exhibition of black and white works by Hungarian photographers is simply overwhelming. It includes so many of the great, great photographs: the ones I've seen and loved for so long and internalised and half forgotten, the ones that influence every aesthetic judgement I've ever made about a photograph, every sensual-emotional response. All day would be insufficient to take in one room, but the time I could spend in all seven rooms was limited - how long can you gorge on chocolates from a giant box? So I tried to cruise and lick one here and there and savour and retain the after-taste.
(Capa, Kertesz, Kertesz, Munkacsi, Munkacsi, Vadas, Haar, Escher, Brassai, Angelo)