Bucolic Therapy
2024

Exhibition
16 May - 6 July 2024

Opening
18:00, 15 May 2024

Opening speech
Zsófia Máté

Location
Szikra Art Gallery

Gábor Kaszás

In the study of artistic periods that lack abundant written sources, the value of seriality, sequence, and variation in artworks becomes particularly prominent. A central feature of such approaches in art history and aesthetics is that artistic values are crystallised not through thematic continuity but through formal and stylistic similarities and differences. A key example lies in the three millennia of Mediterranean culture: scholarly monographs covering the period from Minoan Crete to the fall of the Roman Empire consistently draw conclusions based on comparisons and stylistic categorisation of surviving artefacts. A quintessential embodiment of this empirical method is Johann Joachim Winckelmann’s canonical system, which divided Greek sculpture into Archaic, Classical, and Hellenistic periods solely on the basis of stylistic features. Here, too, history—specifically the rise and decline of Greek civilisation—is narrated through a succession of sculptural representations of the human form, beginning with the idealised harmony of proportions and culminating in the dissolution of that sublime order.

It is also evident that in cultural contexts where visual representation is prioritised over textual sources, the role of the creator spiritus naturally fades. The figure of the genius who transcends his time disappears from these summaries; artists instead become silent participants in a process. “Every man’s life work is part of a series of events that go beyond him in one or both directions, depending on the position he occupies on that path… where we must therefore also take into account the time of his entry into the process,” writes George Kubler, whose work focused primarily on ancient art. He thus argues that art affects us not primarily through intellectual understanding but by acting directly on our sensibilities. A work of art, in this view, alters our perception and emits a series of further resonances into the world.¹

Today, Kubler’s approach feels strikingly relevant. Curiously enough, much of contemporary art mirrors aspects of ancient Mediterranean cultures. Perhaps the most striking parallel is that our present world, too, is marked by an overvaluation of visual sequences, patterns, and variation—while the communicative role of the written word continues to diminish. We are living in an age of images. As Borges famously remarked with his metaphor of the map that overtakes the territory, the visual representation of reality now often obscures the very reality it claims to depict.²

Nóra Teplán’s work shares this pictorial sensibility. Her practice is rooted in sequences, serial variation, and formal experimentation. Earlier works, bearing visual traces of the Anthropocene and often based on medial patterns or deliberate image distortions, explored the aesthetics of signs and their natural “decomposition”—subject to wear, disintegration, and the systemic weakening or cyberfication of visual codes.

Though these marks and motifs persist in her more recent work, they now gesture towards a quieter, posthuman vision. The formal patterns of earlier works—once abstract and disembodied—have shed their civilisational aura and become increasingly material, in the classical matérique sense. The eruptive, chaotic force that previously held her interest now seems to settle into the material itself.

Nonetheless, traces of human presence remain. The regular division of the pictorial field, and the recurring motifs and rhythms within it, retain an echo of humanity’s compulsion to control, to partition and dominate nature. Yet the self-assertion of the material—the organic interplay of layers, accretions, and eroded depths—offers a vision of a new, post-historical organic world, slowly erasing the signs of human presence from the landscape. And just as Kubler suggests, the direct presence of the artist herself remains absent from the surface of the work. Teplán’s intuitive method instead allows processes to emerge—an act of facilitation rather than imposition. This material liberation carries with it a quiet optimism.

Perhaps this is what the exhibition’s title, Bucolic Therapy, is pointing toward. Where her earlier work evoked apocalyptic overtones, here we are offered a warmer, more vital ecology. The timelessness that has long defined Teplán’s paintings remains—but it now unfolds through a Mediterranean sensibility, a deeply material vitality. The emphasis shifts to the majesty of slow, natural processes: erosion, decay, sedimentation. It is as if the artist is offering a gentle rebuttal to the tenets of “dark ecology”. The works acknowledge that we now live in a world where nature is saturated with culture, and ecological collapse may be looming. But they also reject the notion that our only recourse is despair. Instead, they offer a quiet, pictorial form of healing: a bucolic therapy.

References:

George Kubler, The Shape of Time: Notes on the History of Objects, Budapest, Gondolat, 1992, pp. 206–207.

Jean Baudrillard, “The Primacy of the Simulacrum” (1981). https://mediavadasz.info/jean-baudrillard-a-szimulakrum-elsobbsege

Zsófia Máté

Nóra Teplán’s artistic practice in recent years – or perhaps it is no exaggeration to say, throughout her career – has consistently explored the boundaries of painting. She is drawn to techniques that challenge and renew traditional approaches to image-making, reimagining them through diverse materials and processes. This spirit of experimentation has led her to create works that, while often retaining the conventional format of the image, stretch its limits in every direction. Whether working with graphic and reproduction techniques or approaching installation elements through a painterly lens, she employs both organic and rustic materials in ways that redefine pictorial expression.

Although it may not be entirely appropriate to discuss works not included in the current exhibition during an opening speech, I feel compelled—if only because of the setting—to briefly refer to an earlier series shown here at Szikra during Teplán’s solo exhibition Zero Gravity a few years ago. I recently revisited some of these works and was struck again by their impact. These are oil paintings on canvas, rendered with extraordinary precision and attention to detail. Using dark tones, greyish hues, and delicate, soft-edged gestures, she creates positive and negative organic forms that conjure stripped-down, abstract landscapes—visions that reach toward the otherworldly silence and emptiness of cosmic horizons.

I selected several of these pieces for a recent group exhibition titled Nature at Rest, Adrift, and Tamed. I was delighted when Nóra accepted my invitation, as I hoped the show would explore the radically altered state of nature and humanity’s changing relationship with it—a fragile, and often, as we now sense, fractured unity that plays out both within and beyond the scope of human experience.

That invitation led to another, and now I have the pleasure of presenting Teplán’s latest body of work. These new pieces mark a significant departure from the airy, ethereal surfaces of the Zero Gravity paintings, yet they remain, as the philosopher Márk Horváth once described in relation to that series, “deeply rooted in matter”.

This sensual, what Márk Horváth describes as the “geomaterial” dimension of art—the tactile, material presence of the works—will be addressed more fully later. However, the title of the exhibition does not permit us to remain solely within the present moment; it invites a glance back into cultural history. Its allusion to bucolic art takes us as far back as ancient Greek and Roman poetry, evoking the serene beauty, simplicity, and harmony of nature. Later, during the Renaissance and again in the Dutch Golden Age of the 17th century, painters drew upon bucolic themes, blending mythological and allegorical content with depictions of the natural world. These works reflected a growing interest in humanity’s relationship with nature—one of the most enduring threads in art history.

To greatly simplify this immensely complex ideological evolution—which profoundly influenced art—the transformation of “nature” into “landscape”, and its emergence as an aesthetic category, led to a major shift. By the time of Romanticism, landscape painting no longer upheld a vision of nature as a harmonious, indivisible unity with humankind. Instead, it began to express the awe, mystery, and latent menace of the natural world. The kind of pastoral life idealised in ancient Greek poetry—peasant labour, days spent in the fields, a closeness to nature as a way of being—persisted not as a reality but as a distant, unattainable ideal, longed for yet always just out of reach.

These themes may seem remote, yet they resonate powerfully in the work of Nóra Teplán, whose art draws not only from the landscape tradition but from a deeper, more layered source of influence. Her current works, executed through entirely new technical approaches, carry visual and conceptual echoes of mural painting. Despite their minimal formal vocabulary, some even verge on the realm of still life—achieved through the fusion of abstract and figurative, organic and inorganic elements. Built, crumbling, barren or overgrown structures and materials are transformed into pictorial entities, blurring boundaries between the natural and the manmade, the ephemeral and the enduring.

These compositions do not merely reference mosaic art on a visual level; they operate as mosaics in both a material and conceptual sense. Motifs—or rather, fragmented motifs—are arranged as tesserae, pieced together in layered, fractured coherence. These fragments are present not only as imagery but also in a tangible, physical way: dust, earth, sand, and silt become substrates of the image. They serve both as medium and message—raw, evolving materialities in which life itself might take root.

Through this unique image-making process, the sensuality of plants, particles, and organisms coexists with the cool, fresco-like surfaces of the works. These surfaces—at once steady and timeworn—function as quiet pictorial relics of some ancient, now-partial wholeness, shaped as much by time as by intention.

The title of the exhibition also gestures toward self-discovery, introspection, and healing—linking the notion of therapy with the tradition of bucolic art. Bucolic therapy raises difficult, tension-laden questions: what is at stake when we seek nature, harmony, and inner or outer balance? And what are the possible paths toward these goals? Whether this longing arises from personal life circumstances or from a broader, perhaps even troubling, reflection on the human condition, the questions remain pressing. Can unity be restored? Through self-reflection, analysis, theory, art—or even lived practice—can we approach the closeness to nature that even for the Romantics had already become something irretrievably distant? Is Rousseau’s call for a return to nature still conceivable?

These are not questions I would presume to answer here and now. Yet the fact that they are posed—by Teplán, through her works, and within us as we engage with them—is significant in itself. For no matter how intricate or fraught contemporary discourse may be around the evolving relationship between humankind and the natural world, the works remind us that even if we can no longer return to a state of unity, whether real or imagined, we can still hold on to an awareness of its absence. That awareness, preserved in the works and in our reflections upon them, is perhaps the beginning of a new form of connection.

Katica Kocsis

Archaic motifs, golden age evocations, fresco-like surfaces, and beauty.

This is no ordinary studio visit. We’re in Nemesgulács, at the Gilvesy B-Üzem, where Nóra Teplán’s pop-up exhibition is currently on view. Although the artist divides her time between London and Budapest and has studios in both cities, we chose to meet here. Partly because it’s fascinating to see this body of work not in a sterile white cube, but within a raw, rustic interior that also evokes the wild, unpolished atmosphere of a studio.

Nóra Teplán has always been drawn to the edge in her practice. Her earlier minimalist, monochrome oil paintings reflected on image reproduction and photographic processes, engaging with questions of digitality and the contemporary conditions of image-making. Her current work, however, has a more archaic register.

“Creative intention often stems from personal experience,” she says. “In my twenties, I was more interested in abstract, philosophical ideas and the validity of image-making in a hyper-technological world. But more recently, my focus has shifted. Now I see art as a way of creating harmony—of bringing peace, order and stillness into this overworked, overstressed world.”

“Over the past few years, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how much the technicist approach to image-making can actually suffocate us. As AI, digital design, and virtuality became increasingly dominant themes, I felt a growing urge to reconnect with my immediate, tangible environment. During the pandemic, it became very clear to me that one of my deepest longings—as someone living in an urban world—was simply to be in nature.”

Teplán’s recent works are quiet, attentive reflections on how the accelerated pace of modern life hollows us out—and how vital it is to reconnect with our primal selves.

“In the past, I used art primarily as a way to articulate internal thoughts. But now I feel compelled to create works that reflect my actual state of being, my emotional world. There’s a different rhythm in play.”

Her new pieces feel like archaeological artefacts—fragments of murals or prehistoric reliefs—that conjure a kind of lost golden age, a Renaissance ideal of harmony between humanity and nature. Bucolic Therapy, the title of the project, is an attempt to reintroduce this idyllic atmosphere into contemporary life. Art historian Gábor Kaszás writes, “She retains the timelessness that has characterised her earlier paintings, but now evokes it through the deeply material vitality of Mediterranean culture.”

The idea had been with her for a long time, but it took a while before she found the right medium to express the emotions and thoughts that had been simmering within her. The reliefs of Anna Mark proved to be a turning point, inspiring her to experiment with the current, fresco-like material. Kaszás observes, “The self-power of the material—the organic layering, sinking, and stratification—already suggests the image of a new, post-historical organic world.”

Teplán has long been drawn to the imprints of civilisation, to objects that carry stories.

“I’m fascinated by ancestral knowledge, the passing on of wisdom, the traces we leave behind, and the traditions of storytelling. These themes are embedded in the compositions, even if not in a direct or overt way.”

As before, the works remain minimalist in their approach. Plant fragments, leaves, stems, and organic patterns emerge across the surface, offering multiple entry points for interpretation. They resemble botanical illustrations and ornamental motifs at once—narrative and abstract, realistic and idealised. “I enjoy speaking through symbols,” she explains, “which is why my works rarely have a straightforward reading.”

Her analytical mindset remains evident. Each composition is preceded by a kind of research—an almost scientific investigation—followed by playfulness and instinct. Though the forms feel light, ephemeral and fragmented, there is also structure: grids, framing devices, and architectural divisions. “I’ve long been interested in how to incorporate sculptural processes into two-dimensional work and blur the boundaries between media. My attraction to pictorial graphics likely stems from my strong visual need to frame an image, to divide the surface into blocks.”

I suggest that the frame enhances the painterly quality of the works, while the new material imbues them with a distinct objecthood.

Earth tones dominate this series, bringing the works closer to nature while colliding the human and non-human in visceral ways. The surfaces are tactile and haptic—reminiscent of textiles, papier-mâché, and geological strata. The motifs conjure associations ranging from plant field guides to folk textiles. Fragility becomes an important metaphor—speaking not only to human vulnerability, but to the fractured state of our contemporary condition.

We talk at length about how the chaos of the external world leaves our inner lives exposed and defenceless. There’s a shared weariness in trying to keep up with a world in overdrive. At the same time, the plant forms in Teplán’s works hint at regeneration—at growth, transformation, and proliferation. They evoke the mythic phoenix, or the symbolic logic of the tree of life.

Teplán is interested in the intersections of design, fine art, and folk art. She reflects on the suspicion with which beauty is often regarded today—even though, as she says, “it’s clearly good to surround ourselves with aesthetics in our daily lives.”

Indeed, her current series does more than reintroduce the idea of beauty—it invites us to rediscover pleasure in the everyday. “It’s important to live each moment as a gift,” she says. And I can’t help but agree. These works shift my pace, draw me into a contemplative, meditative space. They slow me down—and in doing so, make it easier to turn inward, towards a sense of inner wholeness.