20 I heard the voice of my teacher, Zoltán Tölg-Molnár, standing behind me. I bitterly looked down at my lousy charcoal drawing, which was the worst in class. There is no such thing as a bit bad: it’s either good or not. My experiments at the time belonged to the latter. I knew that my instructor expected more from me. Still, I could not break out of the vortex that was pulling me further and further away from axiomatically being the best in school drawing competitions. Everyone at the Secondary School of Visual Arts (usually referred to as “Kisképző”) was better than me, which made me strain even more. I hated being the worst, I wanted to tear up the worthless scrap that got out of my hands, and of course, I wouldn’t say I liked the others, who were talented, who completed the tasks in an off-hand way and still ended up with something brilliant. Envy and hatred – these emotions do not boost creation, but I knew nothing about that at the age of 14 or 15. I was spiraling, feeling more and more like an outcast, knowing I did not belong among artists. "I can see you’re straining, Gábor," Well done, Laci! ”, my classmate received praise in maybe third grade. That drawing was, in fact, beautiful. I remember how I felt: it was a new and strange experience to feel happiness for someone else. To be joyful for beauty itself, but also for it to be forming right next to me, for being surrounded by people who can create things out of thin air, bringing something to life that didn’t exist before. I suddenly realized that I was sitting on cloud nine, in the Kádár-ist reality of the deficit economy of the 80s, and had the opportunity of learning from experienced artists while surrounded by the ever-new. Even though my hands had been deft, until this point, my mind and soul were bound with the anxiety of not being good enough. ”
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