Márk Fridvalszki, Zsolt Molnár and András Zalavári, for the word “inverse” represents to me a proclamation of a critical practice, the programme of inversion. Inversion is not the removal and delocalisation of the visible, but nor is it some kind of counter-abstraction; instead it is an act of turning things around, turning things over, bringing the hidden contexts of geometric thinking to the surface, all the fractures, schisms and glitches that are generated in the tension between the dream of order and the actuality of seeing.
An affinity for geometry in the visual arts represents a dream of order, the irrepressible yearning of the creator-constructor, by which the chaotic visuality of the world can be expressed in a painterly way through rational structures. This kind of sensitivity, longing for autonomy from the gamut of human and material forms, was christened Suprematism by Kazimir Malevich – the sublimity of pure sensitivity. There are, of course, questions surrounding the social or perhaps religious ideologies that engender this particular sensitivity, as well as the nature (and motivations) of the people who, having sworn themselves to something invisible, wish to create order in the visible, for, after all, the spirit will never be driven out of art, although we must remain constantly vigilant that what we are dealing with is not, in fact, some kind of spectre, whose only desire is to violate matter in some obscene way. In other words, we must always examine the motives and motivations of the invisible; we must operate a kind of malicious archaeology, in order to be able to unmask order, because this is what the object of critical abstraction ought to be: the benefits and drawbacks of geometry in the interest of life.
Zsolt Molnár’s paper cut-outs, made with the help of masking, reveal an array of tools (levelling device, telemeter, working platform, etc.). The paper forms are supported by installation-like structures made of wood, built up of interchangeable elements. The precise function of the tools, or the way in which they operate, cannot be exactly decoded (without prior knowledge), yet there is more at play than merely pure architecture. The world infiltrates the abstract system, incessantly “reminding” us of a kind of denotation of reality, so that the viewer’s sense of comfort is constantly disturbed, as we find ourselves unreconciled both in the nakedness of the geometry and among the specificity of the objects. A gentle pulsation emanates from all this, which lies between security and insecurity, and this is accentuated by the dual character of the material the works are made of, namely the plasticity of flux between the paper cut-outs and the wooden structures.
Márió Nemes Z.