Korniss Péter - Erdős Virág: Courtyards - Our Budapest (Budapest, 1993)

Cinnabar and crying red first, then some patches of Madonna blue like mist, until with a strong resolution dead gold descended in a spray, and the globe rose from Michael’s palm and Paul’s majestic forehead opened, and by the time the finely cut nose profile of the Mother of God dissolved in fog, the pictures on the wall had stepped forward, one after the other, a fly still hit its head against the fleeing flame, but the next one already broke through - And now the picture is nothing more than a frame, now the living, as it’s easy to surmise, live their interconnected still lives, and since it wants to solve its own existential riddle, a wardrobe of jumble tilts towards the middle, and all that is impeccably clean and nice enough to be shown is now hung outside, and profane though it be, a spent bulb hangs from the tree, and in the place of the olives a lemon tree thrives Pantocrator is sitting in the concierge’s room, hanging his head in silence

14