c-print – fülöp gergő

The umpteenth descendant of the Knight of the Woeful Countenance is at home

gergő — Wed, 12 Jan 2022 21:40:49 +0000

He’s bathing in light at the feet of the monitors. Grail knights are descending, who knows where to. They’re searching for the Grail, but they won’t find it. Digital putti are acting mischievously as usual and the stars have migrated onto the sheep. My grandparents had a few. I stood amongst them once, when they started to run. I remember the earth shaking.

The light radiating from the displays is soft, warm and welcoming. Can be kindled into stories. It’s there everywhere, everytime. Glowing, and nourishing us somehow. On this meadow, life originates from this light. It grows flowers and recreates my grandparents’ sheep, despite the fact that they’re long gone. Only that memory remained, when the earth was shaking.

The umpteenth descendant of the Knight of the Woeful Countenance is at home here. He enjoys the warmth, and that how serene is everything.

// turn your screen brightness all the way up please! //

–

A búsképű lovag sokadik utódja otthon van

A monitorok lábánál fényben fürdik. Grál lovagok ereszkednek lefelé, ki tudja hova. A Grált keresik, de nem lesz meg. Digitális puttók virgonckodnak, a csillagok leköltöztek a juhokra. Nagyanyáméknak volt néhány, egyszer álltam közöttük mikor rohanni kezdtek. Úgy emlékszem remegett a föld.

A kijelzőkből áradó fény puha, meleg és szívélyes. Történeteket csiholhatunk belőle. Ott van mindig mindenhol. Világít és valahogy táplál. Ezen a mezőn belőle származik az élet. Virágokat nevel és újrateremti nagyanyámék birkáit, pedig rég nem élnek már. Csak az az emlék van meg, amikor remegett a föld.

A búsképű lovag sokadik utódja itt van otthon. Élvezi a meleget, és hogy olyan jámbor minden.

// a képernyő fényerejét tekerd fel kérlek! //

See you at the willows (or I’m just a bit homesick)

gergő — Wed, 07 Apr 2021 20:11:32 +0000

It was snowing heavily and we all were laying in the same bed when a soldier looked in the window. He didn’t come in, but one of them was stabbed to death later, because though the village folk tried to hide all the girls, they didn’t always succeed. It was late ’44 or early ’45, my grandmother recalls. The scene is truncated, only a wall with the window is here.

Swirling snow everywhere, but the willows are green, and the bald trees are acting like it. The air is glowing, the pale stars merge with the snow. The old xbox is telling stories and gives memories to my little brother. Stripped from its profanity, it’s a real magical device. Its effect is deep and mysterious.

As the air is freezing and the snow is relentlessly falling, I think about the village where I was a kid, when there was still a winter.

I often feel that I’m going home to a grove like this. I don’t become part of it, I’m there without me. But maybe I’m just homesick. Probably.

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Találkozunk a füzeknél (vagy egy kis honvágy)

Sűrűn havazott és mind egy ágyban feküdtünk mikor egy katona benézett az ablakon. Nem jött be, de aztán egyiküket megkéselték, mert próbálták ugyan a falusiak a lányokat eldugni, az nem mindig sikerült. ’44 vége vagy ’45 eleje volt, nagyanyám így emlékszik. Csonka a jelenet, csak egy fal van meg belőle az ablakkal.

Mindenhol kavarog a hó, de a füzek zöldek, a kopasz fák meg úgy tesznek, mintha. Fénylik a levegő, a sápadt csillagok összeolvadnak a hóval. Az öreg xbox történeteket mesél és emlékeket ad az öcsémnek. Profánságától megfosztva igazi varázstárgy. Hatása mély és rejtélyes.

Ahogy a levegő megfagy és szakad a hó, eszembe jut a falu ahol gyerek voltam, mikor még volt tél.

Sokszor érzem, hogy egy ilyen ligetbe megyek haza. Nem leszek része, úgy vagyok ott, hogy nem vagyok. De lehet csak honvágyam van. Valószínűleg.

Rainfall – with glowing oranges and Max Payne

gergő — Sun, 11 Oct 2020 20:42:10 +0000

I’m home from school in seventh grade, playing Max Payne. The older sister of my granny, Leni, never even went to seventh grade. Around 1944, it was more helpful to smuggle cooking oil across the Czechoslovakian-Hungarian border. When she was caught, border patrol let her go because she was only a child. Rain is falling down, wind is blowing in the heated room. Glowing oranges are rolling into the puddle she was wading through back in those days. Among cattails, we see the old Leni now, eating orange. She buried her husband, two sons and her younger brother at this point. And since then, we buried her.

But she will be sitting on this image forever now.

A glade in electric light

gergő — Wed, 13 May 2020 18:47:00 +0000

The walls are the sky and stars are stickers on it. Daisies are growing from the floor. You can play some games among the palm trees and in a fur coat on top of a coverall, with a glass of red wine, there stands love in the electric light.

It changes from day to day, how I imagine the future. With good heart or depressing. Sometimes I’m proud of myself, sometimes I pity myself. One day I’m glad that the past is gone, then the other I feel like I’m swimming in it.

Mermaids in the bog (and the vague memories I sense sometimes)

gergő — Tue, 31 Mar 2020 21:04:02 +0000

A stinky bog where mermaids live. They are real, but I don’t know why are they in a place like this. Maybe because they can’t be anywhere else. I imagine their natural habitat nothing like this, but they seem ok. And that’s enough, they are just as pretty. I’m battling melancholy from time to time. When my days get wounded, I enjoy going to the Reál store on Budafoki road. It has the vibe of the grocery stores I enjoyed going back home, when I was a kid. It was mysterious, because we never bought anything unnecessary, and those were in the most colorful packages. In these moments, I vaguely feel how was it like to be home. It’s good to remember. To remember everything. To not forget. I recall the grasshoppers in the garden too, and the frogs we hunted. They’re here as well with the mermaids.

Meadow in the backyard (with two speakers)

gergő — Thu, 16 Jan 2020 20:00:52 +0000

The hymn of the broken man is playing in high definition in the backyard, that looks not at all as before. A strange meadow is there, and mud and shit.

It may be about something like, how unfair and calming is, that what has passed is eternal. That the Moon should be a microphone, recording the world. Because how many stories are mute, when it would be good to know every one of them. I don’t know.

I imagine, when morning comes, only the speakers remain and the very same thing plays gently.

The Enchanted Forest (with Saint George slaying the dragon on an Xbox and a boar-unicorn)

gergő — Thu, 05 Dec 2019 22:01:30 +0000

In stories, a hero goes into the enchanted forest to defeat some great evil as a heroic act, to return victoriously. Changed by the big event, wiser than ever. Now we sneak after our hero and it turns out the heroic deed is only a victory on Xbox. And there is no danger at all in the frightening dark forest, just a very kind boar-unicorn, watching the same thing that we do.

It’s all just a big scam? We’ve been fooled to believe that heroism exists? Maybe we were, maybe it just tastes different when we take part. It doesn’t really matter, as the shapless deep nothing looms in the background and now we’re surely headed there. See things, do things as we move. Maybe even some heroic stuff, maybe not. But it’s very likely that that’s all we have. Stories.

Pastoral (summer dawn on a dunghill with pig and pansies)

gergő — Wed, 29 May 2019 12:48:00 +0000

It’s kind of a pastoral scene. Air feels comfy warm, the ascending summer sun lights a dunghill, and turns out it’s an apartment.

Pansies all over, a pig sleeping calmly, Dostoevsky’s Idiot, Mann’s Joseph and Mark Fisher’s K-Punk on the drawer, Hugo’s Toilers of the Sea on the ground, a phone on the unmade bed and a lamp to light the night (has to be battery-driven).

This is a place and way to live among sky-high real estate prices, gutted out ideals and a badly beaten ecosystem. Wonderful.

composition10

gergő — Tue, 01 Jan 2019 21:23:16 +0000

Not that I am this miserable, romantic fool, but what is this life? When god and its paradise is out of the question, it not seems we have an objective. Just a random sequence of an infinite road, randomly ending in a moment of this dense, plushy, warm, heavy and calm silence. A rest. If this is the case than that’s fine. That’s something to make peace with.

“warmth”

starring: Jesus Christ, domestic pig, Arnold Böcklin

composition8

gergő — Fri, 23 Nov 2018 20:14:20 +0000

We’ll be fine. We say when we are not. Either with hope that we will, or just to say something.

“we’ll be fine”

starring: Robert the Bruce, Kelela, LGM-30 Minuteman, Jesus Christ, Vaquita,