Between 2-30 May 2025, Marta Jakobovits's solo show, titled Just Silence, is on view at the Liszt Institute London. On this occasion, the director of the Institute, Botond Zákonyi, was in conversation with the artist.
Botond Zákonyi: When I first had the chance to meet Márta Jakobovits’ work, it was about five years ago, in Mogosoaia, Romania. There, in this huge, medieval kitchen of a building complex, which has great importance in terms of the local cultural heritage, was the exhibition, where, primarily in the reddish environment, the turquoise ceramics were very spectacular. But what truly captivated me there, and we have already discussed this earlier, was that in the catalogue prepared for this exhibition, Romanian peers, artists, and colleagues made deeply appreciative statements, and it is evident that Márta Jakobovits is a highly esteemed member and figure of the Romanian artistic community. And of course, it was very gratifying to see and read this. And now, as we prepared for this exhibition, I noticed that only recently, in Brașov, at the Transylvanian Art Centre in Sfântu Gheorghe, in Oradea, at the Crișana Regional Museum you had a retrospective exhibition, and in Bucharest, at the National Museum of Contemporary Art, an exhibition of yours has just concluded, while in London, you’ve had exhibitions at two venues so far and now here, at the Liszt Institute. So I can now conduct an interview with a very sought-after, popular, and well-liked artist about the exhibition opening today (on May 1st) here with us. But what I would like to ask is, when did it become clear to you that you had become such a popular and in-demand artist from being a ceramicist in Baia Mare? When did all these invitations start arriving, at home, in Romania, in Transylvania, in Partium, in Hungary, and then in London? When did this all come together?
Márta Jakobovits: I wouldn't even be able to precisely articulate or, how should I say, define exactly when this became clear in the process. I feel very fortunate that at the university, we had excellent teachers, purely by chance or fate. And I had excellent colleagues. There were six of us in our group, and we were all completely obsessed with the craft. We all just wanted to learn. In other year groups, we could see that people were more bohemian—they were already artists. But we were all keen to study, and we influenced each other in such a positive way. And interestingly, all six of us have really outdone ourselves significantly. We became prominent artists—both within Romanian fine arts and internationally. And we’re still in touch; we invite each other to different events. In fact, the museum in Timișoara organised a group exhibition for us a few years ago, specifically because our year was so unique.
B.Z.: Well, I believe that for the London audience, understandably, it is very evident in this composition, what is very tangible, is this closeness to nature, which is displayed here with the leaves, tree barks, stones and within them these timeless, or pre-historic objects, if I may say so—I hope I'm not being too profane. It is evident that your art reflects what is a pre-antiquity world, or a pre-ancient world. The theme is the beginnings and closeness to nature. It’s something people immediately see and understand—it’s universally accessible.
M.J.: It was working with clay, the sensation of clay itself, that took me back to those beginnings. What must it have felt like for people thousands of years ago when they discovered that you could actually make something out of this material, when they began inventing things. And it’s also closely tied to my childhood. The fact that in nature I lived so close to myself, that childhood in Santău - freely running along the stream, collecting stones, climbing trees - childhood was freedom itself. And I often experience the return of those same sensations. And my attentiveness to nature also developed in me through that. So often, the structure or shape of a stone triggers something in me that makes me feel that I need to go further, dig deeper, feel those secrets more intuitively, that are essentially the mystery of our existence.
B.Z.: And essentially, this is a simple technical question, whether this cooperation with nature, or creating in nature should be imagined as first being conceived in nature, that it is envisioned there, and then this natural concept is brought into the gallery world, or are these conceived here from the materials brought in? Because it would make sense to create the ceramics in the kiln, take them out into nature, and then, like a laid table, set them up there, and then bring that into the exhibition space. I'm interested in this because there is a bit of an art-philosophical question here whether we are essentially presenting nature to the visitors?
M.J.: So, ceramics bring me close to nature, and as I started working with these materials, always close to nature, in the colours, in the structures, in the textures I always felt this closeness to nature as valid for me, or as a guide. And then I found the stones to go with it—and often people ask, did I start from that stone? Did I imitate that? And no, it was the other way around. It'd be very difficult for me to imitate a stone. In the sphere in which I operate, nature often gifts me by giving an element that fits right in there, and I rejoice in that. And that's why over the years I've dealt with metamorphosis and mimesis. How different materials imitate each other, how they engage in dialogue. I also brought in this found rusty plate here because the mood of the rust and the pieces or objects that came out of the kiln, from the firings, resemble each other. And they point a bit towards transience, towards something else.
B.Z.: These compositions are very creative; I didn't take pictures of them, but perhaps I saw this in Deptford, at the Elizabeth Xi Bauer Gallery, but was that the same as what we see here?
M.J.: No. The elements largely remain, from natural materials, stones, leaves, other natural forms can be added, can be taken away, and this was Edward's (director of Elizabeth Xi Bauer) specific request, that the collector should see that a different mood can be brought out from the same. And this composition invites a kind of cooperation, so that next time I bring out a different mood from it.
B.Z.: I would like to ask about this panel painting, or wall picture, because it's clear that there's a significant jump in time here, as we step into the era of literacy. Here, obviously, we can see a primitive, fired clay tablet, or a replica of it, I believe, but I think that's what visitors will also think. This is still not the classical antiquity, but already the era when literacy appears, and state as well as centralisation and organisation also appear in people's lives. And from your side, is this a tribute, or why is this motif important?
M.J.: Without understanding them, and their magic, plus the need to leave a mark, the need to pass on knowledge, to record it, these runic writing signs convey so many different feelings. They’ve had a profound effect on me. The title of this work is “In the Beginning Was…” so it is about the beginnings, when there was only spirit. So, there’s a kind of magic and mystery to it.
B.Z.: In that beautiful catalogue that was made for your retrospective exhibition in Oradea, there are some technical terms that I don’t completely understand, and I’d like to ask you to show me two of them: the first would be raku, which is a very important technique, and the second is facture, which I am again not completely sure what it is, however it is significant in your works. So, could you kindly show some examples for the use of raku and facture?
M.J.: I can show the use of the raku technique here: this is a very interesting Japanese technique, which involves chemically intervening in the process of glowing clay. The firing – or oxidation – is suddenly stopped, and reduction is induced by covering the glowing object with plants, soil, and various organic materials. In this way, the oxygen is drawn out of the clay or the glaze/layer that coats the clay, and the metals remain due to the reduction. This results in very interesting metallic effects. So here, reduction is the key. This Japanese raku technique later became Europeanised, and there are many different variations of it, allowing for very unique creations. The principle is that oxidation transitions into reduction.
B.Z.: And the facture?
M.J.: I can show that over here, too. So, there's texture, which is like the skin. Facture is a stronger intervention on the surface.
B.Z.: On the surface.
M.J.: Yes. And then there is structure, which is the form's construction.
B.Z.: So, one is a firing technique, and the other is the structure of the piece, which doesn’t necessarily have to be an artwork – it can be the structure of anything.
M.J.: Yes, for example, the structure of a building. These are common techniques, and this is also a Japanese method. It’s called Neriage/Nerikomi, where the design is not painted on, but made from the clay material itself – these are porcelains…
B.Z.: These are porcelains.
M.J.: These are porcelains, just fired at high temperatures. If I colour the porcelain mass or porcelain slip itself and place it into different shapes, into a support mould. It’s a slightly complicated technique, but you can achieve very beautiful and special effects with this Neriage/Nerikomi technique. Many people work with it because it’s so unique.
M.J.: I’ve always been interested in glazes.
B.Z.: Yes, that would have been my next question. How was it possible to even talk about porcelain in the 1970s?
M.J.: There was only porcelain, yes.
B.Z.: Yes, there were porcelains, and there were glazed earthenwares, let’s say it that way.
M.J.: Yes, there were pots, terracotta pieces—those came first. Then came porcelain, and after that, the coloured pieces. The situation was that at the time, in Romania, there weren’t…
B.Z.: Proper paints?
M.J.: Ceramic materials, oxides, chemicals. Now I go to a dedicated art supply store to buy materials, glazes, everything. But when I started out, I had a very good teacher—Nándor Balaskó, a sculptor—who told us after university not to lose momentum, to keep working with what we had. And, well, there really wasn’t much. So, I started buying whatever I could find at regular chemical supply stores—what house painters used—and began experimenting. When I got to Kecskemét, to the Artistic Ceramic Centre, and saw how much was available there, so many kinds of chemicals, I started crying. Tears were streaming down my face because there were materials to work with—you just had to get access to them. Mária Geszler, a very good ceramicist, gave me an amazing German technical book when she saw how obsessed I was with glazes. I had already been interested in chemistry back in high school. And then I started working with glazes, and a whole new world opened up. I can say it practically became an addiction—I can’t stop. I have a library full of tests and experiments. At the major exhibition in Bucharest, at the Museum of Contemporary Art, they even exhibited my library of glaze tests. This is my obsession—experimenting. I can’t stop, because it keeps inspiring me. Like, how am I going to combine this turquoise now? Here, I paired it with yellowish, brownish leaves. But I can also play with these colours through form. And the forms themselves inspire me to go deeper, to concentrate even more. The form should have a personality. It’s something where a person wrestles with themselves, or tries to move forward.
B.Z.: Here are these various objects made of wood, metal, and ceramic.
M.J.: Yes, yes.
B.Z.: It’s very cohesive, and the forms resemble each other, but somehow still…
M.J.: Yes, still—the birch bark and the cracks in the ceramic… It’s interesting that here, on the ceramic, that’s actually a flaw. The ceramic cracked all over, but I really liked what was happening here. Since I experiment and mix things, I don’t always follow the rules. I’m curious—okay, it’s not supposed to be done this way, but what happens if I combine these things?
B.Z.: Yes, yes. When the gallery staff started unpacking the artworks on Wednesday, at first, we thought a large, set table would come together from these striking round vessels.
B.Z.: Here are the papier-mâché pieces, which I’d like to ask about next. Does the work with clay and with papier-mâché happen in parallel?
M.J.: In terms of the technological process and mindset, it’s very similar to how one thinks about ceramics. I often use plaster negatives, plaster moulds here as well. I carve into those, and then press the cast or hand-pulled paper surface into them.
B.Z.: What I regret is that your ‘Jacob’s Ladders’ never made it here, I only saw them in pictures. It would have been so great if they were now leaning against the wall here.
M.J.: Yes.
B.Z.: How tall are they?
M.J.: A few meters…
B.Z.: A few meters.
M.J.: A few meters long, and they climb up the wall in different ways. That was also exhibited in Bucharest. What's interesting is that Jacob’s Ladder reaches up to the sky. But for me, it’s also a personal glaze dictionary. I can recall everything about how I made it.
B.Z.: Yes, yes.
M.J.: And moving forward, when I associate a certain colour or various colours, I know—yes, I created this through reduction, with different compositions.
B.Z.: And here, the water, I suppose…
M.J.: Yes, the waves…
M.J.: My colleagues from both Bucharest and Hungary appreciate that I work with custom glazes, because the perfection of store-bought glaze is entirely different from one where so many things are still happening. Depending on the thickness, how the layers are applied…
B.Z.: What’s certain is that these objects need to be examined very thoroughly, because of the layers. Because of the depth…
M.J.: Yes.
B.Z.: …they really open up. And the colours also appear much more vividly when one simply…
M.J.: Yes, it’s interesting that this one is ceramic, and this one is handmade paper—and they are in dialogue, they speak to each other. The silence of the clouds and the silence of the waves. These are coloured handmade papers, and here you can see the coordinates on the coloured ones. When you go out to Trafalgar Square, you really feel this sense of colour, how incredibly varied the world is.
B.Z.: Yes. These colours really fit here in London—the blue and the orange. Here, such strange colour combinations can come together.
B.Z.: We would like to thank you very much for this guided tour of the exhibition. I’m sure it will be a great experience for the visitors, that they’ll have the opportunity to talk to and ask the artist herself. That’s something that is really missing from visiting museums: the opportunity to ask about how it all came together.