Silence, or Us Being Voiceless (Part I)

Bill Viola at NEO Contemporary Art Space

This is the translation of my text, A Csend, avagy a mi hangunk hiánya (I. rész), originally in Hungarian. During transcription, slight alterations were consciously made to enhance the understanding of non-Hungarian readers.

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Bill Viola's solo show Silence is on view from November 22, 2024 to March 30, 2025 in the exhibition space of the House of the Hungarian Millennium – NEO Contemporary Art Space. The exhibition features three soundless video works: Silent Mountain (2001), The Encounter (2012), and Ancestors (2012), as well as a short interview that Christian Lund made with Bill Viola for the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art in 2011, entitled The Tone of Being. The choice of the title is already telling, as the absence of sound adds new layers of meaning to the exhibition. Video art, which initially became a tool for self-examination in the field of art due to the nature of the medium, is placed in a new context at the House of the Hungarian Millennium in Budapest. But what kind of mirror does this exhibition hold up for us in today's Hungary?

NEO: The new Hungarian space for artistic ambition

The Budapest exhibition is actually about more than just the presentation of an international superstar in Hungary. The NEO Contemporary Art Space aspires to a position similar to the Serpentine Gallery in London. According to its mission statement on its website, the institution's goal is to become an exhibition space in Budapest showcasing the world's most significant contemporary artists. While NEO, as a relatively new institution, is trying to achieve such laurels, we may wonder why the Ludwig Museum – Museum of Contemporary Art was not given this mission, and the answer lies in the Liget Budapest Project. The project is a flagship investment by the Hungarian government that was accompanied by numerous controversies, but is ultimately being brought to life without considering the criticisms of those involved in the resulting transformation of the institutional system, and on which no social consultation has taken place.

A Neo-Renaissance Building with a Contemporary Mission: The Antecedents of NEO

The facility that today serves as the home of NEO Contemporary Art Space has a history full of twists and turns. The proper utilization of the building formerly known as the Olof Palme House, built as a Kunsthalle in 1885, was a challenge from the very beginning, as it proved to be too small for its original function. The building subsequently played many roles: it was a military hospital, then owned by the Művészeti Alap [Art Fund], was a workshop for sculptors, then the headquarters of the Képzőművészeti Kivitelező Vállalat [Fine Arts Contractor Company]. Between 1990 and 1993, it was the temporary home of the Kunsthalle, later the headquarters of the Magyar Alkotóművészek Országos Egyesülete [National Association of Hungarian Artists], and in 1994 it was acquired by the Magyar Alkotóművészeti Közalapítvány [Hungarian Public Foundation for the Arts].

The series of functional changes reached another turning point in 2017, when the reopening of the building as the Millennium House was announced as part of the Liget Budapest Project. However, during the renovation (costing approximately 9 000 000 EUR in today’s currency), the functions of the complex as a catering and event center were strengthened at the expense of the exhibition space – which at that time was presenting the history of Városliget [City Park]. The café has since become a restaurant, which was later expanded with several units in the park, on the one hand in the Villa Sipeki owned by the Hungarian Federation of the Blind and Partially Sighted, and on the other hand in the National Museum Restoration and Storage Center.

The exhibition presenting the history of the City Park from the 1890s to the present day was replaced in 2022 by contemporary art exhibitions, controlled by the interests of László Baán, Director General of the Hungarian Museum of Fine Arts. The new role of the House of the Hungarian Millennium – NEO Contemporary Art Space becomes particularly interesting in this context: while the fate of the New National Gallery remains undecided, art historians of the affiliated Museum of Fine Arts – Hungarian National Gallery such as Dávid Fehér (curator of the exhibition William Kentridge: More Sweetly Play the Dance, marking the 2022 reopening) and Zsolt Petrányi (curator of this exhibition) legitimize the new institution. An interesting addition is that between the two exhibitions, a selection from the collection of the Hungarian Museum of Photography was on display in NEO as a "compensation", from an institution that also became an affiliate institution of the Museum of Fine Arts as part of the Liget Budapest Project under the name of the National Photography Collection, and similarly to the New National Gallery, could not yet occupy its own place in the City Park.

Bill Viola's journey from MEO to NEO

The success of NEO's legitimization is best demonstrated by the fact that Bill Viola's exhibition has received little substantive coverage in the "art press" – if we can still talk about such a thing today – and almost only platforms write about the exhibition, whose staff often cannot even understand the concept of a "solo exhibition" and mistakenly believe the exhibition to be the artist's first appearance in Hungary. The truth is, Bill Viola's works have been seen by the Hungarian public several times in group exhibitions. Of these, I highlighted the MEO – Contemporary Art Collection, where the work of Bill Viola was already present in an exhibition titled A nagy vetítés [The Great Projection] in 2002, in the title of the paragraph only as a well-sounding pun. (Regarding the circumstances, why shouldn't I allow myself a little humor?) However, the question arises: in this case, does the silence of the art writers mean critical distancing, or does it actually legitimize this institutional context?

Bill Viola is a perfect choice in the strategy of simultaneously establishing international legitimacy and ideological control: his art, recognized worldwide and drawing on diverse sources, has a narrative that can be adapted to suit needs, yet is recognized enough to lend cultural prestige. However, the exhibition makes no attempt to actively reflect on this position – the works would work just as well in any international museum. This "could be anywhere" character is both the exhibition's strength and weakness: it suggests universality while avoiding questions of local context.

As Bill Viola himself states in the interview accompanying the exhibition, every place has its own "undertone", which the lack of direct sound can draw attention to. The artist himself reflects on the fact that even if there is no direct sound source in a space, the "noise pollution" of the wider environment that encompasses the space is still unavoidable. And indeed: while the exhibition space invites visitors to quietly meditate, as the organizers intended, the kitsch music emanating from the House of Hungarian Millennium's garden speakers and the smell of deep fried meat from the restaurant (Breaded pork tenderloin with Bavarian potato salad, 16 EUR) filter into this space, which at the same time, somewhat contradictoryly, wants also be elevated to the height of sacredness. This contrast unintentionally becomes a metaphor: it seems to suggest that in today's Hungary we can only make it if – at the exhibition, literally, since branded earplugs are included with the ticket – we plug our ears and become silent.

Silence as a metaphor in the Hungarian cultural scene

Silence as a political metaphor inevitably arises in a cultural environment that is increasingly characterized by monologicity. The silence of Bill Viola's works can be interpreted in this context as an ambiguous statement: on the one hand, they open up space for inner voices and personal reflection in an environment where external voices are increasingly homogeneous; on the other hand, this silence can easily become a metaphor for conformity, acceptance, and uncriticalness. The title Silence therefore paradoxically seems to be both reflexive and unreflective of the institutional context of NEO, as the theme implicitly reflects on the hiatus created by the Liget Budapest Project, but it is difficult to see this reflection as anything but ambivalent.

Bill Viola's spiritual approach seems to be at odds with the efforts of the contemporary Hungarian art scene, which increasingly focuses on the explicit representation of socio-political issues. This opposition, however, gives rise to a deeper question: does spirituality appear as a route of escape or as a form of resistance? In the Hungarian cultural context, where religious rhetoric is increasingly integrated into the official political discourse, the spirituality of Viola's works cannot be interpreted as a politically neutral gesture; the universal spirituality of the video works contrasts with instrumentalized religiosity used for political purposes.

Are we finally talking about just artworks? Not yet!

The exhibition also raises the question of how the global language of art – of which Bill Viola is undoubtedly one of the most successful representatives – resonates in an environment where cultural references, historical experiences and social contexts are fundamentally different from the artist's original context. One interesting aspect is the relationship between the post-socialist experience and video art: the meditative slowness, the expansion of time, can be interpreted as a critique of the accelerated transit ("transitology"), which often unthinkingly forces socio-economic changes.

Bill Viola's works can be related to the government's self-representational and political goals, and their iconography can be paralleled in several ways with the narrative that emphasizes the promise of security and stability. The promise of stability in "stormy times" played an important role in government communication after 2010, whether it was an economic crisis, migration challenges or a global pandemic, and Viola's works, The Encounter and Ancestors, surprisingly feature people securely overcoming the wind tunnel of adverse circumstances.

Ancestors depicts the connection between generations, the presence of the past, and historical continuity, resonating with Fidesz's historical policy and identity-building strategy, which places great emphasis on the preservation of national traditions. The Encounter refers to a biblical scene, Mary visiting Elizabeth. Due to its sacred nature, with the motif of the pregnant woman and the depiction of the religious theme, it also fits into the visual representation of the government’s "family-friendly" policy. In this context, The Encounter and Ancestors offer the possibility of an alternative view of history: it contrasts the continuity of encounters between generations and the presence of ancestors with the narrative of breaking points, regime changes, and new beginnings. Although the government's cultural policy emphasizes national traditions and Christian values, it also seeks to place them within a modern framework. The art of Bill Viola – often described as the "Rembrandt of the video era" or the "hi-tech Caravaggio" – shows a similar duality: he expresses the most ancient human experience with the help of the latest technology. This parallel creates an opportunity to present the exhibition as an innovative transmission of traditional values, which also aligns with the government's narrative.

Silence as Critical Space

Thinking all this through, visitors may feel like the two silently screaming in Silent Mountain. The paradox of the exhibition, however, lies precisely in the fact that silence, slowness, contemplation – which are central elements of Viola's art – create possibilities for critical interpretation. For the viewer, the time spent in the exhibition space, the slowdown imposed by the works, opens up an interpretive space that is at odds with the fast, consumption-oriented cultural logic and propaganda. The possibility of critical interpretation thus lies not in the explicit content of the works, but in the way they are received: silence as a space for internal dialogue, slowness as resistance to the accelerated flow of information, contemplation as a means of regaining reflexivity. In this sense, the "safe choice" of Bill Viola paradoxically opens up a space that, precisely with its uncertainty and openness, offers refuge from simplistic certainties. The works truly "lead up to the moment when that enlightening turn of events occurs over long minutes" – as Zsolt Petrányi, the curator of the exhibition, states. But how many long minutes will pass before the turning point of the Hungarian cultural scene occurs? The silence of the exhibition perhaps speaks loudest about this expectation.