Magyar Hírek, 1985 (38. évfolyam, 2-26. szám)
1985-10-26 / 22. szám
THE SCULPTOR OF TOWNS A posthumus interview with Ervin Pátkai Interesting changes took piacé in the Balaton wine district about a hundred years ago and again in our times. The Tihanyi Fekete (Tihany Black) was the favourite variety of the district to the end of the last century, a grape which produced excellent red wine. Then phylloxera destroyed all of the vineyards at the Balaton. When replanting took place viticulturists established growths of Zöldszilváni, a grape of Transylvanian origin, and the ancient Hungarian variety of Kéknyelű, that also came from another part of the country. That was the beginning of more first class wines. The elegant Kéknyelű of Badacsony with a fine bouquet, the well-balanced, fine Szürkebarát (Grey Friar), and the fiery heavy-bodied Zöldszilváni are among the most favoured white wines today. But the Balaton viticulturists of our days could not resign themselves to the absence of red wines in the district, they established Zweigelt, Cabernet and Medoc Noir varieties in the vineyards of Tihany. So in the wake of this year’s vintage—as usual by now for many years—ruby-coloured, dry, fiery red wines mature in the barrels of Tihany. (Knights of Orders of Wine in Sopron) Besides the love of wine I think it was nostalgia that created the Orders of Wine in many countries, members of which partake in wine tastings coupled with lunch and dinner organized in hospitable wine districts, dressed in the robes of their order, complete with helmets and heavy, beautifully chiselled ornamental chains. Orders of this kind were formed in Hungary also in recent years. Not long ago Swiss. French, Italian and German knights of the wine had the pleasure of tasting the wines of the Sopron wine district at the invitation of the Sopron vignerons. The classic red wine of Sopron, the pleasantly dry Kékfrankos was particularly successful—and so was the traditional bean rétes of Sopron, a product reminiscent of the olden days, when beans were the other important product of Sopron besides wine. Even the nick-name of the oldestablished Sopron burgher families, ponzichter, which is still used, was derived from the German word Bohnenzüchter, meaning beangrower. It is interesting as well as timely to remember the strict rules by which the civic authorities of Sopron regulated the making and marketing of wines for hundreds of years. The quality and purity of the wines was controlled at official wine tastings, and nothing proves better that they did not tolerate any monkeying about with the regulations, than the expert committees, which byorder of the council regularly toured the winebars armed with formidable clubs in order to prevent the sale of wines that endangered the prestige of the Sopron product or that were smuggled in from other districts. Nowadays the prestige of Hungarian wines is protected by a very strict wine law. The National Institute for Wine Standards is empowered to carry out the work of continuous control. The Institute's activity covers the examination of various vintage:; and varieties, the product of various localities, wine districts and vineries. These examinations establish the quality of the products and are also the basis of the necessary mensures taken. Pursuant to the wine law, wine can be sold only if it was tested by the Institute and found suitable for sale. The National Committee of Oenologists also participates in the work of protecting and improving the quality of wines. This committee, the members of which are leading Hungarian oenologists and vignerons, as well as public health specialists prepare expert opinions for the prevention of the adulteration of wines and the protection of their quality. Wines of special quality are given special protection and labelled with official control marks which mean that the state guarantees their quality. ZOLTÁN HALÁSZ PHOTOS: VIKTOR GÁBOR At first my eyes nearly passed over a small notice in the Budapest daily, Magyar Hírlap: .. died in France...” I was about to turn to the next page when the name rang a bell: Ervin Pátkai. Then I read on. “. . .. in a car accident. .. the French Minister of Culture spoke words to commemorate him.” Life seldom gives such a sad timeliness to a report. The material of my article about Ervin Pátkai—photographs, notes of our discussions, a tape—were in my desk drawer among the articles to be put in shape. We had been driving around for more than half an hour in Noisy Le Grand, one of the suburbs of Paris, when I learnt that this ‘‘small town" covered an area twice the size of Paris bordered the “fringe”. We passed buildings, rows of houses, of phantastic forms. They had been built in such an eclectic profusion of styles that the world accepts today perhaps only from the French. In any event, the spectacle was completely entrancing. “We are just arriving at the quarter in progress, of which I am the concepteur said Ervin Pátkai, adding, ‘this could be translated as general designer, or town planner’.” “You are an artist. How did you become a town planner, and what does that mean here, in France?" “It used to be different before. Then each architect planned a building, at random, and when the whole housing estate was ready they invited an artist to put it in order, to develop some sort of a total image. Now we do things the other way round. We design the spectacle, and all of the architects adapt to that in space, colour and style.” “When did they begin to build this town?” “Twenty years ago perhaps ... I do not know for sure. I joined this work eight years ago, that was when they invited me to be in charge of the building of a quarter.” “In other words you, an artist, were the boss of the architects?” “W’hat do you mean I was”, he raised his voice, “I still am. They growled at first, protesting against an artist interfering with the work of architects. For a number of months we did not enjoy the best of relations. But I am happy to say that one and all agree now that this is the right way to work.” We passed by a big building the form of which was reminiscent of a slice of cheese set on edge, then we stopped in front of a gaudy sort of art nouveau cave. “Here, this is where we enter the central square of the town” he pointed. The central square is a huge amphitheatre with a pyramid in one of its corners, a work of Ervin Pátkai. > “The biggest problem I had in the beginning was” he said returning to architecture “how I could plan an aesthetically appropriate image of the town without a beautiful natural environment. In Budapest, for instance, there is the Danube, St. Margaret’s Island, the Geilért Hill, the Castle, the Rózsadomb, the Hármashatárhegy. One can adjust the buildings to the environment. But Paris is flat. Eventually I planned axles, one of them is of a mineral character, stone-paved, and the other consists of plants. This square is the centre of this quarter.” Pátkai lived in a small, red brick house overrun with creepers in to vicinity of the quarter. It was not easy for him to talk about himself. He described the story of his life almost reluctantly and very briefly. He was born in 1937 and began to study art back in Hungary. He studied under Miklós Borsos and József Somogyi. He came to B’rance in 1957, and finished his studies as the holder of a French scholarship at the Academie des Beaux Arts. “I got my first important commission at Grenoble”—he recalled. “Ont^pf my concrete compositions turned out to be twenty-five meters long and four and a half meters high, the other one six meters high.” Then he listed the places where his similarly large concrete sculptures had been erected. They earned him international fame, the reputation of being a monumental artist. But as it turned out, Ervin Pátkai was at least as proud of his small sculptures. He led me into his studio behind the house, where he made these. “It is not their «ize that makes these statues interesting” he said showing them. “These have to be seen from the inside. My working method is creative art. As soon as I create a work, or acquire a style, I am no longer interested in it. I look for a new subject in a new direction." ■)|é In his study Hungarian books line the bookshelves: Weöres, László Németh, Gyula Illyés— on top of each other, scattered around in a confusion. “What does living in France for thirty years mean to you as a Hungarian?” “The situation is that my life has run on two rails since 1957. My wife is French, and so are the children. But nowadays it is becoming increasingly clear to me that I am still a Hungarian.” “And what made ihat evident to you?” “I dream in Hungarian again, since I have been going home more often. In my dreams I am at home, and talk to my Hungarian friends there. The trouble is that we, Hungarians living here have no time to meet. I am a founder, and editor of Magyar Műhely. But we all have so much work that Pali Nagy, Tibor Papp, I mostly meet abroad only, in Vienna, or at home in Budapest. Does it sound ridiculous?” “No, but rather peculiar. You say: abroad, at home in Budapest.” “Yes, this language is odd. We are all the same in this respect. When I am going to Hungary I say I am going home, and everybody speaks that way. And when I meet a Hungarian from Paris in Budapest, we ask each other when we will go home.” I listen to Ervin Pátkai’s voice on tape and look at his picture. I try to see him from the inside, as he suggested. And I wonder what sort of a man he was. A bit scatterbrained and absentminded. Sincere. Sensitive, a true artist. An artist who never practised the art of self-representation, therefore had to achieve twice as much to get the acknowledgement he did. He lived to be forty eight only. Something cam.to an end before time, without a chance to become finished, all in a meaningless moment. But he still created a whole, for he had aimed at perfection in all of his works. ISTVÁN POKORNY 29
