Man does not live by bread alone. Encountering beauty every day is as vital to the soul as bread – this ancient food in all its variety of forms, flavors, and textures – is to the body.
Although bread, now enjoying something of a renaissance, is still being zealously banished from our diets by advocates of the Paleolithic lifestyle and the weight-loss industry alike, the real problem lies elsewhere: the apparent abundance of consumer society all too often conceals genuine deprivation. Fortunately, there are always those who offer food, drink, and consolation to the needy. In our world polluted by air, light, and noise, amid the relentless flood of modern images – so often designed to gratify the eye rather than enrich the mind – it is no easy task for an artist who works with quiet humility and strives to place something enduring and meaningful on the table of the nation. The life’s work of Rózsa Polgár, recipient of the Munkácsy and Kossuth Prizes and a distinguished tapestry artist, offers a compelling example of this commitment. Through her artistic oeuvre and decades of organizational activity, she may rightly be regarded as one of the central pillars of contemporary Hungarian textile art. Her generation abounded in talent, and the training at the College of Applied Arts was of a high standard; yet for the ambitious young artists of the post-1945 generation, the absence of great masters and an established industrial background posed serious challenges. The conditions necessary for creation had to be forged by their own hands. Although Rózsa Polgár graduated in woven tapestry (1967), during her years at the College she mastered a wide range of textile techniques. At the outset of her career, she put her talents to use in silk painting, but under the influence of the so-called “textile revolution,” she returned to her original field of training in the late 1970s. As a renewer of an ancient technique – Gobelins weaving, which flourished during the Renaissance and Baroque periods – and as an artist of European standing, she played an active role in the rebirth of Hungarian textile art. Practitioners of the tapestry as image – ie. tapestry grounded in painting – are in fact “craftsmen, master artisans; their relationship to the material is primary, almost sensual, and as close as that of artists of the Renaissance, Art Nouveau, or the Bauhaus”, wrote art historian János Frank in Eleven textil (Living Textile) (1980). Although Rózsa Polgár’s early professional years nearly coincided with the highly successful exhibition Textil falikép ‘68 (Textile Wall Hanging ‘68), she did not take part in the Ernst Museum show. Tapestry is a time-intensive, luxury genre, and without commissions it represents a risky undertaking; in her case, the challenges of making a living and the responsibilities of motherhood delayed her early breakthrough. Yet the example set by great predecessors – most notably Noémi Ferenczy – and the inspiring spirit of exhibitions abroad resulted, in the 1980s, in a body of distinctive works that ultimately brought her recognition. Her name is widely respected both in Hungary and internationally; her artistic achievements are acknowledged within professional circles, and the sheer number of her exhibitions is almost impossible to list. With her uniquely voiced tapestries and her virtuoso use of trompe-l’œil, she has captivated audiences at numerous group and solo exhibitions – from Brussels to Paris, from London to Tokyo. While regularly participating in major international forums such as the textile biennials and triennials of Lausanne, Łódź, and Szombathely, she also readily accepted invitations at home. From Balassagyarmat to Zalaegerszeg, from Kőszeg to Tihany, audiences have repeatedly been able to admire her creative imagination and her works, which unite tradition with contemporary technique and a resonant, timely message. Few people today are likely to recall her early works – the airbrushed silk dresses and screens painted with exquisitely subtle tonal transitions, or the par excellence silk pictures and objects – just as her technically brilliant, artistically ambitious costume designs created for the National Theatre and the Gyula Castle Theatre have largely faded from public memory. And yet, in the television adaptation of Kékszakállú herceg vára (Duke Bluebeard’s Castle), countless viewers admired the deep, glowing costume worn by Sylvia Sass, “harmonizing with every movement like a Greek peplos”. Even the finest achievements of applied art, however, rarely rival the visibility of autonomous art. Anyone who has once encountered Katonatakaró (The Soldier’s Blanket) (1980) or Esernyő (The Umbrella) (1984), or lingered before the monumental yet austerely exalted Himnusz (Hymn) (1996), will greet Polgár’s works – encountered in public collections, museums, or on church altars – as familiar and cherished companions. For every piece in this significant oeuvre – even the most abstract among them – addresses Hungarian viewers in their mother tongue. The creator of these intellectually rich, painted and woven, formally innovative textiles did not forget her roots even while living far from her homeland. From 1980 to 1987 she lived in Switzerland with her family, yet even as the wife of a pastor she did not abandon her chosen profession. She returned to the loom, entrusting her joys and sorrows, experiences, and reflections to the warp and weft. Her striking, finely crafted works achieved great success abroad as well, and she received an increasing number of invitations to mount solo exhibitions. In 1984 she was admitted to the Swiss Artists’ Association, and in 1985 to the French Tapestry Artists’ Association (ARELIS, Paris).
The 1980s proved decisive for international fine art, particularly for painting; it is therefore hardly surprising that Rózsa Polgár’s works – marked by a powerful painterly quality – met with success wherever they were shown. Her career also stands as a compelling example of how a childhood trauma, a profound personal tragedy, can, over the course of decades, mature into a successful and enduring body of work. One of the early, emblematic pieces of her oeuvre is The Soldier’s Blanket, woven from wool yarn and personal memories. This 1980 tapestry represents both the metamorphosis of an everyday object and a symbol of a nation’s tragedy. In the upper right corner, a bullet hole, and below it a terse inscription resembling an inventory number (HR –32/1945), serve as concealed references to the artist’s mother, lost prematurely under tragic circumstances, while the broad red band with stripes of the national colours evokes the ill-fated destiny of Eastern Europe. Similarly, the almost tangible realism of the abandoned Umbrella (1984), leaning against a wall, is at once a tribute to the memory of her father and to all those who can no longer be among us. This memorial in wool and silk finds a worthy continuation in Szabadság (Freedom) (1999), where diagonally falling raindrops render the dark silhouettes of those departing even more dreamlike.The large-scale wall tapestry commemorating the refugees of 1956 bears witness, in its weaving technique, to great professional mastery, while the light glimmering from its near-monochrome field speaks of the artist’s faith. Light – which is inseparable from shadow (from anxiety, hardship, sorrow, and national tragedy) – is a defining element of Rózsa Polgár’s art, from her early silk paintings to her altarpieces. That this is not merely a virtuoso transplantation of the chiaroscuro technique, fashionable since the Renaissance, into the medium of tapestry – creating an illusion of reality – but also a mapping of the transcendent, is attested by an ancient, universal sign. The cross – often concealed, appearing only in suggestive form – is a recurring motif in Polgár’s tapestries. It is present from the intimate, biographically inspired works (such as the “crocheted,” lace-like Babatakaró [Baby Blanket], 1979, and its “double-layered, coarse-cloth” counterpart, The Soldier’s Blanket, 1980) to the calligraphic Luther Tapestry evoking a historical relic (Tisztelet Luthernek [Homage to Luther], 1983). The monumental Anyaság (Motherhood) (1986), which may itself be read as an ars poetica, weaves together – through its virtuoso textile corpus and cross – the mystery of birth and the earthly and heavenly mother willing to make every sacrifice for her child, in a formally innovative manner. From this point onward, the smaller and larger crosses born of thousands of warp and weft threads – and of countless active minutes, hours, days, months, years, and decades – grow ever more emphatic. This is evident a decade later in the Hymn (1996), articulated in a visual language worthy of Kölcsey, as well as in the altarpieces of Balatonfüred and Hévíz (2000; 2003). And when every concrete visual reference ultimately disappears – as in Light (2000) and its fiery counterpart, Christus Victor Quia Victima (2004), created for the Lutheran church in Rákoshegy – nothing remains but the celestial cross of light, rising sword-like from the folds of the rupturing tapestry, a symbol of the greatest mystery. This is an unequivocal profession of faith, born of the artist’s idealistic metaphysical sensitivity. Likewise, the hidden message of the biblical quotation woven into the tapestry –“Love never ends…” – is a lived reality. Eros, philia, agape – romantic love, love of humankind and of God; and love of family, homeland, and freedom – may sound like a list of commonplaces, yet in the case of Rózsa Polgár they are filled with genuine substance. The same holds true for her love of the profession itself, as attested by one of her principal works. The heartfelt supplication and complex symbolism of the Hymn, created for the millennial anniversary, would in itself constitute a perfect summation of this singular oeuvre. Rózsa Polgár, however, did not stop there. At her initiative, leading Hungarian tapestry artists – Ágnes Kecskés, Beáta Hauser, Ibolya Hegyi, Judit Nagy, Lívia Pápai, Zsuzsa Péreli, Rózsa Polgár, and Gizi Solti – joined forces to express their anxious love of country through eight large-scale tapestries in an unforgettable exhibition.
Faith and love of country are as fundamental pillars of Rózsa Polgár’s art as meaning-laden everyday objects and transcendent symbols hovering on the threshold of abstraction. In her work, a crumpled drapery may signify erotic passion and sensuality (see Psyche, 1981) just as readily as homesickness (Vándortarisznya [Traveller’s Satchel], 1985), torment (Szorítás [Constriction], 1982–83; Gyűrődés [Crease], 1991), or the longing for freedom (Terítés [Tablecloth], 1987–88). The powerful folds, creases, and ruptures likewise symbolize the believer’s arduous search for meaning, hope, and steadfast faith (Tablecloth, 1987–88; Triptichon [Triptych], 1993; Fény [Light], 2000). Objects that appear trivial – blankets, throws, tablecloths, handkerchiefs, various garments, or even an umbrella – are thus ennobled into poetic images and works of fine art. Such transformations are evident in her wittily multilayered earthly–heavenly diptych (Ablakok I–II. [Windows I–II], 1983–84), or in her series of miniature textile “breads” (see A kenyér [Bread], 1984; Az élet kenyere [The Bread of Life], 1986; and Művészek kenyere [Artists’ Bread], 1986, composed of the mirrored reflections of appearance and reality). These are but a few examples of objects that multiply meaning, push the boundaries of the genre to their limits, and increasingly conquer the third dimension.
Food and clothing – the provision of our most basic needs – have traditionally been considered women’s responsibilities. Rózsa Polgár, however, elevates everyday (textile) objects drawn from reality, endowing them with singular meaning, into mementos of homesickness and active love of country. The shaped textiles of the Ködmön (Sheepskin Coat) (1984), created in Geneva, or the Traveller’s Satchel (1985), adorned with a small ribbon in the national colours, mark important milestones within her oeuvre. The absence of framing, the abandonment of the classical border, and the emphasis created through relief lend these objects particular prominence. She rendered them visually striking through a distinctive weaving method she favoured. By applying the hachure technique – known in French Gobelins workshops for centuries – in an innovative way, intensifying the third, plastic tone that emerges at the junction of light and dark colours, she evokes a sense of relief and dynamism within the plane itself, in the service of a more intimate and personal mode of expression. National and gender identity, faith and love of country, as well as concern for nature – and for humanity’s growing estrangement from it – characterize her works no less than an unshakable trust (see Triptych, 1993; Tisztelet Magyarországnak [Homage to Hungary], 2000). Her firm faith has repeatedly found verbal expression as well. With the great Reformer she professes: Solus Christus, Sola Scriptura, Sola Gratia, Sola Fides (Homage to Luther, 1983; Ötszáz éves a Reformáció [Five Hundred Years of the Reformation], 2011).
Although Rózsa Polgár is an internationally acclaimed artist, she adheres to a traditional value system: a caring pastor’s wife, a devoted partner of fifty years; a loving mother to her exceptionally gifted sons, and a proud grandmother of four. Not to mention her qualities as an exemplary homemaker. In a scholarly assessment, all this might seem extraneous – yet from the perspective of the oeuvre it is by no means incidental. Life and art are inextricably intertwined, forming a unified whole. The sublimation of lived experience is the guarantee of the work’s – and the artist’s – authenticity. In the pursuit of success, it is often easier to dazzle the public with some spectacular, bombastic creation by riding the wave of the latest fashion. The path is rougher, however, for those who choose genuine (grace-filled) communication. Rózsa Polgár has visibly chosen the more difficult road, the narrower path. Her works, radiating both grandeur and intimacy – her “visions in wall-hanging form” – stage a distinctive confrontation between reality and appearance. Her Passions in wool and silk carry within them the fullness of life.
[2013]