Ádám Farkas is one of the outstanding figures of contemporary Hungarian sculpture. Since the 1960s he has pursued an unbroken artistic career spanning more than five decades, creating sculptures built with a noble simplicity of form, employing the traditional tools of sculpture to convey enduring, pure ideals.
His idealism is nourished by love and respect for nature, which is the origo of his worldview. At the same time, he is a sculptor through and through, for the desire of an analysis of forms drives him to reflect continually on new problems of a sculptural nature. Farkas’s art, while clearly analyzable in well-defined periods, can also be described as economical in the sense that he employs very few motifs, which he examines, explores, and analyzes with consistency. One of his most frequent motifs is the wave line, which he has used in both vertical and horizontal sculptures and even incorporated into architectonic works. This was followed by – and in fact, derives logically from it – the spiral, which he wound further: as a Möbius strip turning back into itself, as a peculiar torsion of curves, or as the double helix form of DNA symbolizing organic life.
Although he also works with bronze and wood, he obsessively carves stone – that noble, hardest, and most resistant of materials – because it stands closest to his world of thought. Fortunately, the artist himself often assesses and reviews his own creative path. His much-quoted question, “Can the world be transformed?”, sheds light on the artistic attitude that accepts the world as given, while seeking to uncover the nature, possibility, and legitimacy of the creative force that manifests within it. For Ádám Farkas, nature is the epicentre: everything is measured against it and shaped by it. This is why his central question is whether sculpture can play a role in the world – which, in his case, is primarily identified with nature – and if so, in what way it can be creative. He raises the question repeatedly, so that his art represents not so much the answer as the act of questioning itself.
The organic mode of expression, which imitates nature, is therefore fundamental for him. In each of his sculptures he builds a system resembling a natural form, within which he places, shapes, designs, draws, or marks – sometimes indicatively, sometimes literally – an artificial element (geometric, regular in form). This intervention, or as he calls it, transformation, the gesture of human creation, is symbolized by the geometric, polished world that complements the organic system denoting nature.
In 1972, on the occasion of one of his first exhibitions, he stated: “I would like to create sculptures that would be born even without me…” This expresses several things: the artist’s humility not only towards nature but also towards art itself, and his idea that sculpture, in its chosen environment, should not only appear natural but also act as sculpture. In this sense, his works embody both the form-exploring approach of contemporary sculpture and the sign-creating gesture of archaic art. The surface of the sculpture is equally important, because the creative gestures, the traces of the struggle for form, become visible.
Today his works are part of major Hungarian and international public and private collections, they adorn public spaces, and his large-scale political memorials are memorable for their monumental impact. His nonfigurative sculpture, which is connected to nature through transpositions, can be related to the art of Brâncuși, Hans Arp, and Noguchi. His creations, which convey a distinctive line of thought and can be fitted into a kind of logical chain, are not interpretable only in isolation – this is why it is so captivating to traverse the path marked out by his works.
From Figural to Abstract (1963-1975)
In 1968, the year of his graduation, Ádám Farkas had the chance to make his debut before the public of his hometown, Szentendre, at the Ferenczy Károly Museum. His next Szentendre exhibition took place in 1972 at the newly built Artists’ Colony Gallery by the Old Artists’ Colony. The exhibition is worth noting because it not only summed up the artist’s work to date but also, with the display of his newest pieces, represented Farkas’s fresh aspirations, in which his 1968–1969 trip to Paris played a role. It also became clear that drawing – which has accompanied his creative processes ever since – was of fundamental importance to him, since alongside the sculptures made from 1963 onward, he also exhibited drawings, gouache sketches, and even a large canvas painting. The artwork reproduction chosen for the catalogue cover unmistakably signalled the emergence of a new outlook – a shift toward abstract form-making.
Part of the exhibition’s history is that the Lectorate of Fine and Applied Arts (the bureau of art censorship) did not authorize its opening, and only the intervention of sculptor József Somogyi made it possible for it to become accessible to the public. All this provides insight into the conservative cultural policy environment – especially condemnatory of abstract art – that surrounded Ádám Farkas’s early career years.
His first creative period is remarkable from several angles, and although critics usually touch on these early years only briefly, they deserve more attention and analysis, since it is here that the distinguishing features emerge which help us to understand his work in the decades that followed.
First, during these years an organic, abstract visual language gradually developed. The move toward abstraction took place very quickly, within a few years, clearly spurred by the Paris trip and by the impact of the contemporary art he encountered there, above all the work of sculptor Émile Gilioli, which helped him break away from the modelling practices taught at the Academy of Fine Arts. In Farkas’s oeuvre, abstraction arose from a figurative sculpture of a special flavour, with a Mediterranean tone, and in the works of this time one can trace how the figure gradually transformed into another kind of, more abstract sculptural unity – a process that also characterized his mode of abstraction.
At the same time, certain types of depiction and themes appeared that would return in later years – such as the reclining sculpture, which can also be seen as a precursor of his land-based sculptures, and the cosmic theme of Föld születése (Birth of the Earth), in whose reworkings the sphere remained a recurring motif. Third, it was in this period that a specific sculptural element emerged – the rounded form intersected by a plane – which reappeared in different ways later, either as a stand-alone sculpture or as a component of larger works. A fourth important trait can also be observed in this time: the simultaneous use of smooth, taut surfaces and fractured, layered surfaces in the elaboration of the same work.
Ádám Farkas’s early figurative stone sculptures are mostly female nudes in seated, kneeling, or reclining poses, conceived in block-like forms, sometimes complemented with baroque-like drapery: Fekvő (Reclining, 1967), Térdeplő (Kneeling, 1967), Mohos (1968), Nehéz Madonna, also known as Anyaság (Heavy Madonna / Motherhood, 1968). In shaping these early female figures, the unusual position or the broad, less detailed creative gesture – extracting from the block of material only the most necessary forms – tested the possibilities of traditional figurative representation, as well as the ways in which it could be renewed.
Among the better-known early sculptures, the three successive versions of the reclining female figure clearly reflected the transformation that gradually broke away from figurative representation toward abstract expression. Still without a title, defined only by their material, the three versions later named Fekvő figura (Reclining Figure, 1967, 1968, 1970), made of andesite and marble, were exhibited together in 1972 at the aforementioned exhibition. In the first andesite version, the figurative expression is still dominant: the promisingly novel treatment of the starting form is indicated by the twisted upper torso, the upper limbs locked into the block, and the spread, heavy thighs. The rounded shaping of certain details, and the layered lines suggesting draped folds that connect different body parts, already represent two distinct formal systems within this early work. The second version, a female torso, still refers recognizably to the naturalistic starting point, but the block-like formulation of the unfinished limbs with the body’s trunk foreshadowed the emergence of a new mode of expression. The third version can already be understood as an abstract sculpture – while some elements of the female body remain discernible, what predominates is the independent organic formal world, detached from the system of the human body.
This period of formal exploration is also linked to the emergence of a theme that, in various approaches – birth, creation – recurred throughout the artist’s entire oeuvre. Two versions of The Birth of the Earth (1970, 1972) were created: one reclining in red marble, and one standing in gray marble. The red marble sculpture, carved from a single block, features in its lower section a form resembling a bursting earth crust, on which rests a smooth spherical shape, enclosed by a protective shell opening, bursting forth as a symbol of life and evoking the impression of gradual growth.
The idea of growth appeared in other sculptures of the same period. Táguló tér (Expanding Space, 1970), carved in white marble, is a brick-shaped work whose central hemispherical part is embraced by semicircular, protruding, rounded forms. Built from complex elements, this sculpture evokes the image of an ever-growing mass, reminiscent of cellular proliferation, as its title suggests. Although certain parts still show connections to the semi-figurative works, it is more significant that the semicircular forms are disrupted by flat planes.
This rounded shape, cut through by a plane that dissolves stasis and evokes a sense of incompletion, becomes an autonomous sculptural unit. Interlocking with similar or different forms, it forms the basis of numerous sculptures. The analysis and exploration of these form-connections become the subject of the works – to mention only a few examples: the bronze Táncosnők (Dancers, 1971), Hármas kapcsolat (Triple Connection, 1972), the marble-carved 1909, or the two variations known under the title Fehér márvány (White Marble, 1975). In parallel, works were also created that represented a radically different artistic principle: alongside the complex sculptures carved from a single block, the artist also joined together independent partial forms, arranging sharp, cutting planes side by side in parallel, thus making rhythm and repetition into composition-shaping forces (Szélszelő [Edge-cutter], 1972).
Farkas Ádám’s interest in commissions for sculptures in the public space and competitions showed itself very early. His very first public work was still figurative – and like some of his contemporaries, he made no attempt to present the subject in an idealized manner. The limestone portrait of Ignác Semmelweis (1971), twice life-size and marked by hard planar surfaces emphasizing the facial features, expresses the determination and resolve of a physician who, despite making a pioneering discovery of his age, lived in a society that only slowly recognized his merits.
This was followed by the winning competition entries for the VIT-szobor (VIT Statue, 1973) and the Martin Luther King Memorial design (1975), though neither was ultimately realized. At the invitational competition for the Köszöntőszobor (Greeting Sculpture) in Szentendre, Farkas Ádám’s plan was selected from among seven local artists (1973), but the work was only erected in 1980 on the Danube embankment, which was still used as a main thoroughfare at the time. Although the finished concrete sculpture differs slightly from the original design, the strikingly tall, eight-meter-high, elongated figure – with a stepped, layered crown shifted in tiers, twisting in space, and formed by two semicircular elements approaching each other – has by now become one of the city’s most visible and recognizable emblems.
Wave-line based sculptures (1975–1982)
In the new creative period beginning in 1975, the relationship between architecture and sculpture came to the forefront, prompting a rethinking of the relationship between human beings and space, which also influenced the formal vocabulary of the small sculptures. There was a growing demand for larger dimensions, aluminum appeared as a new material, and stone, previously preferred, receded into the background in favour of bronze. During this period, extending into the early 1980s, the oeuvre continued to develop consistently, and several fresh, innovative works were created. At the same time, Ádám Farkas’s art became increasingly well known, not only through his winning competition entries and exhibitions in Budapest, but also thanks to Zsuzsa D. Fehér’s portrait film about him.
The solo exhibitions held in 1973 at the Chamber Hall of the Kunsthalle, in 1976 at the Studio Gallery, and in 1978 as part of the Workshop series of the Hungarian National Gallery were important milestones in Farkas’s career. The last two shows featured primarily designs and models. At the Studio Gallery, the transformation of a single form was presented through an eight-part sculpture, in which, stage by stage, the form continuously changed, assuming new configurations while repeatedly referring back to the immediately preceding state – in this way, time itself was given form in the succession of stages.
Change, time, rhythm, and repetition also assumed a central role in the reliefs beginning with the first aluminum bas-relief created in 1975, whose principal motif was the wave line. It is worth recalling the formal potential inherent in the early small-scale sculptures, especially the horizontally arranged pieces – above all Fekvő nő (Reclining Woman) – whose structure, reminiscent of a topographical view when raised to eye level, revealed the wave line. Initially appearing as a formal element, then as a symbolic motif, it came to occupy an increasingly significant place in Ádám Farkas’s art.
On the façade of the former Plant Protection Research Institute in Budapest, a rectangular aluminum relief measuring 15 meters long by 1.5 meters high (1975) consists of vertically aligned, bent wave lines of varying curvature running in rhythmic succession. Their corrugated surface generates special spatial effects, as ever new light-and-shadow shaped forms unfold with the shifting position of the sun.
The aluminum relief that once decorated the café in the underpass at Kálvin Square in Budapest (1977) – now destroyed – brought spatial illusions and optical effects to the fore through its horizontal corrugation. At the same time, another reading of the rhythmic sequence of wave lines also emerged: through them, the image of terrestrial tectonics, of strata and folds, was evoked. The symbolic meaning of the wave line, linked to the natural environment, also expanded. By multiplying and aligning wave lines that never return to themselves – symbolizing life and, with it, nature, breath, and movement – a structure was created that could recall the rippling surface of water stirred by the wind, or the undulating sweep of a wheat field.
The last opus of this group of works is the relief in Székesfehérvár (Alumínium dombormű III. / Aluminum Relief III., 1980), which unites two spheres – earthly and celestial movements. The tectonics of the lower section are heavier, the folds broader, while the wave lines of the upper structure are more delicate and slenderer. The plastic surface formed by the folding and layering of tectonic shapes not only recalls geological motions but also generates intriguing interior spaces.
Among the small-scale works made at the same time, a separate group consists of bronze-based reliefs assuming three-dimensional wave-line configurations, into which geometric shapes were inserted. For example, in Négyzetek női tájban (Squares in a Female Landscape, 1976), four perfectly regular, gold-polished squares appear on a matte ground. Although the work is essentially composed for a bird’s-eye view, it can also be interpreted at eye level: while the surface itself is no longer visible, it still conjures both a topographical landscape and the structure of the female body. At the same time, it is an open sculpture: the jagged edges of the supporting bronze plate create not only a sense of contingency but also the impression that the piece has been torn or ripped from a larger whole (Krómozott négyzet / Chromed Square, Hullámzó formák / Waving Forms, Polírozott négyzet / Polished Square, 1976).
One of the more ambitious but unrealized landscape-sculpture projects connected to this earthbound, horizontally extended mode of composition was conceived for the new western city center of Salgótarján. Several members of the Experimental Workshop, which also sought new modes of collaboration between contemporary architecture and sculpture, prepared proposals for the site. Farkas Ádám’s model envisioned a special pavement of concrete elements forming a raster grid, following the natural contours of the hillside with its 2–4-meter differences in level, and uniting the communal spaces around three planned thirty-story building blocks. Beyond its supporting and stabilizing role, the pavement’s geometric, coloured structure would have created a transparent spatial impression, transforming constantly under the play of light and shadow across the day. The principle of combining organic forms with geometric structures, represented in this large-scale environmental concept stretching several hundred meters, was realized in his oak sculpture Ködkarcoló (Skyscraper in the Mist, 1976) in the Nagyatád Sculpture Park. Its basic modules are square prisms, systematically arranged to produce a rising and falling, wave-like spatial formation extending eleven meters across the ground.
A related idea resurfaced in the following decade in the fountain sculptures at Gazdagrét and Kispest, where a grid of elevated, wave-shaped surfaces rising from the flat ground allowed water to spurt from the gaps. The artist described his conception vividly: “I want to achieve the effect as if immense forces from below were straining the ground – first it begins to move, then bursts apart at its highest points, and from those fissures the water gushes forth.”
At the Gazdagrét fountain (A föld ereje / The Power of the Earth, 1987–1991), square prisms are arranged in a square overall layout. Their differing heights create an undulating relief-like surface, while water sprays up in fine jets from the spaces between. At the Kispest fountain (Gyűrt sziklák / Folded Rocks, 1988), the basic unit is not a square prism but the rounded-and-sliced form familiar from his early small sculptures; repeated and combined, these generate the relief effect.
Within the series of small works of the 1970s, the wave-line-based reliefs gradually evolved: the bronze sheet bent upward along both vertical edges, and the curved sides were closed off by rounded forms cut flat, already known from earlier works (Egy szobor találkozásai / Encounters of a Sculpture, 1980). Tengeri kikötő (Seaport) also conveys the sensation of breaking free from the flat plane, with its title suggesting a narrative association: on the undulating base one seems to glimpse a ship afloat, while the raised opposing sides evoke the image of a pier or jetty.
The horizontally extended sculptures with various shapes and formations are integrated into A jövő emlékei (Memories of the Future), originally conceived as four separate works. Although they can be understood as a series, in reality they are independent creations with a utopian atmosphere, rooted in land art, that reconstruct imaginary ruins. On the crumpled bronze surface appear smoothly polished artificial forms, while a metal element reminiscent of a hilly landscape is segmented by regular cubes. In this context, it is worth mentioning as a parallel or precursor the drawing series Monumentum (1979–1980). These sheets depict columns, arches, and cubes amid motifs alluding to natural settings. The column recurs several times: laid across a chasm, connecting two points and enabling passage; or viewed from below, stretching toward the sky. In each case, parts of its sides open up to reveal inner horizontal stratification. These drawings of artificial formations and deserted landscapes – once-inhabited regions now rendered utterly empty – evoke the suggestion of past human presence. They foreshadow the next creative period, in which the spiral, the column, stratification, and the act of opening-up appear with special emphasis.
Closely related to the mood of these sculptures – which ominously project the future of nature and conjure a depopulated earth – are the small-scale mechanical sculptures. Constructed by assembling separate elements, they not only display the beauty of construction but also convey the mechanized world of industrial civilization and environment: Háborús gépezet (War Machine), Ipari Vénusz (Industrial Venus), and Szivárványmérő készülék (Rainbow-Measuring Device, 1980–1982).
Entropy sculptures (1982-)
In the early 1980s, numerous commissioned and large-scale public works were created around the theme of creation and birth (Termés [Harvest], Tápiógyörgye, 1981 – Szökőkút [Fountain], Budakeszi Town Hall, 1983 – A Nap születése [Birth of the Sun], Óbuda, 1983).
The first monumental stone sculpture, the fountain at Tápiógyörgye, depicts a cracked seed still nestled in its protective shell, while the Budakeszi fountain reduces the form of a blossoming flower to essentials. By contrast, the composition A Nap születése is built from three simple sculptural units stacked together. A sphere resting on semicircular, embracing elements rises with solemn dignity above its surroundings.
In this work, the sphere appears not only as a perfect spatial form but also as a carrier of meaning: beyond the Sun mentioned in the title, it symbolizes wholeness and the Creator. The sphere reappears in a similar sense in other works by Farkas Ádám, such as the Recsk Memorial and the Astra fountain sculpture.
One of the most important works of the decade – and, in scale, the largest outdoor creation in his oeuvre up to that point – was the land sculpture Kőesés (Rockfall, 1986–88) in the Villány Sculpture Park. Set in a vast rocky basin, it imitates a rockslide with smaller stones accumulated on the mountainside and larger blocks tumbling earthward under the pull of gravity. From some of these, scarcely noticeable and placed with seeming randomness, emerge fragments of geometric elements – sharply cut corners that break through the organic mass.
The simultaneous presence of geometric and natural forms also characterizes the small sculptures of the 1980s belonging to the group of works called Entropy, based on the principle of unfolding. The underlying idea had appeared earlier – for instance in a 1976 oak sculpture – which, starting from a regular cube, revealed its internal structure: varying topographies resembling land art, with stratified layers reminiscent of a staircase.
One emblematic piece of the Entropy series, which began in 1982, is Kibontott kocka (Unfolded Cube, 1988), a 20 × 20 cm marble sculpture. Starting from a perfect cube, the removal of the superfluous reveals the inner structure: following the grain of the marble, fractures align along carved curves, their ruggedness counterpointed by the smooth polished surfaces of the enclosing cube. Numerous other marble sculptures were created in a similar manner – Fekete táj (Entrópia) [Black Landscape], Fekete oszlop (Entrópia) [Black Column], Kibontott kereszt (Entrópia) [Unfolded Cross], Kibontott hasáb [Unfolded Prism]. In all cases, starting from a geometric base form – cube, prism, or upright column – the organic structures hidden within become visible.
The title Entropy itself arose from a personal encounter. In 1988, the Geneva-based physicist Gabriel G. Minder, seeing Farkas Ádám’s sculptures in Augsburg, offered a broader interpretation by referring to entropy as studied in the second law of thermodynamics. He understood the works as artistic expressions of entropy – the relationship between structured geometry and natural form, between order and dissolution.
The conceptual framework of the Entropy works also includes the Recski Emlékmű (Recsk Memorial, 1991). Monumental in scale and spirit, it commemorates the victims of the forced labor camp by realizing the same artistic vision: two architectonic limestone blocks, pierced with geometric openings symbolizing prison windows, are leaned against each other within a larger, embracing organic whole – the natural plateau itself, site of the obliterated camp. At the meeting point of the two blocks, crowning the sculpture, a polished granite sphere shines as a symbol of pure idealism, truth, and wholeness.
Inversion, twist and spiral line (1992-)
In the early 1990s, the number of vertically oriented sculptures increased markedly – works reaching upward, emphasizing verticality and seeking liberation from their earthbound state, in which twisting and spiral forms appeared in various ways.
Within the Entropy group, a separate section is formed by the slender rectangular prisms of the 1990s, whose strict geometry is softened by fractured, more organic segments unfolding along a spiral line (Rózsaszín oszlop [Pink Column], 1992; Kibontott zöld oszlop [Unfolded Green Column], 1994). A three-meter-tall outdoor version of this type was installed in Montignac, France (Kibontott nagy oszlop [Unfolded Large Column], 1993).
Meanwhile, the horizontal sculptures also renewed themselves. The further development of the wave motif is represented by the Ívcsavar (Arch-Twist) series, begun in 1993, whose starting form is a semicircle resting on two points and twisted at the center. Layers carved into the surface follow the path of the twist. This motif appears across smooth and stratified surfaces, polished and textured finishes, lying or upright compositions, in both bronze and stone. Yet it was no accident that one of the most defining forms of this period became the column, which provided the basis for several large-scale works.
Like the sphere, both the column and the spiral took on increasingly symbolic meaning. Columns symbolically linking heaven and earth, combined with spirals representing eternal cycles, the path of life and its stages, gave rise to twisted columns – among the finest examples are A feléledt oszlop (The Awakened Column, 1992) in Japan, Fehér oszlop (White Column, 1992) in Balatonboglár, and Kettős csavart oszlop (Double Twisted Column, 1993) in the Arthur Graham Sculpture Park, California.
The most elemental impact is perhaps achieved by The Awakened Column in Fujimi Kogen Sculpture Park, Japan. At 4.5 meters high, it may be the most perfect realization of the artist’s ideal – that sculpture in its chosen environment should seem both natural and sculptural. Rising slim and twisted at midsection, its silhouette thrusts skyward. On its square-based prism, the horizontal striations dissolve at the twist, where smooth surfaces gather and reflect the light in extraordinary ways. The symbolism of this sculpture includes sun and light, which – as they dissolve the mass of stone – simultaneously integrate it into nature, as though the sculpture followed the movement of the sun with each shift in daylight.
At the California Sculpture Park, the Double Twisted Column consists of two intertwining, jointly twisting columns. The Életfa (Tree of Life), inaugurated in 1996 in Tiszaújváros, features three twisted columns carrying a triple meaning: commemorating the millennial anniversary of the Hungarian Conquest, the 40th anniversary of the 1956 revolution, and the 30th anniversary of the city itself. Beyond this, the paired and tripled columns also connect to universal symbols – the duality of the world, the cycle of death and rebirth in nature, the body–soul–spirit triad, or even the Holy Trinity.
The column appears not only as an independent form but also as a component of larger compositions. At Szabadság Square in Budapest, in front of the Bank Center designed by József Finta, the ensemble Az erő nyomai (Traces of Power, 1993–1995) combines three forms already independently represented in the artist’s oeuvre – a double twisted column, a reclining twist-arch, and a Möbius-like loop sculpture.
A similarly complex creation is Kőemlék a jövőből (Stone Monument from the Future, 1995, Commercial and Credit Bank, Vigadó Square), a marble ensemble representing the distinctive sculptural system of that period. Installed indoors in the ground-floor lobby, at the junction of two axes of space, a meticulously worked marble surface cladding a curved wall serves as a backdrop for two wall sculptures, interpretable also as reliefs. One extends to the top of the wall – its undulating structure evoking a growing tree of life – while the lower relief reaches halfway up the wall, between them a small fountain is set with a rotating white sphere. The ensemble is completed by a broader column extending toward the opening space, functioning both as a structural support and as a vertical bridge symbolically linking earth and sky. Alongside stone and water, a warm light with a special atmosphere forms an integral part of the composition.
The double twisted column topped with a polished black granite sphere (symbol of perfection) provides the foundation for the fountain sculpture in Törökbálint known as the Astra-kút (Astra Fountain, 2001) or Ősi energiák (Ancient Energies, 2001). The tree-of-life motif returns in the Arbor plantata (2001) marble column, created for the atrium of the Reformed Secondary School in Szentendre. Another commission for the same site, Univerzum (Universe, 2010), consists of a blue-veined white sphere rotating in water, enclosed by an octagonal stone structure. Both works refer to biblical quotations that also reflect the school’s spiritual identity.
The column theme found a nobly simple, symbol-based application in the 1956 memorial in Pécs. This political monument, erected in 1996 through professional and civic collaboration, centers on a five-meter-high broken black granite column marked with cannon and machine-gun impacts. The red granite slabs forming the shifted base symbolize the fractured world system of communism. With its beautifully worked surfaces, the emblematic rendering of bullet traces, the harmonious spatial and formal order, and the monumental impact of the black stone block, Farkas Ádám’s creation stands among the finest and most refined ’56 memorials in Hungary.
After the prominence of the column, organic forms once again gained emphasis, not only on small sculptures but also on major commissions. Particularly distinctive are the variations of Végtelen visszatérés (Infinite Return), which represent a kind of summation. Initially executed in wood (1992), later in metal (1999–2001), these were constructed from hundreds of fitted wooden or metal lamellae. The series not only develops the principle of the Möbius strip and built-up modular compositions but also carries forward the idea of the aluminium reliefs based on wave motifs, recalling their inner spaces. These planar yet spatially expansive forms also resonate with the stratified surfaces of the twisted arches and the related creations.
The open-air sculpture erected in Cegléd to mark Hungary’s accession to the European Union (2004) is composed of four segments built from joined stone blocks. Visitors may step inside the hemispherical form and read the inscriptions engraved on the blocks, each representing a member state, while a glass cube placed at the intersection of the arcs symbolizes the ideals of the European Union – belonging, shared thought, and solidarity.
Among the arch-based sculptures and their variations, Solti György síremléke (Tomb of György Solti, 1998) is especially noteworthy, evoking the gesture of a conductor’s baton, as is the 1956-os emlékmű (1956 Memorial, 2006) at Ózd, where three interlocking arc elements allude to a bird taking flight. A related yet more elongated form, reaching even more skyward, is the polished bronze Az észak-afrikai harcosok emlékműve (Monument to the North African Fighters, 2006), created for the French town of Vanves. A year later, in the same town, the large-scale, dynamic arch sculpture La République (2007) was installed in a public square, representing the grandeur of the republican ideal.
Configurations, contaminations (2000-2003)
Just as in the 1970s and early 1980s there had been a demand for forms constructed from separate, assembled parts, this creative principle returned to the agenda at the beginning of the 2000s. This time, however, instead of individually prepared flat elements, the sculptures were built from spatial units – geometric, semi-geometric, wave-shaped, or block-like fragments. Like the earlier The Birth of the Sun, these stone fragments were placed on top of one another, joined along seams, assuming varied shapes and creating exciting states of equilibrium that together formed an entire group of works (Konfigurációk [Configurations], Kontaminációk [Contaminations], 2000–2003).
Although in recent years he has also ventured into other areas (tactile urban sculptures, large-scale figurative works such as the Bujtor-statue), the art of Ádám Farkas remains impressively consistent, coherent, and logically structured. At the same time, his finely measured sense of form and the care of execution convey his intimate emotional and sensory bond with the material. Just as in the Entropy series he visibly set the geometric and the organic worlds against one another, so too does the duality of conscious control and instinctive drive constantly arise during the creative process.
Reason and emotion? This very question was already discussed in 1982 in an interview with art historian Ferenc Hann. The artist formulated his view – still valid today – as follows: “I do not believe there is a contradiction behind this, but rather a duality arising from the nature of the matter. In my interpretation, the lyrical side is the emotional charge, the compulsion to express, the subconscious driving force, a kind of presence of life, the world of mysteries. The rational side, on the other hand, is the determination of things, their ordering into a system.”
[2014]