MAGDA FRANK.


WRITINGS.

BIRTH


1914

 

… I was born on a Sunday morning. The wind shook my window whistling its tragedy from ancient times … 
 
Magda Fisher con sus padres.
Magda Fisher with her parents.

BELA


1925 

 
I was eleven, my brother Bela, five. I had received a pretty white dress; he, a little navy blue suit. I tried my outfit on, but he didn’t want to try his. He looked at it and asked: ‘When will I be a girl to wear such a pretty dress like yours?’ Poor boy. You know that fashion changed. At present, if the Nazis had not killed him, he could wear pants in any colour and floral shirts.

Escribe Magda Frank sobre su “jardín suspendido”, en Cluj 


1926

  

Yo tenia once años, mi hermano Bela cinco. Yo había recibido un bello vestido blanco, él un pequeño traje azul marino. Yo me probé‚ mi vestido, pero él no quería ponerse el suyo. Lo miro tristemente y pregunto:  ̈ ¿Cuando seré niña para ponerme un vestido tan lindo como el tuyo? Pobre niño. Tu sabes que la moda cambio. En el presente, si los nazis no le hubieran asesinado, podrías ponerte pantalones de todos los colores y camisas floridas. La puerta se abre sin ruido. Katy, la mucama, me mira sorprendida: ¿ya se levantó?  ̈ ¿Por que‚ no espero hasta que yo encendiera el fuego?  Toda la noche ha nevado, el frío es muy crudo. Vaya nuevamente a la cama que el frío tiene dientes! Yo le traer‚ el desayuno, es muy temprano para ir a la escuela. Inmediatamente que sale de la habitación, presurosa tomo mi abrigo y salgo hacia la escuela. Las luces de la madrugada hacen brillar la nieve que forma color azulado y que retiene el sonido de mis pasos. Parece un mundo irreal pues la nieve blanca palpita al compás de la tierra.  Con pasos rápidos voy hacia la escuela y me detengo ante el paredón de la misma. Ahí esta. Trato de buscar algún agujero para poder mirar. Apoyo mi nariz sobre la madera para ver mejor. Veo un largo terreno que asciende hacia la colina. ¡ Si, si, ahí esta mi jardín suspendido! Todo cubierto de nieve. Cerca de allí hay una carroza de color púrpura con faroles de color dorado a ambos lados, también cubierta de nieve. A lo lejos, puedo divisar un castillo sobre la colina, pero no se puede ver mucho m s por aquel pequeño orificio. En la cima también hay una casa pequeña con puertas de roble y ventanas extrañamente floridas, pero tampoco se puede ver mucho m s porque todo estaba. Poco tiempo después la primavera llega con una lluvia cálida, arrastrando la última nieve desde la cima de la ladera. Nunca me había parecido tan largo un invierno hasta ‚se que había cubierto de blanco todo mi jardín suspendido. En mi memoria  podía recorrerlo en todos sus detalles cuando estaba esplendorosamente florido, con sus flores amarillas, azules y en el medio una fuente de mármol rodeada de rosas violetas.  Un día llega también el sol. Decido detenerme ante el paredón de la misma escuela y mi corazón palpita muy fuerte, pues veo a través del mismo agujero algo horrible. El largo del terreno está cubierto de toneles y en el lugar de la carroza un viejo camión sin ruedas que en su interior está lleno de basura.  Pero mi jardín suspendido existe. Pertenece a un castillo sobre la colina que se puede ver a través del pequeño agujero de un paredón. Esa mañana no voy a la escuela, salgo de la ciudad y subo hacia dicha colina. Camino durante mucho tiempo y la tristeza retiene mis pasos. En el camino encuentro dos terrenos y una cabaña cubierta con paja. Entre por la apertura donde antes debía estar la puerta y encuentro una muñeca con un solo brazo. Tomó su pequeña mano con la mía y comenzamos a bajar la colina. Del cielo cae una lluvia muy fina y de mis ojos lágrimas gruesa.  Ya está atardeciendo cuando puedo llegar a mi hogar, Katy me abre la puerta y me pregunta muy asustada:  ̈ ¿Dónde he estado? Yo, en lugar de contestar, pregunto:  ̈ ¿Dónde están mis padres? Ella me contesta que todo el mundo estaba buscándome.  Entro en mi cuarto y me tiró sobre la cama, Katy me saca la ropa mojada y me cubre con una manta. Comprendo, por primera vez, que mi mundo está en mi fantasía y no en lo que veo a mi alrededor.    Magda en su infancia . Archico Casa Museo Magda Frank

WAR


1943  

 

Man us the smartest being but the most cruel of all the creation. We cannot know why, but they have been commanded to destroy in order to keep balance on earth, so that population does not increase, that nature could not  support, but, What is it that compels us? Who commands humanity? Our reflexions are interrupted by the sound of a bomber. Lay down between the trees, he shouts me and takes me off the way. This is the first time I hear a bomb go off so close. When I recover, I hear his uneasy voice repeating: Are you hurt?, while they take the branches fallen on me. After each tragedy, there is a short peaceful time and a strong desire for friendship among survivors.
Magda Frank en Budapest-Hungría
Magda Frank, Budapest, beginning of WWII.

ARGENTINA 


1950


EN BUENOS AIRES 
El único miembro de mi familia que sobrevivió a la terrible masacre de los nazis alemanes, había emigrado a la Argentina. En 1950, fui a reunirme con él en Buenos Aires. No me fueron ahorrados las privaciones ni los sufrimientos de la emigración. En el corto periodo de la post-guerra, yo creía en un futuro mejor, pero también me fue arrebatando por la dura realidad. Los horrores de la guerra, y la suerte trágica de mi familia se despertaron en mí. Numerosos dibujos y algunas esculturas encierran mis sollozos. Ellos preguntan, con la cabeza mirando el cielo: “¿Por qué es necesario sufrir tanto?”. 
Si, estas esculturas no existen para inspirar en el espectador un gesto de ternura. Ellas deben acusar, sacudir la conciencia humana, frenar el deseo de la destrucción que es el sentimiento más fuerte en algunas personas. Después de permanecer tres años en la Argentina, volví a París. Ya no tenía dudas. Soy y seré siempre escultora. No hay obstáculo que me pueda cerrar el camino. Pero es necesario que continúe estudiando y buscando. Para encontrar una expresión original que sería mía propia, volví a los orígenes de las artes, a la 
prehistoria. Encontré que lo más próximo a mi carácter es el austero arte monumental de las civilizaciones precolombinas. En el Museo del Hombre de París, encontré lo que en vano busque en Buenos Aires. Fue allí, en su rica biblioteca, donde comencé a estudiar la arqueología de América Latina. Leí todo lo que tiene relación con su cultura, para poder aproximarme al espíritu de sus obras. Su filosofía que parece cruel, esta mucho más cerca de nuestro mundo, de las cámaras de gas y de los campos de concentración, que el pensamiento humanista europeo. Estas palabras quedaron grabadas en mi:”la tierra da vida a todo y absorbe todo. Los que hoy existen, no pueden esperar existir mañana”. En esta época yo habitaba en al Ciudad Universitaria de París. Era consciente de que no tenía tiempo que perder. Trabajaba el día entero, a menudo durante la noche. Para tener con que pagar los ticket del restaurante, ayudaba un poco en la biblioteca. Todo lo que se podía adquirir con dinero comenzaba a perder valor a mis ojos. Sonriente y segura de mí, yo avanzaba hacia mi meta: quería ser escultora, una de las mejores. Sabía que la escultura me exigía todo. El arte da un sentido a la vida. Es necesario aprender a hacer sacrificios por él. 

PILLOW


1950

 

On March 23 she writes: Pillow, my little pillow. You have been with me since my youth. From country to country, I have taken you with me. Only you have stayed faithful by my side. You have been the one that choked my warm teardrops. Only you know the truth of my life. If you ever spoke What would you say? Would you scold me?, Would you console me? Deep down it is okay that you do not speak. This morning you too were all wet. It is the sadness of my soul. Do not get angry. Remember how many times I begged Death to free me from this hopeless life. And then I wanted to live. I wish to live. You get this.
.
Magda Frank

SYMPHONY


1953

 
 
 
On April 5 she writes: 
“Freude, Freude”… Refrains the Ninth Symphony and shakes my heart full of grief, two warm drops roll down my cheeks. Smiled. 
… remember my silly heart, ten years ago, one night my husband gave me a ticket to the concert. They were playing the Ninth Symphony, went alone and wept all throughout the concert, because I knew that when I got home I would not find my husband; he would have gone forever.
How many times have you fooled yourself? How many times have you thought you loved and how many they promised to love you? What was left? Some letters, drawings and absolute despair.  I beg you my heart do not torture me any more. I quit happiness. 
Magda Frank

TRAGEDY


1957

 

The big man

 

Every life is a tragedy. Mine, so deep that men cannot even look at its shadow. My sculpture The Big Man reflects my soul. Every bit, as a whole, expresses infinite desperation. Nobody wants him; he denounces, shakes the spectator: Looking up to the sky asks God why do we need to suffer so much.
And he who asks… still awaits.  
http://museomagdafrank.com/

SERENITY 


1957

 

When in 1954, I did my first exposition in the Salon of the Young Sculpture in Paris, I validated that my piece of a geometric and serene composition was the only one in the middle of other violent sculptures, gestural, as if it were my own person who was standing in the middle of the turbulent crowd. 
.
Woman with child
Woman reclined
Woman standing
Woman sitting

PRE COLUMBIAN


 
Pre Columbian art is very close to Abstract and Contemporary Surrealist because these are pure creations emerged from human fantasy and not from imitation of existing objects in the outside world, like classic European art; one more cause to come closer to art on this earth.

TREES


 
 
Long ago, a very long ago, when paradise was on earth and men lived on other planets, trees walked among you and me. They were the beloved children of the Sun and the Earth. In the morning, after raising their smiles to the sun, they walked down to the riverbank.  Birds of all colours sang past by their way on the rhythm of the earth. When the sun set, trees scattered over the plains hosting the birds to make their dreams much lighter. On a spring day, when flowers blossomed, they gathered in a vast field, hopping on a passing breeze, wandering off the ground. The ground accepted their game and perched them on a cloud, where they swang along, like angels in our dreams.  But then a glacial wind reached them, enemy of the sun and the land. Undoubtedly it made them grieve with its fierce teeth and fire rays; they did a conscious labour howling with all their might, breaking its branches and flowers. The inert logs fell to the ground, which opened its chest to store its small debris in it. The sun hid her face so that her tears would not be seen. The birds lowered their heads in the dust, their desperate complaints echoing in the desert world, raising their mourning. The sun, moved by so much sadness, went with its eternal warmth to caress the earth, and the trees were reborn, from their mother, who never let them get away from her.
Magda Frank in her childhood

TORMENT


1957

 
She writes on October 26 1957:
Those whom I missed so much. For whom I shed so many tears. Now I envy them. They no longer suffer and I torment myself.
When I fight for a quiet moment and they already have eternal peace. My heart is heavy, tears fall to ease it a little.
Those who have died no longer cry; nothing torments them. They do not feel loneliness, they finally join nature. Hope no longer deceives them and despair does not overwhelm them. I console myself: one day I will be with them in eternal peace.
Familia Fisher- Budaest-Hungría
Fisher Family.
Auschwitz. Paper, ink circa 1945 .Magda Frank.

DESERT


Lluck, smiling face, why don’t you look at me for once? You raise so many miserable ones, but you do not help me. I don’t dare to dream, I have no expectations. Trembling I am before the day, which only brings suffering.
Desperate, I look for a hand that takes mine, that gives me courage to live. But … it seems that it is too late. I am walking on a deserted road.

MOUNTAIN


1958

 
She writes in La Falda, on July 17:
At the summit I understand the meaning of life: it is life itself. My heart is full of joy. I put my hands together to show gratitude. The sun caresses me kindly. I lift my eyes to the sky. It is enormous, impenetrable. I look at a tree, what a wonderful work. I kneel by the only yellow flower I see open this Winter morning. She is alone too in these high mountains. Everything that exists is part of its great mystery. We have to embellish the world, like the flower and the butterfly. Brighten up  the divine gift of life itself. I would like, with my life’s work, to add a bit more of beauty to our land. 
Magda Frank

NIGHT


 
She writes in Bariloche, January 20
Tonight, when lights go out in neighbouring houses, when people no longer speak except in their dreams, I go out to the garden. The sky is huge, I have never seen it so big. The pine tree lifting its head to the sky, seems to be praying. I also gather my hands and feel myself, peace and Eternity.
Ten days later she writes:
I understand that peace is more divine than happiness and nature, more human than men.
Magda Frank

INNER WORLD


 
 
No me gusta hablar de mi vida, sin embargo la expreso casi inconscientemente en mis trabajos. Mis dibujos y mis esculturas dan una imagen fiel de mi pasado. Los miles de croquis, que guardan los cajones de mi taller, son apuntes cotidianos de mis pensamientos, sentimientos. En estos apuntes rápidos, el pincel esta dirigido por la subconciencia, sin el control del cerebro. Si se saben leer, mis dibujos cuentan mucho más de mí de lo que yo podría expresar con palabras. El mundo interior, que se refleja en mis trabajos, se transforma de acuerdo al ambiente que me rodea, según la forma de vida que llevo; esta es la causa de los distintos estilos que se pueden ver en mis esculturas. Cada forma de expresión corresponde a un periodo distinto de mi vida.

SEA


1960

 

On the ship from Buenos Aires to Paris:
The ship approaches the coast of France. I am calm and determined. I mock fear that used to torture me before boarding it. The sea, the clouds, the sun, the moon help me to recover my strength and my peace. It matters very little what awaits me. I want to dedicate myself entirely to sculpture. How I will do it, I do not know. I already have a short time to live. I cannot waste it on other things.
 

PARIS


1960

 

 

In 1960, I returned to Paris to devote myself only to sculpture. Despite my health, I carved wood and stone all day long. Will has a miraculous strength. In Paris, I had to make ends meet. In a tiny dark apartment, I have  carved my most beautiful sculptures in wood and have prepared models which only after many years of waiting, I was able to realize on a large scale.

CEMETERY


1961 

In Herzogenbuchsee, Switzerland, August 5, 1961. Looking for peace and quiet. And thanks to that, my peace.This morning, I took the road to the woods. My steps were slow. My eyes, hazy. All I had was one image of this long walk: A flower garden amid dreary land, where crosses were aligned guarding the sleep of the dead.  Residents of these flowery tombstones,who will give me their place? I trade it for my life! Silence is complete. Who will exchange with a wanderer like me, without a family, nor country, nor religion. Someone who will leave nothing but some inert sculptures that will not mourn their loss, will not leave flowers on their grave. I do not want to be cremated like a stray dog once I fall. I fought, suffered all my life. I deserve a place in the ground

 

Magda Frank , Grenoble 1967

CEMETERY


1961 

 

 

In Herzogenbuchsee, Switzerland, August 5, 1961. Looking for peace and quiet. And thanks to that, my peace.This morning, I took the road to the woods. My steps were slow. My eyes, hazy. All I had was one image of this long walk: A flower garden amid dreary land, where crosses were aligned guarding the sleep of the dead.  Residents of these flowery tombstones,who will give me their place? I trade it for my life! Silence is complete. Who will exchange with a wanderer like me, without a family, nor country, nor religion. Someone who will leave nothing but some inert sculptures that will not mourn their loss, will not leave flowers on their grave. I do not want to be cremated like a stray dog once I fall. I fought, suffered all my life. I deserve a place in the ground
http://museomagdafrank.com/

Birth of a Sculpture


 
How cold it is in this quarry d’Euvillo, one of the coldest places in France. The climate is harsh, I was sometimes very cold working from dawn until dusk.
When I got back to the pension, I slowly climbed the stairs. Despite it all, it is here, where I found the atmosphere to express myself, where I could pierce my world in stone. I have carved nine monumental sculptures in this warm colored stone. I start by choosing a stone, among many others, one that can be cut into a three-meter block. I accompany her to the workshop, where a large saw blade, whistling, sculpting, penetrates the stone to cut it in the dimension I have requested.
Then I hit him a few times with the mace. His voice, the noise produced by the blow, communicates if he has any defect; what would happen afterwards in case the stone is broken.
When the beautiful block is in front of me and me in front of it, the dialogue begins. Along the defined right lines, I mark the contours of the sculpture, then erase and start again until the drawing on the stone becomes the sculpture that is already defined in me. Next comes sketching. It’s what I like the most. I work full of enthusiasm to make the sculpture that is enclosed in the sprout. The day will come when we must part. The sculptures are loaded onto a truck, then I climb on to ride along. So far, I have already accompanied eighteen.
Monumental sculptures to different cities in France, from the Belgian border to the island of Corsica. With a sad heart I will abandon them to their fate, some things of me remain in them.