“For me, sculpture is a spiritual, intellectual and physical activity,
a path in life on whose stations
we are primarily trying to understand ourselves.”
Péter Gálhidy
As a member of the generation that graduated in the early 2000s, Péter Gálhidy returns, in terms of both material use and thematic approach, to the fundamental problems of classical sculpture. Among these, he is most deeply engaged by questions of spatiality, visibility, and the relationship between material and immaterial. Perhaps the greatest strength of his work lies in the close connection between a refined, deeply grounded sculptural expertise and, at times, radical art-philosophical questioning. For this reason, in Péter Gálhidy’s works not only the choice and use of material play a key role, but also the carefully considered titles, which may be regarded as conceptual definitions of the theme. From this arises the intellectual freedom he leaves open to the viewer, assisting interpretation only through very subtle, almost imperceptible cues.
Péter Gálhidy completed his studies in 1997 with a major in sculpture at the Hungarian College of Fine Arts [now: Hungarian University of Fine Arts, and then continued his studies there for two further years in the master programme. His first master at college was József Somogyi, whose outlook and classically figurative creative attitude had a profound impact on him, although Somogyi’s death unfortunately prevented this relationship from fully unfolding. István Bencsik and Zoltán Karmó took over the training of the young sculpture student. During these years the approach of Pál Kő also exercised a formative influence on him.
Classical sculptural models serve only as starting points for him, since he realised at an early stage that he was far more interested in natural structures, and that the representation of the human body would not be the path he wished to follow.
At college, he worked with the structures of various objects (chairs), and from this emerged the idea for his diploma work, which aimed at the complete dematerialisation of structure. He wished to create a work in which the material is almost no longer visible, appearing instead like a drawing placed in space.
Legszebb tárgy, ami nincs (The Most Beautiful Object That Does Not Exist) was realised in 1997 in the Calvary space at Epreskert. The title of the work is the opening line of a poem by Zbigniew Herbert, and the piece itself was made of fishing line. The original aim of the work was to show how an object might be represented in such a way that it appears almost completely immaterial, thereby drawing attention to the very limits of sculpture. The drawn structures constructed from fishing line made this possible. Closely related in conception is the work Ablak (Window), created for a corner of the exhibition space for a group sculpture show at the Műcsarnok (Kunsthalle Budapest) in 2001. The inclusion of the architectural structure – the corner where the two walls meet – introduced further possibilities for spatial interpretation; in the words of Tibor Wehner, it “reveals unexpected viewpoints and offers the viewer exciting possibilities of perception, contemplation and experience”. The relationship between frame and shadow, and the lines functioning autonomously as structure-forming elements, can also be observed in the Pilinszky-emléktábla (Pilinszky Memorial Plaque, 2003) in Balatonkenese, which in its conception belongs to the same group of works.
Already in Ablak (Window) (2001) the corner – the point where the walls of the exhibition space meet – played a distinguished role. This position inspired numerous works. The sculpture Sark (Corner), made in 2003, consists of thin steel rods which, imitating plant fibres, form a structure striving for regularity that, when circled around, recalls the semicircular cross-section of a metal gutter segment. Placed in the corner, it produced a new, illusionistic spatial effect. A later variant of this corner sculpture is Sarokvas (Corner Iron) (2019), which imitates the form of a half-folded linden leaf. Made of iron, the choice of material is closely linked to the method of working, as the artist used a combination of cold-working techniques evoking the working methods of wrought iron. Three considerations were particularly important in this work: the choice of material, the plant motif and the close relationship with the architectural setting. The most recent version of these corner sculptures is A zöld sarokban (In the Green Corner), created in 2023 for the space of the Műcsarnok (Kunsthalle). From a distance, the visitor’s experience of the work is quite different from that encountered up close. From a distance it appears as a mere slit in the wall, yet when one approaches the sculpture one perceives the meticulous workmanship, recalling the refinement of an archaic Greek bronze.
Further examining one of sculpture’s most fundamental questions – material versus immaterial – he created one of his heaviest and most compact works, Akalit (2003). This poplar-wood sculpture is a solid black block within which a tiny mirror is intended to reveal a small star. Only if we look into the sculpture in the right way, allowing sufficient light to enter the interior alongside us, do we see the light phenomenon; otherwise we do not.
In the work Fűszálszárító (Grass Blade Dryer) (2012) there is, on the one hand, an allusion to Marcel Duchamp’s Bottle Rack, and on the other a manifestation of Eastern thought in the presentation of the technique of bronze forging. The tiny blades of grass are arranged on the stand like small swords (katanas). The grass-blade motif recurs repeatedly in Péter Gálhidy’s oeuvre. It is one of the most common elements of vegetation; its “upward-striving form and spiral curve” are striking; it is not gathered by the stalk but mown, and appears at first sight worthless. Yet in these works considerable focus is placed on this plant, its form, its structure and the function of its form. The central groove in the blade, which channels water, plays a prominent role in all the grass-blade sculptures, and as the artist stresses in an interview, “I often deal with a plant element as if it were a person, or my own inner struggles”.
The next group of works is characterised by the fact that, using the material of a dominant, given base form, the artist carves small trees. The first piece, Erdő, szél (Forest, Wind), was made in 2012 from cherry wood. These works grew out of a visionary experience: during a hike, the artist arrived at the shore of Lake Szent Anna and saw the reflection of the surrounding forest in the water. The ultimate and most perfect embodiment of this is Káci (2023). This is an old vat once used for fermenting red wine, around whose upper rim runs a ‘ring’ of small pine trees. Also belonging here are Enyhe hátszél (Light Tailwind) (2014) and Tisztelet Kő Pálnak (Hommage to Pál Kő) (2020), the latter showing a group of trees on top of a column. The latter is a commemorative work centred on a row of poplars, whose basic motif was inspired by a drawing by Pál Kő.
The work Religio (2013) is based on an old, disused plane inherited from his mother’s family. From this base grows a large, curved grass blade. Throughout Gálhidy’s oeuvre, a respect for craftsmanship and for the handmade object remains central. This is not rooted in sentimental nostalgia, but in a striving for the preservation of values, for which sculpture as a medium can serve as a vehicle. The workshop of his cooper ancestors on his mother’s side was already a decisive childhood experience. This preservative impulse is reinforced by the growing devaluation and mass production characteristic of our age. The old craftsmen often made their own tools, and it is worth noting here that when sculpture students learn modelling at the university, the first thing they make is their own modelling tool. Péter Gálhidy passes on this craft tradition to his students, since teaching is a defining part of his career: from 2001 he has been an assistant lecturer, from 2014 a lecturer in fine arts, and from 2022 a university assistant professor in the sculpture department of the Hungarian University of Fine Arts.
The sculpture Páratövis [literally Mist Thorn] (2014) received its title from a one-line poem by Sándor Weöres. Here a sculptural-spatial problem is articulated: the question of vertical and horizontal extension. The huge thorn standing on the ground follows the type of columnar sculptures, but in this case the horizontal base also assumes significance. The solid material tapers as it rises towards the sky, and this thinning disappears at the physical end of the sculpture. Beyond spatial extension, the question of material versus immaterial once again becomes central.
Two of the finest examples of his use of wood as a material, and of his transposition of one material into another, are Kendő (Kerchief) (2014) and Fenyőfa (Pine Tree) (2014). As we have seen, in his use of materials he continually seeks new challenges, and the very choice of material for his work is for him an act of scientific and cultural significance. He has a professional knowledge of materials, of the grain and behaviour of different woods, and of which type of wood suits which form.
Respect for objects and craftsmanship is very important to Péter Gálhidy. Objects once used by his ancestors are particularly valuable to him. One such old object provided the base for the sculpture Guzsaly (Distaff) (2016), whose tall, spiralling form also evokes cultural parallels. The sculpture arose from a stick once used for beating walnuts, which received a lead ‘coat’ as a base, and whose form reminded the artist of the unicorn tapestry series in the Cluny Museum in Paris, of a spiral staircase there, and of a narwhal tusk. In its formal language Guzsaly also continues the problems raised in Páratövis.
The distinctive feature of Keresztbe tettem (I Crossed It) (2017) is that it consists of one found object and two handmade elements. A component from a computer cooling grid is combined with two crossed bronze grass blades. The element of modern, mechanised production, with its artificial yellow colour, provides an excellent base for the handmade, patinated greenish-bronze blades of grass.
The kintsugi technique is a Japanese method of object-making or preservation in which something that has broken or been damaged is given a new life and a new aesthetic quality through repair. Its philosophical background is the aesthetic of wabi-sabi, which in Japanese thought takes pleasure in a sight or an object that is no longer beautiful or young, or is even in decay. Kincugi tüske (Kintsugi Thorn) (2017) was made by repairing an earlier damaged sculpture. The piece presents the form of a rose thorn made from giant sequoia; it had fallen and broken. The artist put it aside, then later repaired it using a process akin to the kintsugi technique, marking the lines of cracks and breaks with gilded copper paste.
The sculpture Avar lelet (Leaf-Litter Find) (2018) is one of the most exciting examples of how Péter Gálhidy uses linguistic humour in both his sculptural work and in the titling of his pieces. Essentially, we see a bronze sculpture: a heap of dry bronze leaves in the top of a basket. According to the artist, this vision arose from an experience in which leaf litter and water had accumulated in an object left in the garden, and the leaves then froze in the shape of the container. In this way he effectively obtained a ‘leaf-litter find’. At the same time, in Hungarian ‘avar’ is also an ethnonym (referring to the Avar people), a meaning further deepened by the word ‘lelet’ (find). As a result, we almost have a museum object before us, something that at first glance could even be an old crown. In Avar lelet, the bronze leaves play a prominent role, displaying in this case the contingency of form, similarly to the sculpture Füge (Fig) (2019); in many other instances, however, these bronze leaves produce another structure, forming a shape-generating shell that constitutes the sculpture itself (see Haladó palack [Advancing Bottle] [2019]; Kolomp [Cow Bell] [2021]).
According to the artist, “the closer a sculpture is to the ground, the more it carries an added meaning of transience”. In the case of Talaj (Soil) (2020), the work again consists of an earlier utilitarian object and a handmade bronze branch. The former object is a book, so far decayed that the artist initially did not even recognise what it might be. With the help of a paper conservator, the decomposition was halted, and this book, resembling soil, became the base of the sculpture, a symbol of erstwhile knowledge that has now become merely a crumbling foundation. On this base stands the branch, itself a dead branch, bearing the traces of pests (fungus, mould). In the next sculpture the found element does not come from a discarded object that has lost its function, but from a beech branch discovered in a forest, bent into a circle. This is Körkereszt (Circle Cross) (2021), with two crossed grass blades at its centre.
The next group of works also revolves around a key sculptural problem: that of balance. How can one determine the proper balance of an object or sculpture – the position in which it stands confidently on the ground, bearing its own weight? Péter Gálhidy examines the borderline situation. In the sculpture Ingó (Unsteady) (2018) he identified the precise point on which the branch-shaped object moves yet supports itself and does not fall, despite the bronze decoration on the branch – imitating pyritisation – that seems to pull it towards the ground. Here the title refers to the physical state and the capacity for movement, while at the same time conveying to the viewer a sense of uncertainty, since one does not initially suspect that the sculpture cannot fall. In Pihenő (Resting) (2022), the problem of balance and the reuse of an object destined for disposal are likewise central. In a holed, enamelled basin, a handful of bronze leaf litter ensures the balance of the round vessel, and through the hole one leaf stalk also rests on the base. When moved, the sculpture always returns to its original position of repose. The same idea is pursued in Üstágy (Cauldron Base) (2024), where the starting utilitarian object is a copper cauldron with a single leaf inside; in this case the positioning of the piece on its pedestal also contributes to the establishment of balance.
A kind of summative sculpture of his oeuvre to date is Ereszet (Eaves) (2024), created as a site-specific work for the exhibition Mezsgye (Boundary Strip) at the B32 Galéria (Gallery B32). Here again the primary emphasis was on the theme of water, a recurring and decisive source of inspiration in his work. In these pieces he examines the relationship of living beings and humans to water not only as a life-giving element, but also in a spiritual and psychological sense. In shaping the form of the sculpture, both the water-conducting capacities of plant structures and cultural antecedents served as inspiration – for example, the parallel with a Congolese dugout canoe capable of carrying fifty-two people, which the artist saw exhibited as a museum object. The damaged, cracked work was repaired using the kintsugi technique he had already employed earlier, in this instance using actual gold dust.
In presenting Péter Gálhidy’s works, the process of installing the sculptures is akin to reliving the process of their creation – installation assumes almost the same emphasis as making. In this case, Ereszet dominated the entire exhibition space, ‘flowing’ visually into the sculpture Káci standing at the far end of the room, which evokes the dream-like illusion of a perfect mirror of water surrounded by forest.
As we have seen, literary, philosophical and ecological ideas underlie his art; he reflects on the works of writers, poets and thinkers such as Sándor Weöres, Ágnes Nemes Nagy, János Pilinszky, János Térey and Béla Hamvas.
Numerous sculptors have also influenced his work, including the aforementioned József Somogyi, Zoltán Karmó and Pál Kő, and we should also mention Géza Samu, two of whose sculptures he has restored over the years and whose oeuvre he has studied. As he notes in an interview, “for Master Pál Kő and myself, living with and responding to Géza Samu’s sculpture was a strong bond between us, and could be seen as a spiritual focus of our shared teaching work”. Among international sculptors, the names of Constantin Brâncuși, Giuseppe Penone, Tony Cragg and Antony Gormley may be highlighted in particular.
For a sculptor, public commissions are of great importance, since they make it possible to create works that become part of the city and of the environment in which we live, and whose message reaches many more people than that of a piece displayed in an exhibition space. Gálhidy’s public sculptures are closely interwoven with the questions posed by his oeuvre. He magnifies plant motifs and integrates them into the urban streetscape – for example, a huge blade of grass with greenish, bronzed patina on the main square of Pécs (Zöld út [Green Way], 2010). Or, in the case of Turbinalevél (Turbine Leaf) (2017), the form simultaneously recalls a natural leaf and a kayak paddle, while also evoking the appearance of a turbine blade.
For the Dóm (Cathedral) in Szeged he made a processional cross, now placed in the memorial space of the crypt. He carved this sculpture so that the central, omega-shaped, open-topped groove, with its golden colour, indicates the unrepresentable; where the two arms meet, the light is brightest. In the artist’s own words, this minimalist treatment expresses the function: “to say the most with the least”.
He also provides a theoretical foundation for his sculptural work, having for years studied the linguistic, cultural and historical aspects of setting up sculptures, the origin of the word ‘szobor’ (sculpture) itself, and the significance of the first vertical sculptures. He examines his works both in terms of verticality and in terms of their proximity to the ground – that is, in horizontal arrangement as well. The positioning of a sculpture carries semantic implications: he has observed that when a form is brought closer to the ground, the sculpture takes on an additional meaning of mortality. László Hemrik has also emphasised this dual structure in a 2016 critique, noting that “Péter Gálhidy’s sculptures typically consist of two elements: one is an object, a fragment of reality, and the other is the artistic proposition attached to it”.
Alongside the major art-philosophical questions, he is constantly concerned with how he, as a sculptor, can exert an influence on the world around us – how he can draw attention to the need not to destroy nature, not to allow handmade objects to disappear completely and everything to turn into plastic. In his work he collaborates and engages in dialogue with specialists concerned with ecological thinking. As he puts it: “I try to reveal those subtle, supra-personal contents of our shared existence.”
[2024]