A múlt horizontjába hatolás és az egymást takaró rétegek fokozatos félrehúzása = emlékezés,
galeri ffrindiau, Budapest

The Style is the Pillar Itself, Parthenon-Frieze,
Hungarian University of Fine Arts, Budapest
Stirring Still, Art Quarter Budapest Gallery, Budapest

Revealing Intuition – Immanence Catches Transcendence and Thereby Determines Himself, Óbudai Társaskör Galéria, Budapest

Au soi-męme, private studio, Budapest
au cours de / közben, LLPlatform, Budapest
Megjelenés / Appearance, acb Attachment, Budapest
elé / prê, Everybody Needs Art Viewing Space, Budapest

Logos, Tekhnos, Textos, Videos, Audios, Lajos, Budapest Gallery, Budapest

Vectors - Inscription on a future ancient skull II. New Budapest Gallery
The Blood is Red / The Patterns of Blood Neon Gallery, Budapest

Milksoup as a Forced Existentialist Metaphor Higgs Field Gallery, Budapest
Vectors - Inscription on a future ancient skull Miskolc Gallery Municipal Museum

Pecs Gallery M21, Pécs

Everything eats, everything is eaten
Trafo Gallery, Budapest
Ghost Trap
Neon Gallery, Budapest

Escape Attempt
Museum Kiscell - Municipal Picture Gallery Cordially
Flying Carpet
Videospace Gallery, Budapest

Anticipated Target Concepts
Vajda Lajos Studio, Szentendre
Constellation of Bones
Neon Gallery, Budapest
A Poem About Nothing
Liget Gallery, Budapest

Delusion with Chord Suite
Pixel Gallery, Millenáris, Budapest

The Phantom of the Museum
Vasarely Museum, Pécs
Schkitz #2
Irokéz, Szombathely

Lada Gallery, Berlin
Hunting Trip, Impex Gallery, Budapest

When Johnny Goes Marching Home, video installation for the 'Generally Believed' exhibition, Mongolischen Botschaft in Berlin, Berlin

Dr.Sample & Mr.Shooter,
Künstlerhaus Bethanien, Berlin
Summer Wine
MEMO, acb Gallery, Budapest

God speed, acb Gallery, Budapest

Turboreflex - Supercut, acb Gallery, Budapest

Oscillatory, Compensation, Dream, XXV Bienal de Sao Paulo
Supervision, Gallery Display, Praha
Then Nothing Else but the Buzzing of the Bees, RAM Gallery, Rotterdam
Things fall out now this way, now that, BBS, Budapest
Supervision, Galleria U, Helsinki

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Social Intercourse - 49. Biennale di Venezia, Hungarian Pavilion

The Carnival…, City Gallery, Szombathely
PSVMK Gallery, Győr (H)

6 pictures/ordo/c3/999, ICA - Institute of Contemporary Art, Dunaújváros (H)

Site Transitoire, Italian Insitute, Budapest
Monument or a bit of Masturbation, Knoll Gallery, Budapest

Gallery by Night (with Lang/Bauman) Studio Gallery, Budapest

Alibi Fashion, Studio Gallery, Budapest

The House of Alibi, Bartók 32 Gallery, Budapest

Logo, Mű-Terem Gallery, Budapest

Schkitz #1, Tűzoltó 72. Gallery, Budapest

6 Channels, Tűzoltó 72. Gallery, Budapest

Untitled, Újlak Cinema, Budapest
Untitled, Young Artists’ Club, Budapest

Resistance I., Bercsényi College, Budapest
Resistance II., private studio, Budapest

Untitled, Young Artists’ Club, Budapest

The Blood is Red / The Patterns of Blood

The Blood is Red / The Patterns of Blood
Neon Gallery, Budapest

On the video 'Bluten Tag!'

Seeing blood spill out.  Preferably straight from the heart and,  moreover, straight from the left ventricle, where, as oxygen saturates  hemoglobin, blood's color also becomes saturated with red as the  sunshine slides along its smooth fluid surface.  It is lacquer fetish:  shiny red nail polish, glossy red lips and ruby latex clothing.  Such  blood may be called perfect.

But that perfection is a transient state, for as soon as blood bursts  out of the body, it starts decaying slowly and irreversibly towards a  demise.  That demise appears in Tamás Komoróczky's video in form of a  blood film, spread and dried onto a microscope slide. And if the idea of  spilt blood managed to take over our imagination a second ago, the said  blood film returns us to the abstraction consensually called objective  present, which we experience now collectively.

Like end states reached in the past in general, the state of the blood  film is constant in time, allowing us to forget about the trajectory of  preceding events, which are likely complex and uncertain.  Comforting is  the stability of the cracked and dry blood film: its history may be  disregarded as easily as that of old masters' cracked paintings.

In contrast, rather disturbing is the transient nature of spilt blood's  lacquer fetish perfection.  Disturbing, because its decay starts  immediately: just when the surgeon's scalpel has penetrated the patient,  the researcher's guillotine has decapitated the laboratory rat, or the  slaughter knife has cut open the hung cow's belly.  Is there no escape  from the masses of blood clots covering pieces of flesh?  It raises  anxiety only to look at the removed tumor, to place the damaged cadaver  of the rat into a plastic bag, to wash off brown blood clots from the  surgical tools, and even more anxiety to slide in yellow rubber boots on  the slaughterhouse's slippery floor mixing fat with blood.  It is  painful to see blood like a decaying jellyfish that has drifted  onshore.  Because it is painful to know that the vital equilibria of  sugars, amino- and fatty acids, hormones, antibodies, platelets, etc.,  are becoming just as banally disrupted in shed blood as they are in that  doomed jellyfish.

How degrading it is for blood: to be removed from the context of the  body it sustains!

For blood, the only worthwhile form is the one that is constantly  present throughout the video's fourteen minutes.  It is present as light  clouds of red blood cells dispersed in a soft flow.  It is present as a  flashing network recalling the fast arterial flow, and also present as  sounds of fluid friction against arterial walls: from deep murmur to  sharp scratches.

This ever refreshing form of blood is present also beyond the video; not  only is it present in every moment but also percolates everything.   Penetrates the brain's gyri, the intestines' villi, the erectile tissue,  and, along coronary arteries even the heart's own flesh.  Moreover,  connects foetus to mother, and Siamese twins with each other.   Furthermore, connects the infected of epidemics, inhabitants of tropics  via mosquito invasions, and donors with acceptors of blood transfusion.   These demonstrate the physical existence of a global circulatory  supersystem; therefore, it is quite natural to envision a single,  imaginary, global heart driving circulation in the entire supersystem.

To zoom in on blood's substance and confront its homogeneity: as if we  scanned a gargantuan microscope slide that carries the complete volume  of all blood spread thin on it, we see the same picture everywhere.  To  confront blood's material nature: though living, it is only matter  without consciousness.  Although it is a synonym for the great  "Everything" in Endre Ady's poetic world, in one poem (Blood and Gold)  blood insensitively runs while pleasure moans and pain growls.

From blood's emotionally neutral, tranquil substance, one may glance  with apathy at human or even superhuman dramas, like a man's psychosis  or the a vampire's destructive, never-ending thirst. Viewed from this  substance, the life-changing event of a snake bite or blood oath seems  as mere dispersion of snake poison or the blood brother's blood in a  statistically irreversible fashion.

The global circulatory supersystem spans even human history.  Like a  river deposits its sediment at various sites, so have evolving languages  been depositing, at various ages, diverse expressions that attest  blood's characteristic semantics at any given era.  This linguistic  journey takes us from the "blood of Christ" to "blood donation  marketing", touching en route multiple times the demagogue verbal  toolbox of ethnicity-based genocide and suppression. "Bloodline" may be  considered the semantic archetype of most expressions, since it is a  direct reference to a blood-based model of heredity.  Although the  genetic theory of heredity had been firmly established by the early  twentieth century, the idea of genealogies that run along bloodlines  remains deeply embedded in the twenty first century mind.

Can you hear the heart beat and the flap of valves?  Minimal techno  tracks have been being produced one after another.  Their texture,  dynamics, expressive qualities and stylistic references varies widely.   But almost all of them admits a visceral interpretation both as and also  by heart beat.  That is no news: already Robert Hood's Minimal Nation,  often considered as the genre's landmark album, begins with heart  throbs.  While dancers involuntarily adopt this visceral interpretation,  it may occur to them that they use their perishable body's perishable  cardiovascular system to connect with a history-spanning global  circulatory supersystem.  This revelation seems quite capable of further  enhancing dance craze, for which nothing else is required but to lower  one's consciousness to the depth of blood vessels, and shake one's body  to the bass drum that transmits the beat of that single, imaginary,  global heart. Have you also caught yourselves dancing on a techno party  and envisioning the venue's all circulatory systems, including the  synchronously beating hearts and the pulsating vessels inside the moving  limbs?

We are witnessing here the reality of ever-refreshing blood in the  vessels' coordinate system.  We may look at its network, listen to its  sounds, and from its neutral substance view indifferently the pleasures  and pains of creatures it sustains; all that in fourteen minute cycles.

Opening speech: Attila Gulyás-Kovács