We live in an age of image deluge. Most of us encounter more images in a few hours than any individual in the eighteenth century might have seen in an entire lifetime. The discourse that has emerged around images – their nature, necessity, and function – does not merely concern the widespread availability of image-making technologies made accessible by the expansion of the digital sphere, the visual material they produce, and the works created within this environment with artistic or fine-art intent. It also addresses how we view paintings, graphics, photographs, films, and countless other images that already exist. How does the active quality of existing images operate today? To borrow the thoughts of Horst Bredekamp: what force renders images capable, today, of transforming our act of observation into external impact – into sensation, action, and thought? Put more simply: through what mechanisms and messages can an image affect us today?
In Bredekamp’s view, when images attain a singular local value within advanced societies, language is not challenged to weaken it but rather to strengthen it – something that can only arise from such a trial. In our accelerated world, where the everyday linguistic repertoire seems increasingly impoverished and millions of empty expressions drift through the communicative space, one might easily assume that speech or writing has lost its significance. Reflection on images, however, turns towards language with great demand – and thus, as its ally, language becomes one of the most fundamental tools for thinking about the visual arts. In what follows, drawing on the mutually beneficial relationship between texts and images, and as the daughter of Zoltán V. Szilágyi, with close familiarity not only with his works but also with the writings devoted to them, I attempt to outline the most important driving forces and characteristic features of his oeuvre.
Zoltán V. Szilágyi, a Transylvanian Hungarian graphic artist and animated film director, was born on 23 June 1951 in Kékes (Chiochiș), in Beszterce-Naszód (Bistrița-Năsăud) County. At the time of his birth, his mother, in the final moments of her pregnancy, was summoned away from the harvest by fate itself. When the hour struck, a horse-drawn cart set off with her towards the midwife in Kékes. The jolting of the cart brought my father into the world even before they reached the town – and for years the old women whispered that with such a beginning, he would surely grow up to be a stutterer. Lightning does not strike the same place twice: the coachman himself stuttered, so no one else around did – and thus neither did Zoltán V. Szilágyi. After this folk-tale-like beginning and a loving family environment, let us leap forward in time: in 1970, he graduated from the Secondary School of Fine Arts in Marosvásárhely (Târgu Mureș), and in 1976, he obtained his degree in graphic arts from the Ion Andreescu Institute of Fine Arts in Kolozsvár (Cluj-Napoca). Between 1976 and 1985, he worked as a staff member of the Animafilm animation studio in Bucharest, while between 1984 and 1986, he studied animation directing at the Ion Luca Caragiale Institute of Theatre and Film Arts in Bucharest. In Romania, following work on several series, stage design, character design and film graphics, he wrote and directed three ‘auteur’ animated films that entered the collection of the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) in New York. His first film, Gordiuszi csomó (The Gordian Knot), completed in 1979, initiated an ideological and technical renewal in Romanian animation. The film was awarded at most of the major European festivals and was followed by two further works produced in Romania: Aréna (Arena) and Monológ (Monologue).
As a graphic artist, he participated in numerous group exhibitions and produced book designs, covers, title pages and illustrations for the Kriterion, Ion Creangă, Meridiane and Didactica publishing houses. After attempts to force the Romanianisation of his name, he relocated to Hungary in 1987. In 1992, he received the Béla Balázs Prize and, until March 2015, worked as an artistic graphic designer and film director at the animation studio in Kecskemét, where he also participated in several international co-productions. Since then, he has continued to sign his individual films as a freelance artist. His films produced in Hungary include Tiszta kép (Clean Image), Origo (Origo), Ajtó 13 (Door 13), Éjszakai kultúrtörténeti hadgyakorlat (Night Cultural-Historical Military Exercise), Apropó (Apropos), the Koan series inspired by the writings of Ferenc Temesi, the realised episodes of A világlátott egérke (The Well-Travelled Little Mouse), based on a tale by Sándor Kányádi, Jegyzőkönyv – Mansfeld Péter emlékére (Minutes – In Memory of Péter Mansfeld), which processes the transcript of Mansfeld Péter’s conviction, A jókedvű örmény temetése (The Burial of the Cheerful Armenian), adapted from the short story by Sándor Hunyady, and Mementó (Memento), paying tribute ahead of the International Holocaust Remembrance Day.
Alongside his auteur films, he worked in European co-productions as a storyboard artist (L’ oeil de loup), executive director (Ritter Rost, Pomme d’api, Temetői mesék (Graveyard Tales), Lieber Dachs…), and art director (the feature-length Majmok kastélya (The Castle of Monkeys), directed by J. F. Laguionie). His work contributed significantly to integrating the Kecskemét animation studio into the bloodstream of European film production.
His films have been screened in the competition programmes of numerous festivals – including the Berlinale in Germany and the Annecy International Animation Film Festival in France – and have received many awards and grand prizes, among them the Certificate of Merit at the Oberhausen Festival, the Opera Prima Prize in Zagreb, the Golden Bear in Bilbao, the Silver Dolphin First Prize in Espinho, the Award of the Romanian Film Union, the First Prize of the poster competition known as the Jules Chéret Prize in Annecy, and the Storyboard Grand Prix at the Annecy International Animation Film Festival.
In what follows, I attempt to outline the most characteristic readings of this creative oeuvre – but what exactly are these? As the daughter of Zoltán V. Szilágyi, over many years I observed, as a matter of course, that my father, preserving his good humour, would sit at his desk for hours on end and draw, and that the sheets of paper emerging from his hands invariably bore graphics marked by subjectively applied photorealism. What was certainly common to these drawings was the application of a compositional principle based on observing the natural functioning of the human eye: the full elaboration of detail at the focal point, the benevolent sketching of ancillary elements that aid recognition, and the barely perceptible, indicative outlining with fine lines of moments lying beyond the imaginary horizon. What is striking is that these motifs, drawn over many hours, were often not autonomous works framed and hung on the wall with their own titles, but rather phase drawings for a specific, current auteur film. Quoting lines by Aladár Szilágyi published in Várad on the occasion of A jókedvű örmény temetése (The Burial of the Cheerful Armenian), but generalisable to Szilágyi V. Zoltán’s entire oeuvre: “The layering of the restrained drawings made for the initial phase, their conversion into different colours, their merging and shading, must have required ant-like diligence, monastic perseverance and self-denial worthy of a codex-copying monk [1].” In this respect, the quality of the frozen frames is astonishing – as is the consistency of the creative attitude observable through them. István Orosz wrote on Artmagazin Online: “It is often said that good drawings are unnecessary in an animated film; it suffices if the sum of the drawings, the sequence of movements, is perfect – after all, who could concentrate on something that appears only for a flash, visible for a fraction of a second, specifically one-twelfth, often only one-twenty-fourth of a second on the screen? There are, of course, seasoned old colleagues who spot moments, for whom even a flash is an experience, who remember fleeting film frames and speak of a scene for a long time that others did not even notice. When the films of Zoltán Varga Szilágyi are screened, they stub out their cigarettes, wipe their glasses and lean forward in their seats. Among animated films, his has perhaps the most demanding graphic world. And among graphic oeuvres, his is the one most ripe for animation. But the distinction is unnecessary: the two genres have been intertwined in his work from the outset, and whether we encounter his works on a cinema screen or on the walls of a gallery is almost irrelevant [2].”
Among other things, Szilágyi V. Zoltán’s works are characterised by the transmedial use of the possibilities inherent in still and moving images. The moving image, video, the perspective arising from transmission errors and temporal determination, the foreground–background relationship, and the path a motif traces before our eyes influenced the depiction of frozen moments in time just as much as the gesture of drawing pursued at a high technical level, immersion in this practice, contemplation through drawing, and the nature of graphic elements influenced the visual solutions of his animated films.
The successful execution of drawings – and phase drawings – approaching a photorealistic result does not begin at the drawing board. Although photographs serve as sources of inspiration in Szilágyi’s creative working method, the most characteristic element is not the transfer of a given photograph onto drawing paper. The most important component of these detail-rich, humorous, humane, often grotesque depictions – which nonetheless create unity and tranquillity within the boundaries of the image – is an attitude of observation open to everything, regarding phenomena with the utmost naturalness, not in search of error, omission, beauty, ugliness or any other (aesthetic) quality. This attitude allows the image-building artist to arrange side-by-side motifs frozen from several moments of life and depict them with full authenticity. The artist who moves through the world with a conscious gaze expands their visual vocabulary at every moment of their existence: observed movements, gestures, facial expressions, reactions, garments and patterns all become part of the expressive lexicon through ceaseless observation, later confronting us in an animated film or graphic work. One need only consider the facial expressions visible during the protagonist’s exertions in Gordiuszi csomó (The Gordian Knot) as he attempts to outwit the task, the aged dragon personified with human behaviour in Aréna (Arena), or the flashing glances exchanged by the richly characterised figures in A jókedvű örmény temetése (The Burial of the Cheerful Armenian).
Alongside the snapshot-like content of social media, most experts concerned with image theory claim that today almost all of us have, involuntarily, acquired the language of image-based communication. Zoltán V. Szilágyi worked with the message-bearing capacity of images, even at times when, under a regime that did not share his views, he remained an upright man through drawings and standpoints concealed within animation. The symbolic system of the Romanian films contains everything that could be said at the time. Naturally, this, too, had its consequences – at the end of Monológ (Monologue), the system decided that the Romanian flag should not disintegrate after all, but the hastily executed censorship left the film’s soundtrack intact, resulting in thirteen flickers replacing the excised flag. Thus, the censorship itself became a parody of itself. The film was realised, and the hidden message remained – perhaps with even greater emphasis – where it would originally have been, with the difference that, even decades later, speaking of it alone offers an opportunity to criticise the former regime. Of course, following its completion, the film’s distribution was banned outside international festivals. As János Palotai wrote, the works of Zoltán V. Szilágyi crossed the ideological threshold of tolerance. [3] “His critique of voluntarism opposed the dictatorship. Aréna (Arena) denies icons, canons, and the trinity of the ‘beautiful, the good, the true’. His image decomposition, the sliding of planes (the search for the dragon-slayer), is akin to the gesture Dóra Maurer used to seek Dózsa. After the sacred, he is concerned with the emptying of secular signs: TV signals, dreams, flags – the latter cut out of the film by the secret police, and replaced by black-and-white frames by Szilágyi. Thus, the film material itself became a sign and a message, which, in the Hungarian neo-avant-garde, spoke thus: what cannot be spoken of must be spoken of. Szilágyi examines the devaluation of the flag, from the revolutionary tricolour to Mickey Mouse advertising, and to the signs appearing on the human body, paintings, matchboxes and pop icons (Tiszta kép [Clean Image]); Apropó [Apropos]) [4].”
One outstanding example of the tragic impact of false ideologies on human lives is the 1956 revolution. On its fiftieth anniversary in 2006, Zoltán V. Szilágyi created a historically significant, symbolically rich memorial film, using the official transcript of Péter Mansfeld's execution on 21 March 1959. In the charcoal-drawn animation – which has its own educational page within the NFI Alapfilmek programme – the full text of the transcript is heard, while within the black-and-white world interpreted by the artist, the tragedy condenses and the unjustified retribution unfolds: the execution of Péter Mansfeld, who had only just turned eighteen.
Quoting István Orosz once again: “Szilágyi is a grand master of creating atmosphere. A connoisseur and precisifier of detail. His motifs are signposts of contemplation. Beneath his ballad-toned, myth-shimmering graphics, roots intertwining past years and lives emerge; creation is built, dismantled and rebuilt within them – the genesis of graphics and of films assembled from sequences of images. How do signal flares scan the battlefield, what pattern is traced by the boot sole squelching in the mud, how do assault helmets glow like fireflies, and how does archaic symbolism surface in the naturalistic blood illusion of our dreams? Those who have seen it will recognise the world of Éjszakai kultúrtörténeti hadgyakorlat (Night Cultural-Historical Military Exercise). What is the taste of mulled wine with cinnamon from the Küküllő region, and what geometries are drawn on the glass wall when the drinker turns it in their hand before the first sip? How does the bacon-studded turkey sizzle in the roasting pan? How does one unscrew a kerosene lamp? What does it feel like to mingle with another body beneath a cool, crisp, lavender-scented feather duvet? Or should I speak of the dense vapours from boots lined up beneath the stove? Of the midges swarming around the gas lamp? Of the gypsy-baiting, the oat satchel, the rings of cigar smoke, and the way the railway track continues the clicking rhythm of the tiring heart’s sinking and rising? You recall the world of A jókedvű örmény (The Cheerful Armenian) as well, don’t you? Or shall I mention the stammering grey terror of the Mansfeld film, the philosophical parable of Gordiuszi csomó (The Gordian Knot), and the wisdom of Koan? [5]”
Szilágyi V. Zoltán’s graphics and animations are often permeated by nostalgia, or by an emotion closely related to it in some of its hues. The helplessly gawking man who becomes a protagonist (Video), the half-wit hiding behind his grin (Álom [Dream]), the elderly village uncle with clasped hands radiating peace (Bapó), and the figure working against gravity (Atlasz [Atlas]) – all are figures from a lived and experienced world, who, becoming visual props within the drawings, recount the difficulties of experiencing history, the problems arising from society’s herd-like nature, as interpreted by an artist striving to preserve his own cheerfulness, honesty, essential vision, and, not least, humour.
At the very moment I was searching for a name for that indefinable quality permeating these images, I recalled what László Földényi writes in his book A melankólia dicsérete (lit. In Praise of Melancholy): “melancholy (…) places any given culture into a refraction of light that, out of justified self-defence, the majority does not wish to perceive. (…) Melancholics, whenever they lived, have never been able to see the organisation of the world as final. (…) Melancholy is, above all, not sorrow or gloom, but an inner strength, in possession of which one pays attention to something else, discovers elsewhere what earlier civilisations called ‘essence’, and continuously questions everything that appears self-evident and obvious.” The animations and graphics of Zoltán V. Szilágyi may be regarded as contemporary assertions of a similar melancholic attitude.
Countless developments and changes have shaped the ways we look at works of fine art or film art today: new techniques and technologies, fresh philosophical schools and political views, historical experiences, accumulated knowledge across generations, and so forth. Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of this story is that the gaze of artists follows the same path as our own, with the difference that, in terms of the consciousness behind the gaze, they are somewhat ahead of us. Zoltán V. Szilágyi’s eye first found its focal point in graphics, in the possibilities offered by drawing. At a certain point, however, the moment torn from time proved insufficient, and it was overwritten by curiosity towards the possibilities inherent in overlapping moments of time. This curiosity encounters that desire to draw, which perhaps fascinates most of us when we encounter his films. For the animated figures and motifs move before our eyes with the same careful, detailed, finely wrought draughtsmanship as if we were looking at individual graphic works. Zoltán V. Szilágyi did not flee from one medium in search of the possibilities offered by another; rather, he perfectly united the two things dearest to his gaze.
References
[1] Aladár Szilágyi: Önálló életre kelt filmkockák – Szilágyi Varga Zoltán alkotásairól. (lit. Film Frames Come to Life – On the Works of Zoltán Varga Szilágyi.) In: Várad, Vol. XV, No. 1, pp. 42–55.
[2] István Orosz: „… Mindig befelé figyeltem.” – Szilágyi V. Zoltán munkáiról. (lit. “… I Have Always Looked Inwards.” – On the Works of Zoltán V. Szilágyi.) Artmagazin Online.
https://www.artmagazin.hu/articles/cikk/mindig_befele_figyeltem
[3] János Palotai: Határátlépők – Háy Ágnes és Szilágyi Varga Zoltán kísérleti filmjei. (lit. Border Crossers – The Experimental Films of Ágnes Háy and Zoltán Varga Szilágyi.) In: Balkon, 2011/7–8, pp. 56–57.
[4] János Palotai: Határátlépők – Háy Ágnes és Szilágyi Varga Zoltán kísérleti filmjei. (lit. Border Crossers – The Experimental Films of Ágnes Háy and Zoltán Varga Szilágyi.) In: Balkon, 2011/7–8, pp. 56–57.
[5] István Orosz: „… Mindig befelé figyeltem.” – Szilágyi V. Zoltán munkáiról. (lit. “… I Have Always Looked Inwards.” – On the Works of Zoltán V. Szilágyi.) Artmagazin Online.
https://www.artmagazin.hu/articles/cikk/mindig_befele_figyeltem
Zoltán Varga: Rajzolt siratóének: A jókedvű örmény temetése. (lit. A Drawn Lament: A jókedvű örmény temetése [The Burial of the Cheerful Armenian]). In: Filmvilág, Vol. 56, No. 12 (December 2013), pp. 32–33. https://filmvilag.hu/xereses_frame.php?cikk_id=13142
Tibor Borzák: Nem halványuló emlék és emlékezet. (lit. An Unfading Memory and Remembrance.) In: Szabad Föld, Vol. 76, No. 43 (22 October 2020), p. 11.
https://szabadfold.hu/orszag-vilag/2020/10/nem-halvanyulo-emlek-es-emlekezet
[2024]