The Transcendent Artistry of a Legendary Hungarian Folk Dancer, Six Decades In | Part Two

By Panni De Cheke Qualls

Dance and music liberate, elevate and complement our multiple identities. When István Kosbor (or Kosbor as everyone knows him) dances, he’s all in. Without his black shoes on, he is an artist and a puppeteer – folk dancing has been just one of the many ways that spirit found expression.

Kosbor’s artistic roots are a tribute to his parents. Early in his life, his mother introduced him, among man others, to the work of Csontváry Koszka Tivadar. This eventually led him to participate in the creation of Pécs’ Csontváry Museum. Kosbor helped restore some of the large paintings, and stretched them to their original hardwood frames. Because he lived next to the museum, he also served as its security manager – giving him even more access.

Kosbor draws, paints, and loves poetry. The works of Janus Pannonius and Arany János, for example, lit a fire in him. He is a voracious reader – with a focus on art history, and technical and literary works.

Kosbor’s father worked for the Hungarian National Puppet Theater. The handful of times they spent together there were transformative – seeing first-hand how puppets are created and used. When his father suddenly passed, Kosbor inherited a substantial puppet collection, to which he has added hundreds over the years from places like Indonesia, Java, Nepal, China, the Czech Republic, America, Greece, India and beyond.

We continue our in-depth interview with Kosbor to learn more about his identity as a puppeteer and collector.

Who else and what other factors influenced you as an artist?

The large oil painting on the wall next to my bed, painted by one of my grandmother’s brothers had a great influence on me. He met with a tragic fate – falling victim to one of the most fashionable epidemics of his time, lung disease. His painting style represented the realist trend of Munkácsi Mihály and Pál László, I think at a fairly high level. Our family’s Székely origin justifies the stylistic affinity. Perhaps it was because of him that I continued on the artistic path in our family. My family didn’t even try to steer me toward a more profitable direction. They respected the art world. I felt like art was my destiny, too.

My mother enrolled me early in studio art. I was the only child participating. Without a formal orientation, I could not learn much, but I did enjoy seeing and touching the various art supplies in the cabinets. I was able to try the charcoal sticks and the erasers, because studio time was focused on creating large-scale charcoal drawings. On the shelves along the walls were large plaster head sculptures and gigantic human body parts – ears, noses, hands etc., so we drew these with charcoal. Continuing this activity at home, I made charcoal drawings of my favorite big teddy bear and my brother’s smaller yellow teddy bear. As an added bonus each night, the ice cream parlor on the street stored its pushable cart near the entrance of the art studio for the night. They always had leftovers, and I was free to consume as much ice cream as I liked.

During my second vocational experience, I also learned nothing, again as the only child participant. In that experience, the concept was completely different. We were given tasks based on our imagination, such as having to draw fair/festival scenes from memory. For me, this brought forth images of tents and vendors during Easter in front of Pécs’ four-towered cathedral. This scene in my head would include gingerbread, lollipops, and cotton candy. So I drew tents and a little boy carrying a large pile of cotton candy- in his right hand on a long looped stick – with a bustling crowd in the backdrop.

My elementary school art teacher must have been proud of me, because she placed several of my works in the school’s hallways. On her recommendation, I applied to the Pécs’ Art High School. For the entry requirements I prepared a portfolio of work. I was the only one to include oil paintings, that I made using the paint set (in a wooden box) I received from my father for one Easter. My mother, when they separated, asked my father to send gifts to us children at least at Christmas and Easter. One of the outcomes of this agreement was this very painting kit. To this day, I carry this wooden box with me. When I go on outdoor drawing trips, I also take the first pencil holder that my mother gave me when I started first grade. It is made of good strong pigskin, and closes with reliable snap-fasteners.

Tell us about your father’s work in the puppet theater and how you got into that world as a child?

I have absolutely no memory of my father’s presence as a small child, apart from a few small black and white photos of the three of us together – my father, my mother and myself, as a cute, bald baby. I was with my mother all the time. In Budapest, we lived close to the Hősök Tere, which also meant close proximity to the National Zoo, the Museum of Fine Arts and the Széchenyi Baths, which my mother and I often visited. My father’s workplace, the Hungarian National Puppet Theater, was located a few streets away on Népköztársaság Út, today’s Andrássy Út. My father was at work more than at home, so I have very few memories of him. The time I occasionally spent in the puppet theater is deeply etched in my memory. I saw how the heads of the puppets, pinned to a pole stand, were created using newspaper, flour-based paste and bone glue. There were interesting props, and strange inanimate puppets in the corridors leading to the auditorium. Even as a small child, I noticed the essential difference between puppets that moved and those that couldn’t. Puppets have a life of their own.

At home, there were always some puppets near my slatted bed. I remember a clown who could stretch his blue and yellow striped neck, and a hideous dragon who could use some trick to emit flames and smoke from his mouth. In addition, I also remember a pair of Slavic-looking sackcloth puppets with blond or gray hair and fur.

They told me that the title character of the puppet show Fairy Ibrinkó (probably inspired by a Russian folk tale) was modeled after me. Back then, I still had thick, blonde, curly hair and less wrinkles.

Here the memories of Budapest come to an end, and scenes of Pécs emerge. My most dramatic puppet memory is connected to my streetcar accident. As a result of the thigh fracture I suffered (out for a month and a half), I lay in bed wrapped in a cast from my feet to my waist. I was surrounded by puppets and drawing tools. My mother even provided me with clay so that I could model puppet heads out of them. The most effective cure, however, was when Henrik Kemény, the excellent folk puppeteer whose stories (like László Vitéz) were widely respected sent me a small rag puppet he made – which he called Szurtos Peti. He probably knew I would get endless use out of it. He also gave me a cute wooden monkey-head finger puppet. The most precious piece in my puppet collection is the female stick doll figure [Henrik] also made, whose beautifully carved wooden hands resembled that of my mother.

In terms of my father’s work, every young TV young viewer knew Mazsola and Manócska. In addition to the Manócska figure, my father was also the animator of the less likable, brooding fox figure from the Futrinka Utca series. In addition to these, he also moved the figures of the New Year’s political puppet show.

My father went abroad countless times to perform with the Puppet Theater, and when he returned home, whenever we had the chance to meet, he always had some interesting story about exotic places and strange experiences. As a rule, he brought back strange objects, food and drinks. For example, he brought suitcase full of puppets from India, including figures from the Krishna legend, elephants, horses and other animal figures. From China, he brought a porcelain marionette, the eyes and fingers of which can be moved with separate cords.

In Pécs, the International Puppet Festival was held annually in several locations, including the House of Science and Technology, which later housed the Csontváry Museum. On occasion, my father attended this event, either as a member of the puppet theater or through his private show with Gertrúd Havas. Not only did they perform, but they also did presentations on puppet making – full-sized ostrich dolls and walking dog puppets, ventriloquist puppets, marionettes and walking puppets, etc. I also inherited a corkscrew from him, which he occasionally used as a puppet. He directed several puppet theaters/productions like Lúdas Matyi for the Puppet Theater in Debrecen, where the figures were made of bent wire. This was an example of modernism in the world of puppetry. Before his death, he planned a floating puppet show with lanterns on Lake Balaton, near Szigliget.

How did this world affect you and your outlook on your own life?

The puppet’s ability to transform from a pile of material into a living creature is mind-blowing. A puppet can divert attention from the puppeteer to any event or situation, no matter how absurd. It is no coincidence that critical and sarcastic performances at fairs were tolerated even when the topic was controversial, simply because of the platform was more socially acceptable.

For me, it is easier to communicate through puppets than solely with gestures and sound. Any device can be used as a puppet, including bare hands or other body parts. My long association with puppets has taught me how to use them as an extension of my body to bring some creature to life. Gesturing with a puppet is second-nature to me – muscle-memory, if you will. If I see the goal clearly, the implementation is automatic. My son Hunor and I often played scorpion (Hunor) versus some animal (me), using only our hands. Puppetry also has holistic developmental benefit for children – it can shape communication, imagination, and self-expression.

Tell us about your journey to the United States and how you ended up in New Jersey and how you became one of the most influential male folk dancers of this generation?

There is a Hungarian saying that says: whoever leaves their homeland must have something wrong with them. My departure took place well before the systematic political changes, and had nothing to do with politics or finances. I had a large house with a garden in the Mecsek, another studio in the city center, so everything anyone would want. The number one reason for leaving was due to the realization that artists living and remaining in Hungary, though respected, had to work outside of their calling or profession to make ends meet. Whatever that work was, even if meaningful, took away from the creative process and art that I felt was my vocation. I had to run art classes, playhouses, take on graphic design work, run táncház programs, teach and perform, and even manage a screen printing press for a short time. The last straw was my divorce and its circumstances.

Arriving in New York, I was able to live alone in a five-story house, managed eight empty art studios, and even made a little money. I got involved in the art movement of the time – exhibitions, performances, big parties followed each other and I made countless new acquaintances.

However, those golden days soon passed, and I joined the American rat race. I had to find another place to live and I had to get a job, with the urgency of making a living. I worked for two and a half years as a professional screen printer, where we produced prints by well-known artists, after which I continued printing in my own studio. Once again, I could only explore my art during my free time (after work). Basically, I was in the same situation that I tried to avoid.

Suddenly, our child Hunor was born and we thought it better to move out of the city. By that time, the Ritka Magyar Hungarian Dance Ensemble disbanded, and we joined Csűrdöngölő in New Brunswick, New Jersey. At first we rented a place, then bought a house, where we still live today. 

Perhaps the reason folks respect my contributions to the Hungarian folklife space, is that I consistently stayed with it. I made a commitment. Nothing could sway the importance of this work – not people, circumstances and location. The interest and activity in art manifested itself in dance – and was a consistent theme in my life. I wasn’t ashamed to learn from others. I freely passed on my experiences to those who were interested and wanted to learn. I wanted to remain open, flexible and curious so that my experience would expand.

How did you start collecting puppets? Why? How did you get them and how many do you think you have now? Which are your favorites? 

I already mentioned how my first collection started. After the tragic and unexpected death of my father and his wife Gertrúd Havas, my brother and I jointly inherited his substantial library and puppet collection. The Museum of Theater History claimed many of the puppets for further processing. We handed over the figures used on TV and other official/private shows, but kept the other pieces in the collection. My brother got the nativity and several other puppet figures, which his son Balázs used to discover the puppet world. I kept the more serious ones, suitable for a collection or for professional performances. My father’s old peasant man puppet, Dani Bácsi, was the most precious for me. I saw its enormous potential, and indeed, he has surfaced regularly over the years at various community events.

However, what I inherited was just the beginning of my collection. I regularly visited the flea market in Pécs, where there was always something strange or surprising. One time I was offered clay jugs (köcsög) possibly from Celtic period. They were either excavated or contemporary – no one knew exactly. I bought one of them. On another occasion, I discovered a few puppet heads, some of them carved from wood. They were probably pieces from a professional folk puppet theater, but I couldn’t get any further information from the seller.  It was about to rain, I didn’t have any money, so I rushed home. By the time I returned, the puppets were damaged. I bought them anyway.

After arriving in America, I discovered the virtue of EBay and other online opportunities. All over the world, they offered things for sale that I had wanted for a long time. Ancient books with original printed illustrations, folk ceramics from various countries, and of course puppets.

I had hoped that some day I would have a freer lifestyle where it would be possible to satisfy my creative desires. I thought that when my moment of liberation finally came, it would be too difficult to gather all the supplies for financial and availability reasons. So I started to buy what I needed through the ‘opportunity makes a thief’ approach. I started collecting illustrated editions of Aesop’s Fables, and the stories of the Thousand and One Nights. In my opinion, illustrations made in different eras, locations and by different artists can provide an opportunity for comparative art historical analyses. These literary collections go back to the past with lessons that are relevant today, and can therefore serve as material for a puppet show. In my opinion, an audience has a more profound and rich experience if surrounded by live illustrations of a story or a lesson.

Not long ago, I discovered the cuddly, stuffed animal figures of the excellent American puppet-maker, Folkmanis. They regularly expand their collection with new and limited release figures. My imagination kicked in immediately. Why not create Aesop-like fables with new animals? Of course, the stories would have to deal with contemporary issues. I began to rapidly purchase all available Folkmanis figures. In addition, I kept my eyes on other interesting-looking puppets on EBay.

The birth of our son, Hunor, opened up new possibilities for my puppet collection. He was surrounded by all kinds of puppets and it created cozy, homey childhood for him. My partner, Melinda, also found useful pieces among them for her frequent community programs.

I decided that for Hunor’s fifth birthday, I would put together a puppet show based on his interests, experiences and possible answers to his questions. I wrote the script with color drawings, with set and puppet designs, and started making and procuring the props. It was my plan to keep this tradition alive on subsequent birthdays. However, reality intervened. Basically, I started a project that couldn’t possibly be realized because I had to make a living. The time commitment involved was more than I had available. Hunor grew up faster than my imagination could soar.

How large is your puppet collection?

I have no idea about the extent of my collection. At the moment, I keep most of them in large crates, some of which I made directly for this purpose, with cushions on top. Some of them are stored in the basement. Two large stuffed animals, a lion and a golden retriever, help as pillows when we rarely watch a movie. An Indonesian female figure looks down on us from a shelf when we are sitting at the dining room table.

The origins and types of my puppets are extremely diverse. They include, among other things, ordinary hide-and-seek puppets, marionettes, stick and shadow puppets, etc., in countless variations. They originate from countries such as Indonesia, Java, Nepal, China, the Czech Republic, America, Greece, India and Hungary, and more. 

Some of my puppets are permanent fixtures of my immediate environment. These are primarily the figures of Bácsi Dani, Mazsola and Manócska, inherited from my father. By the way, I often need them, because their fans keep calling them back. Apart from those, there is a nice little puppet head on one of my shelves, placed in an empty, transparent ice cream jar, which I made for Hunor’s unfinished birthday puppet show. These four figures are my favorites. To spice things up, I also have a Mexican skeleton figure holding a scythe, and a devil mask hanging from one of my shelves.

My observation is that most people see you express yourself on the dance floor. Otherwise you come across as quiet – is that an accurate observation?

I dance on the dance floor as my mood dictates and my abilities allow. For self-expression, I prefer to use more indirect media, such as puppetry or artwork, where there is an element of separation between me and the audience/viewer. 

In my opinion, this lock will remain closed until someone is curious enough to find the key and open it. I don’t feel the need to just engage in smalltalk or to create a sensation. I am not in the habit of inquiring about other people’s circumstances, their family and social status, their habits, who they know and those relationships. I don’t follow sports and entertainment events very much, the availability of certain goods for sale, or fashionable current events.

However, I do like to communicate about patterns of human and animal behavior, social and historical phenomena and laws, geographical differences, regional differences and similarities, nature, all kinds of arts and, of course, find the humor in things.

Does a whole “other” Kosbor appear in a puppet show? You have an amazing ability to engage an audience. 

The foundations of a successful puppet show are: a thorough knowledge of the proposed content, professional knowledge and ability, a charismatic performance, the availability of equipment and preparation. Some of these requisites we just possess. Other things like searching for and developing a topic, as well as equipment and practical preparation, on the other hand, require freedom and time. We do not generate any income from the development process, that only comes through the performance. If we are forced to finance this development process, then we have no time to actually develop the puppet show and, in the end, there will be no production. This is a Catch-22.

Another dilemma for performers is the frequency of phone calls. Let’s assume that you somehow managed to solve the financial challenges. To make sure your show sees the light of day, you either have to either wait for invitations to perform, or run a massive promotional campaign, which is not only time-consuming, but you have to have the stomach for it. Some pop stars may be able to generate enough income per concert to last until the next one, puppetry does not fall into that category.  We have small audiences and opportunities with long and exhausting trips. Even professional, permanently operating puppet theaters are not able to support themselves from their performance income, they need external support – someone or something keeping things afloat in the background. 

The conditions outlined above apply to visual arts programs, too. You can’t sell what you don’t have. Art must be produced before we can offer them for sale. During the time of creation, we do not generate income, financial results can only be generated on the occasion of possible sales, until then we have to support ourselves somehow. This ties up our free time, at the expense of the creative process. Catch-22.

What goes through your mind when you have a puppet in your hand and a character to play? For example, Dani Bácsi came to life and taught important lessons.

Bácsi Dani and the other characters I work with are all able to communicate, tell stories, and perform on any topic. The organizers just have to check with me when choosing content. If the theme is clear, the rest is improvisation depending on the situation, and I contribute as a secondary background character.

Puppetry as an art form is very important. And yet it’s underutilized. Do you have any ideas on how to reimagine it so that people see it as important as it was when we were younger?

Puppetry is dependent on the individuals using them. At the same time, it is also a participatory genre. Back in the day, massive, state-supported puppet theaters came to life in Communist countries. The Soviet Union was leading the way with their famous puppeteer, Obrasov. I had the opportunity to watch one of their Hungarian productions. It was a amazing sight when the troupe came out to bow. There were at least twenty slightly chubby artists in black attire standing in a row – puppetry does not require that you stay in shape. The People’s Republic of China is another Communist country with a large-scale state supported puppet culture. In comparison, the Hungarian State Puppet Theater was their little brother.

Over the course of my life, I participated in countless puppet shows. This includes the previously-mentioned International Puppet Festival in Pécs, events in New York, and various smaller and larger private productions. In New York, I also met Milos Forman’s two puppeteer sons, who presented their show with traditional Czech marionette figures. For a short time I was also a member of Pécs’ Bóbita Puppet Theater, until it became clear that the performers working next to me [Kosbor is very tall] had to high elevated or platform shoes. My father prepared these same clowns for their exams before becoming a professional.

In puppet theater, the audience is divided into two completely separate parts. We distinguish between puppet theater for children and adults. The former is significantly more popular, the latter is also suitable for conveying more complicated ideas. The most effective platform for uniting these audiences was folk puppet theater, whose best-known representative in Hungary was Henrik Kemény’s permanent show in Népliget. It an unusual way, his show was able to draw continuous interest even though the story and characters remain the same. I was also able to witness the Vaskakas Puppet Theater’s (Győr) excellent productions in New York.

Professional puppeteers, without a patron supporting them, don’t have it easy for the reasons mentioned above, so there aren’t many of them out there. Another challenge is the various types of media available, which is difficult to combat. Volunteer productions operating within communities may be a way forward, but they are dependent on the abilities of the entrepreneurial managers/promoters and organizers. 

Unfortunately, I am unable to recommend a solution. My previous analysis also applies to Hungarian folk dancing in the diaspora. Where there is a well-intentioned, self-sacrificial entrepreneur who feels it is important to do something, things go better than where there is none. As I learned in an early English lesson, ‘where is a will, there is a way.’

[Photo credits: István Kosbor, Melinda Török and ADQ]