Unusually, the writing of the academic portfolio of architect György Radványi took place after his death, as the late member of the Hungarian Art Academy (Magyar Művészeti Akadémia, MMA) left this world in the summer of 2020, and the task was challenging. When an author’s oeuvre is incomplete, fragmentary, lost, censored, difficult to access or simply not yet recognised, the holographic research method aimed at preserving information can lead to results that can restore all the components of the original subject from copies and fragments of data. In the case of Heraclitus, for example, it was necessary to piece together the entire thought of the ancient philosopher from a very small number of available fragments of fragmentary information and to place his life’s work in the realm of universal intellectual history. The entire professional career of György Radványi DLA, architect, professor emeritus, but above all man, husband and father of four children, is known to us, not lost, not censored, its importance recognised, but how much more, and before his death he carefully wrote down everything about himself. He wrote his autobiography and detailed features of his main work, the Museum of the Hungarian Language in Széphalom. His autobiography gives a complete picture of his life and work, with all the major events, fate-defining stimuli, career influences and personal milestones that made him what he was, as this writing reveals. What I could do was to read up on him, and for the commentary on this work, I asked one of the most authentic eyewitnesses, the architect Péter Lenzsér, to guide me into the epicentre of his former master, his good friend’s vision of the world. He did so very willingly, sometimes with tears in his eyes. Now I am piecing together our conversation with insights from my research and writing a half professional, half human career portrait with reference to him in my own narrative. Interpreting his recollections, in this work I try to capture those visible points – or rather, this time, lines – which, even in the absence of personal acquaintance, convey György Radványi to the reader with the authenticity of a biographer. I was primarily looking for information that would reveal the essence of the man himself and, from a professional point of view, the essence of the vision that maps the world through the eyes of an architect. This brought me to the six lines that constitute the ars poetica of his mission, his humanity: family, countryside, teaching, tile-work, mother tongue, “detailing and composition”. All of these are brought together by the notion of diacrony[i], in his words, of the changes and historical development of language.
6 lines
Once the engine of a big ocean liner broke down. Several mechanics and technicians failed to repair it, until, with great difficulty, they managed to find someone who had been repairing marine engines since his youth. This man said yes to the invitation, visited the broken down boat, took his equipment and started to meticulously inspect it, while the owner hoped he finally found someone who knew what he was doing. When the engine had been inspected from top to bottom, the mechanic took out a small hammer and delivered two tiny blows at a specific point on the engine. The boat’s engine immediately started working, it was fixed! The technician then carefully put the small hammer away and left. A few days later the owner received a cheque for $10,000 in exchange for the repairs. He was shocked and outraged, because the mechanic had barely done anything, he had just hit it twice with his hammer. He asked for a detailed bill, wanting to know why he had to pay so much. The answer came soon after:
Two small blows with the hammer.................................... $ 2.00
Know where to hit..............................................................$ 9,998.00
The “moralité” is clear. The architect has to deal from the first moment with what is essential and what is not. He must understand the concept as soon as he starts work. Drawing six lines is relatively quick and easy, but finding which six lines is the trick. The titular “technical term”, to use this story as an analogy, is a hallmark of the quality with which György Radványi was able to distinguish between what was important and what was not, to see the balance needed to turn a prospective design into a workable building. To illustrate this, here is another anecdote. In 1987, a competition was held to designate a site for the new home of the National Theatre, once located on Blaha Lujza Square. Radványi’s father, who, breaking with the family tradition, was the first lawyer to become an engineer, thought of a way to enter the competition with his son. “It’s very typical of Gyuri,” says Péter Lenzsér, “that late on a Friday afternoon he comes up to me in the canteen and says, ‘there’s a design competition, would you like to enter? I said, of course! When should it be ready?’ ‘Monday!’ was his answer. ‘But it’s all good, the idea is already there, all that’s left is to plan your father’s brilliant vision!’”
László Radványi was looking at the mansion opposite the Parliament, where the Museum of Ethnography was then located. He thought that the new National Theatre should be located here. It is true that this is incompatible in principle, the building itself is not a theatre and cannot be converted into a modern, modern theatre, but as it had large and beautiful representative spaces, the entré with its entrance, foyer, halls, corridors, even its cafeteria, is suitable for the purpose, it fits the National Theatre. And the block of flats behind it should be used to house the new theatre, with all the technical equipment required for a contemporary theatre. A passage between the two could be provided, the entrance being, in a fitting manner, from Kossuth Square. For a long time, they were in a winning position, but finally the idea was abandoned because of the immovability of the Institute of Political History there. But what is the point here? On Friday night when they started work they had nothing to go on, not even a photograph, let alone a blueprint. Then “Radesz” bought a ticket to the museum on Saturday, went in, tore down the building and drew the sections from memory, and he did it flawlessly. He had the knowledge to draw the house in one visit, without a camera, in a day, so that he was able to come up with a fastidious and accurate plan in a bite of time. On the one hand, this reveals the associative and proactive systems approach that can immediately sketch the six essential lines that are essential to the success of the work in progress, and on the other, it points to the family heritage from which the repository of off-the-wall ideas comes. It is not learned, it is either something you are born with, something in your genes, or it is not.
Teaching
Péter Lenzsér spoke at length about “Gyuri’s” consistent techniques of passing on knowledge, which were the mainstay of Radványi’s professional career. In 1980 he became a lecturer at the Faculty of Architecture at the Budapest University of Technology and Economics (BME), from 1983 he was an adjunct professor, from 1992 an associate professor, then deputy head of the Department of Public Building Design, and from 1982 an invited lecturer at the University of Horticulture. One of the main elements of his teaching methodology was also based on six lines, a term Peter used for his method, and he applied it as a teacher. As already mentioned, this means a frontal perception of the essentials, the ability to clearly identify the future pillars of a structure, and the ability to peel away unnecessary coverings. Many people have good ideas, but by the time they carry them through, the original concept has fallen apart, dissolved in detail or disappeared altogether. It is therefore necessary to set up a hierarchy in terms of the importance of the elements in relation to each other, and to identify the 6 or 7 lines on which the whole system can be strung. Radványi’s methodology (rather, his teaching attitude) sharpened the minds of his pupils to apply his principles. He never tried to teach what he knew. Saying “watch my hands, do it like this, and try to imitate me” was far from him. You can teach that way, it is a method, but his teaching always started out from the other person, in this case his students, and he tried to adapt the curriculum to their style and their system of coordination. He tried to tap into the minds of the students and make the most of them, to decode in them the algorithms of the reality domain of the future building. He achieved this by acting as a Socratic midwife, by inserting himself into their thought systems and filtering the patterns of thought that emerged in their minds through his own experience, helping to bring their original ideas to life. He did not teach them what to think, but how to think. He was able to see things that the person might not have even noticed, but he noticed, reflected on, drew attention to and linked to the basic decision that was being made. So everyone could feel that what they were making was really their work, not a shadow of their master, but a creation with his markings, created by them but following a fixed structure. The means of expression, comparable to the master, the copying was thus avoided, all the pleasures and experiences bore the mark of the student’s hand. “I don’t make houses like Gyuri, although I learned everything from him,” said Péter Lenzsér.
This attitude was also rooted in the fact that, according to the “Radványi school”, there is no one solution. “If the question is different, the answer is different.” He found a wide variety of work, from small family homes and cottages to sacred architecture and churches. Monument renovations, reconstructions, and of course public buildings such as the Museum of the Hungarian Language. When he was asked a question, given a commission, he did not look for the primary solutions, but for the really important thing behind the question. Ádám Majoros said of him that Gyuri never liked things to be closed, he was always looking for secondary, “alternative” ways out between the lines. What else is there deeper in the phenomenon under study, in thoughts, in plans, from which one could extract some more nuanced picture. It was this ambiguity in things that gave his conclusions their true nature, that led to his abstract vision. He was challenged by the unique solutions he found in the tasks, rather than the routine answers of the commercial, and his love of his craft was fulfilled.
He also brought a lot of examples and taught through them. If someone had an idea, a thought, anything, he could immediately relate it to a similar pattern from home or abroad – from different historical and artistic periods – and he would ask the students to find similar patterns and models. He had an incredible amount of knowledge within the profession, and because he taught in a way that synchronised with the students’ minds, he had to have a particularly large repertoire, since he had to not only refer to his own knowledge and set of ideas, but also to broaden and refine the spectrum of reception of a completely different mind. In his lectures, he said, he wanted to enable his listeners to roll their ideas further, to get a feel for the richness of the second and third reading of the information-preserving transformation “style”.
The best way to understand an architect, he says, is to build one of his houses in model form, in space, on paper. It’s not enough to look at the drawings and guess what the author was thinking. A floor plan is not enough. Of course architects are professional enough to interpret the edited image correctly, but to do it well takes time. With this in mind, Radványi thought through his designs and spent a lot of time on each one. His working methods therefore included traditional model building, now extinct because of computer editing. The relatively time-consuming process no longer favours this “genre” because of the rush of deadlines, although the extension of the time available gives greater transparency to the negotiating universe, allowing the architect to immerse himself in the details and to assess spatial relationships more precisely.
The dialogue with the richly detailed language of the visual environment, the insertion into the cultural space, the personal connection with the atmosphere they constitute, provided a fertile ground for the works to interact back and forth. Péter Lenzsér told me a great deal about how his master’s mind, both in terms of his profession and his teaching attitude, articulated the contrasting system of the six lines, the importance of details, since, in addition to the sketch formulated at the first moment, the essential six sketches, they enter the work as a whole with the same character-generating intention. What is more, the elegant mathesis of the engineer’s sense of proportion and line depends on the effect of the details on the composition. Before I turn to one of the most important studio moments of the Radványi era, I will describe the subtle yet elemental experience of raising the level.
The village of Csempeszkopács
“During my studies, I was on a summer trip there, and in the tower of the Árpád-era church, in one of the windows of the bell level, I found a small column, the base of which, according to the style, decorated with stems and leaves of plants, does not end in a solid pedestal, but between the vines there is a small open column. I was struck by the lightness of his expression, but it was only much later that I realised that I had to see something else in it as well. This tiny open pillar is not part of the beautifully carved entrance gate and the beautifully shaped sanctuary. It doesn’t show itself immediately or speak to us immediately. Nor does it show any ostentation or self-expression, for it is hardly visible at first sight, because the creator has made a work of serenity for the Good Lord. It is important that we take our work at its full value, and that we do not lose sight of the fact that it is for the glory of God, so that we are guided by only one aim: to leave a mark on the earth as a scratch.” (György Radványi, “Karcolatként jelet hagyni” (To leave a mark as a scratch, interview, 03.09.2019)
Detailing and composition
“Gyuri was very interested in the history of architecture, but he was also very much a contemporary architect, who knew and applied the solutions of contemporary processes. In the spirit of an archaic outlook, he carried out surveys[iii] of a series of old building parts, both alone and with students. He was looking for answers to the question of how, for example, a gateway or the pattern of a doorway was made a hundred years ago, and how elements from the pattern books could be adapted to individual works. Can the details of contemporary architecture be solved at the level of the building structure node alone, or can the marginalised “craft” trades – the trades that have not been industrialised into mechanised mass production – still have a say? In fact, this is a relevant segment of architectural history that they wanted to illustrate to the students. It was from this motivation that, in 1993, together with Lenzsér, they invented an optional accredited course at the University of Technology called “Detailing and Composition”, which had a theoretical and a practical approach. The theoretical one, the Johann Sebastian Bach line, which explains the importance of details, their role and their interaction in a work, and the other, which integrates into practice the once flourishing crafts, which have been restored to the realm of actuality, creating the possibility for them to unfold.
Bach often reminded his students that the various parts of their compositions should behave like “persons in excellent company conversing together”. Bach’s form is generally based on the relationships between the different parts. These relationships include, on the one hand, the complete unity of each part, and on the other, the recurrence of an elaboration principle or merely a thematic reference. The resulting patterns are often, but not necessarily, symmetrical. Sometimes the links between the different parts form a labyrinth of intertwined strands that can only be traversed by detailed investigation. A few predominant features, however, usually provide sufficient orientation on first seeing or hearing the work, and while countless subtleties can be discovered in the course of study, there is never a problem in grasping the unity that holds all Bach’s works together. The method mapped out in Hans T. David and Arthur Mendel’s The Bach Reader can be likened to the operation that characterises the detail-oriented style of the works composed under the direction of György Radványi. Here too, the designer is assisted by the preparation and construction of additional patterns, even on a scale of 1:1. This is how he or she comes really close to the solution, to the emphasis or rejection of details.
In practice, all this can be integrated into the processes that step off the drawing board, evoking a bygone atmosphere. Both of them were very interested in the realisation part of the profession, so they wanted to introduce students to the life of the tiny, almost extinct manufactories and workshops that are as important as the creation of a computer drawing in the realisation and creation of a building. The aim was to get a glimpse into the life of these workshops, to get into their daily routine. This is to be understood as taking eight to ten students to a classic small workshop such as a blacksmith’s, carpenter’s, locksmith’s, woodworker’s, glazier’s or tinsmith’s workshop, where they could try out these trades in practice. They forged, melted glass, polished, carved, drilled and hammered, and made handicrafts. They visited some of the most renowned craft workshops in the country, who fortunately were very enthusiastic about their work. The idea was to give novice architects not only theoretical training but also practical skills and “tangible proof” of the potential of the hidden corners of architecture. They could discover unique solutions instead of routine and commercial answers. They learned about the limits that cannot be broken – don’t design something that can’t be done. As a carpenter, you can tell immediately if you have made a mistake, but as an architect, it often takes years. Let the student see things in their proper perspective. Later, in the field, he will not look in a catalogue and order, say from the Czech Republic, flat glass in some uniform profile, but will shape the details himself, using this experience.
The immersion in an archaic atmosphere, through personal encounters with crafts, made the world of architecture more real and alive for the students. The “Detailing and Composition” course was created jointly as an elective and a niche course, and was initially taken by very few students. In the end, it was so successful that invitations were received from universities abroad, wondering how this course could be integrated into the modern chapter of the profession as a curiosity.
The Museum of the Hungarian Language
What could be a more relevant example than Radványi’s masterpiece, the Museum of the Hungarian Language! If you look at it, you can walk past it, it is beautiful. There is an elliptical space, a large bastion. A bastion of the Hungarian language. It has a little headband-like formation just like the houses in the Highlands, and a very nice contemporary section on the stone-clad house in Mád. On the elliptical mass are tiny square dots, pieces of stone. If you want, it can be just a texture, but if you want more, it is also a colour composition with tiny dots. You can say it’s a sophisticated decoration, a pattern, it looks good in red with the stone from Mád. But if one knows better what one is looking at, one can find the multi-layered context of complex design. This includes the whole conception of Carlo Scarpa, for example. He was an Italian master, a great favourite of both of them. Some of the details of the Castelvecchio in Verona match the elements in Radványi’s museum in terms of genre. So for anyone who knows architectural history, the first thing that comes to mind is that this is Scarpa. Or the small stones. Gyuri collected them from dozens of mines. Each one is different. But there’s more! They are selected one by one from the quarries of the Hungarian-speaking areas. There is also a good sense of ideology behind this, offering a second reading in its detailing and composition.
I would like to make two additions to the end of the chapter. Here again, one of the most important aspects, the slowing down of time, comes up. In the forge, there is no hurry. If you need to strike 100 strokes of metal, three is not enough. Putting this subject in parallel with the process of building models, it is also true that what you do by hand on your own is an irreplaceable experience. It is this kind of slowing down during the creative work done by hand that gives the extra something which, as a result, adds to the sensitivity and technical repertoire of the future master craftsman.
Finally, the other important theme of the main theme of the work in progress, besides diachrony (here tradition), is modernity – a “synchronicity” of the two. The analogical approach, based on foundations that are consistent with the detailing, means using ancient knowledge in today’s houses, but without applying the same methods. It is not historicism, then. What it refers to is how they can capture the knowledge that the ancients have, how they can pass it on and how the craft can be saved.[iv] To synthesise tradition and modernity, one must know the expectations of the time, the standard models that could be made and on which the artistic craft of an age is built. For this, it is necessary, in the context of a theoretical and practical course, to become acquainted with the impulses of the popular spirit and public mood that shape society, and to go through the stages of the questions of inclination, legitimacy and legality that affect cultural characters and interact with the political machine of the time.
Language
“Intertwined with art, language, music and architecture, Gyuri lived an incredible world.” He read a lot, loved the Hungarian language, literature, poetry, language games, music, and even cultivated it, playing guitar and violin before finally picking up a pencil. Family gatherings, birthdays, anniversaries and commemorations all involved music and singing. Together with his younger brother Balázs Radványi[v], they gave the rhyme, but Balázs was better suited to the occasion and became one of the founding members of the two-time Kossuth Prize-winning band Kaláka. In those days, he always provided snacks at the all-day closing ceremonies, but more importantly, he began and ended with poetry. He would usually bring different poems, appropriate to the situation, never repeating himself and only quoting from memory, and he particularly liked Christian Morgenstern. We don’t know whether he prepared for these or whether it came to him spontaneously. There were times when they would plan, sketch and talk late into the night, and a few minutes later he would come up with an improvised quatrain on the subject. So he was also a poet. It was very characteristic of him that he also wrote his own obituary. “It shouldn’t be thought of as a serious obituary. He simply couldn’t pass up the chance to write it himself,” Lenzsér recalled. [“He lived a joyously rich 71 years, but he did not finish it, as he had done countless times in his life... This time he could not have been late, for his Creator had called him. Deo Gratias! His availability is unchanged.”] Given his fascination with language, it is fantastic that he should have designed the building of the Museum of the Hungarian Language as the crowning glory of his life.
Francophonie
Another of György Radványi’s great passions was the French language. He owed this interest to his spiritual director László Szeverin Szegő in his youth. He was an excellent speaker and visited France several times after university. He studied as a scholarship student at the U.P. d'Architecture de Marseille-Luminy, in the GAMSAU research group founded by Professor Paul Quintrand, where he was shaped by the outstanding French architects of the 1970s and experienced work in a large international studio. Later, he went on a study trip to Lyon, at the U.P. d'Architecture, and then to Paris at the Fondation Le Corbusier. His meetings with renowned architects Jean Renaudie, Jean Prouvé and André Wogenscky enriched his knowledge. With such a background, he wanted to implement French-language teaching at the BME. He succeeded in organising and managing this as the faculty responsible, and in 1990 he became a member of the jury at several diploma committees for French architecture schools. This venture was accompanied by the development of French relations, with some 8-10 universities there welcoming Hungarian students, and the Technical University of Budapest also welcoming French students. Scholarships, visits and professional trips (Barcelona, Bari, Vienna, Dresden, Glasgow, Lyon, Cuba, Montreal, Paris, Marseille, Rome, Strasbourg, Verona, Weimar and Strasbourg) made him a European-minded architect.
Thanks to this stylistic and formal diversity based on the concept of editing – the six lines, the different answer to every question, the flow of ideas, detailing and composition, tradition and modernity, and ambiguous reading – György Radványi’s creative toolkit reflects a way of thinking. His formal language is more a language of thought, the spatial assemblage of strict formalisms and necessary shapes is more a poem of space, a poem of space, or art.
Closing words
Miklós Hofer made a recommendation that he become a teacher at the University of Technology, with Antal Plesz keeping track of his progress (there was mutual respect) – any yet he still cannot be compared to any contemporary architects. Teaching was his life! His individual consultations were often held in his home in Nyúl Street, which for many years also functioned as a workshop. His bond with his students, the contact with them, the late-night consultations meant a lot to all of them. For the students and colleagues who grew up under his tutelage, he was a steady support. First he worked in Pécs for 7 years, then he became the chief architect and architect of Sátoraljaújhely and Füzér, in addition to Budapest and the University of Technology. He was active in professional, scientific and public life, but never over-represented himself in these fields. His appointment as Chief Architect was a recognition of his work as a member of the MMA, and both were of essential importance to him. His openness to other things, his partnership, his acceptance, his respect for the people around him set a strong, good example to those around him. Ádám Majoros, who worked with him in his last ten years, said that he could not think of a more outstanding example of education and listening. He made the heritage of family life and the charm of rural life the main yardstick of his life. He often planned by listening to his instincts. He was also known for his last-minute changes. Corrections made on the spot during construction, with quick reactions, did not always please the builder, but the basic idea was always left intact or improved, so that when the work was finished, it was realised that they were all ultimately constructive suggestions. Even the small belfry he erected next to a small country church was an important work for him. He could speak of it with such affection as if it were the most important thing in the world. Or the building of a small workshop, a house, down to the last brick, was a considerable task for him, an undertaking equivalent to a “great work”. It made no difference to him. The client also got much more from Gyuri than to “just get the job done and get it over with”. On his deathbed he wrote an opposition to the Tokajhegyalja planning council.
György Radványi’s role in the development of the 20th century image of contemporary Hungarian architecture was decisive, especially as a teacher and instructor. The architect, who mastered both postmodern and universal artistic paradigms, stands out for his unique form-giving language of thought, the sensual tools of his creative activity, his heterogeneous works and his individual responses to different questions. A conceptual approach that carefully studies the details, a second reading of the plan, the possibilities for further reflection on an idea, an isomorphic-hierarchical way of thinking that keeps the basic decision in mind, the creation of nonconformist possibilities for the interoperability between tradition and modernity, have all marked out for him a characteristic point of orientation and reference in the world of architecture. He has designed more than 30 residential and public buildings. Consequently, his work is a testimony to the existence of phenomena such as the associative conceptualisation of the concept, the reconciliation of tradition and expediency, idea and practice, beauty and function. In addition to the small details visible to the uninitiated eye, the recognition of the most essential key motifs of the world that emerges in order to create a finely patterned building composition, and, like many other artists, the absolute need to listen to his field, the mastery of a perfected systematic ability, originality and the use of the most varied examples in the service of the sartorial precision of understanding and transmission. In the words of Ádám Majoros, he has left a thousand etchings.
[i] The jargon concerning the historical scale of language can be combined with art to refer to the linear stages of an art historical period, or to its gradual and qualitative determinations (synchrony). For example, Egyptian-Greek and Roman art of the Migration Period were successive in age (“diacrony”), but their influence on each other is also evident (synchrony). The different periods, the different trends, all experienced an initial period of innovation, a peak period, and a decadent period when the art of the period disappeared, while the changes took place in a sinusoidal curve. The same applies, for example, when one art form was in decline while another was in the process of being born. The temporal and spatial determinants of art historical periods have a reciprocal effect on artists, masters and recipients. In the case of spatial art, we can say that architecture is always an imprint, an indicator of social movements and structures. An architect or architectural artist must react to the times, he must create quality, especially when the minimum limits of culture have already been breached by the leviathans of degrading trends. In this case, he must take up the task of creating. This often involves defining and changing fundamental social structures and patterns of thought, which can sometimes be dangerous. In György Radványi’s buildings, a meaningful dialogue between tradition and contemporary genres has unfolded, and his associations of images, fused into the art of linguistic formulas, have a creative effect on the history of spirituality, the history of objects and the history of architecture. György Radványi was an enthusiastic adherent of architectural history, and in relation to himself and his work he unravelled the decisive events that emerged from the interaction between the two, and interpreted himself by borrowing the concept of diacrony. “Over time, I saw the world through different glasses and, following the teachings of the great masters, I realised that everything that had gone on in architecture up to that point, even with the classification of historical periods, was the borderline between modern architecture and the architecture of our time. This means that the creator, with a new spirit and representing only his own formal world, adopts the ages that preceded him, respecting the value of continuity, and therefore, although he expresses himself in his own language, he still carries within him a link with the ancestors, with the old, which, however, is not expressed in the new architecture as a kind of direct reading. It is an architectural spirit that is invisible at first sight, transcending itself.” – György Radványi, “Karcolatként jelet hagyni” (To leave a mark as a scratch, interview, 03.09.2019)
[ii] Of course, there would have been good documentation of the Hauszmann house, but they didn’t want to tell us what they were up to, and it was Saturday morning.
[iii] The building surveys carried out in collaboration with students have also resulted in spectacular publications, for example on the Újpest city centre. Radványi published postcards and calendars based on students’ work and ideas. After a while, he included the best of them in some of his ongoing works. It was very rewarding for the students to work together, both because they could get a sample of the master’s photographic work and because they could understand how to draw for the surveys. They were then able to use his guidelines to develop their own creative vision of the world. Perhaps one of Radványi’s finest series was when he took the most talented architectural students to Széphalom near Sátoraljaújhely. This is where the renovation of the Kazinczy Mausoleum was taking place at the time. They spent about a month measuring the house, understanding the architectural details and reconstructing it, which resulted in Radványi’s main work, the Museum of the Hungarian Language, built on the square behind the Kazinczy Mausoleum.
[iv] If you look at the building of the Museum of the Hungarian Language, you will see that there is no kima and sima, no archaic or antiquated detail. It builds on the knowledge of the past, but all the time with modern tools and language. The building is so rich in detail and subtle in its contemporary details that it would not come to light if one did not know (even subconsciously) the antecedents of historical architecture and historical architecture.
[v] It is interesting that Balázs Radványi also became an engineer, but he remained steadfast in his commitment to music.
Sources
Péter Lenzsér, Ádám Majoros – interviews
“Karcolatként jelet hagyni” (To leave a mark as a scratch) – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rHjYSMgH1EE
“Karcolatként jelet hagyni” (To leave a mark as a scratch) – interview 2019.09.03.
“Túl a félúton, a diakróniáról” (About Diacrony Beyond the Halfway Point) – György Radványi
The Bach Reader: A Life of Johann Sebastian Bach in Letters and Documents, W W Norton & Co Inc; 1945