The Guerilla Sculptures of Budapest
Budapest is littered with tiny, whimsical treasures, largely thanks to artist Mihály Kolodko—a Ukrainian-Hungarian who’s been creating miniature sculptures since 2010 and in Budapest since 2017.
Born in the city of Uzhhorod (Ungvár in Hungarian) in 1978 to a Ukrainian father and Hungarian mother, he graduated from Lviv Academy of Arts in 2002 after studying “monumental sculpture.” Turns out the demand for “monumental sculpture” is shrinking these days, especially in Eastern Europe. Kolodko moved to Hungary in search of better commissions but ended up carving out a niche as a guerrilla sculptor, creating surprising moments of wonder in an urban landscape.
And these mini masterpieces are pretty smart. Despite their size, they're crammed with detail and often pop up in just the right spot at the right time. Each one tells a story, adding a unique twist to its chosen corner of the city. They prove that art doesn't have to be grandiose to be great and remind us of the power of art in public spaces and its ability to transform the everyday into the extraordinary.
Főkukac
December 2016
This little worm was the first public statue Kolodko unveiled in Budapest. Főkukac is a character from the beloved 1980s Hungarian cartoon, “A nagy ho-ho-horgász.” Főkukac is the bait used by the cartoon’s titular character, the Great Fisherman. I hope it’s funnier than it sounds.
What is funny is that Kolodko placed this statue where Halász utca (Fisherman Street) meets the Danube. Clever. He watched the cartoon when he was young to help learn Hungarian. He also put an identical statue in Uzhorod, conceptually linking his hometown and his new town.
Szomorú tank
Sad Tank
April 2017
Sad Tank on Batthyány Square is one of Kolodko’s thoughtful pieces, but still chock-full of his usual wit. On the Buda side of the Danube across from Parliament, it originally had “Ruszkik háza!” or “Russians go home!” painted on its side in white. It’s a symbol of the 1956 Hungarian Revolution, its gun slumped as a quiet nod to the revolution’s ultimate failure.
Breki
Kermit the Frog
July 2017
Among the pomp and formality of Budapest's Szabadság tér (Freedom Square), there sits a subtle, charming surprise—a miniature statue of Kermit the Frog. Kermit’s right up against a fence at ground level, so he can be hard to find. More than just a tribute to a pop icon, this mini statue is also a nod to the local culinary history, specifically the introduction of frog legs to Hungarian menus in the late 19th century. Kermit’s safe, though. The locals love him. In the winter, someone almost always knits a little scarf to keep him warm.
Piszoár [lost]
Urinal
May 2017
Tucked away near the Vajdahunyad Castle moat used to be this homage to Marcel Duchamp's contentious 1917 sculpture, “Fountain.” Kolodko’s choice to replicate the urinal in miniature is subject to a variety of interpretations. Maybe it was his commentary on the lack of public toilets in Budapest, or maybe he just really liked Duchamp’s piece.
Unfortunately, this piece was stolen or destroyed, so all we have left is archived photographs. But people are still talking about it!
Mekk Elek
June 2018
At the foot of some stairs at Széll Kálmán tér is Kolodko’s tribute to a much-loved figure from Hungarian television: Mekk Elek. This charmingly inept goat character from a 1970s stop-action series is forever trying various professions and failing at all of them. Mekk Elek is a perfect representation of an Eastern European jack-of-all-trades character—brimming with misplaced confidence and forever fumbling. The beauty of this statue is its ability to evoke collective nostalgia while poking at shared human foibles.
In a nod to his infamous incompetence, he’s holding a sign reading “Moskva tér” (Moscow Square), the square’s Communist-era name. (Boy, back in the day, nearly everything was renamed Lenin-this, Stalin-that, or Moscow-whatever—the Hungarians changed everything back to the historic names pretty fast when the regime fell, I tell you what.)
Ars longa vita brevis, vagy Halott mókus
Art is eternal, life is short, or Dead Squirrel
June 2018
One of the weirdest statues in Budapest is one of, and I’m not kidding you, Peter Falk as Columbo. Not Peter Falk, mind you, but Peter Falk as the character Columbo, complete with a trench coat and his Basset hound named Dog. Maybe Hungarians just really liked that show?
Anyway, right next to it is another Kolodko mini sculpture of a dead squirrel clutching a pistol in its paw and outlined in white on the pavement. The standard take on this one is that it’s another homage, this time to Maurizio Cattelan's enigmatic piece, “Bidibidobidiboo,” which features a stuffed squirrel slouching over a table with a gun on the floor nearby.
The circumstances surrounding this squirrel's fate, though, remain a mystery. Maybe Columbo will solve it.
Herzl Tivadar
October 2018
During our regular strolls in Budapest, we passed this mini sculpture probably 100 times before I noticed it. Oy. This one is Tivadar Herzl, placed on a lamp post next to the Great Synagogue and near where he was born. Herzl was a writer and political activist revered as the original visionary of the Jewish state. The sculpture depicts him alongside his bicycle, reminiscent of an old photograph taken of him in Austria. And maybe insinuating the journey he took from a boy in Budapest to the father of the State of Israel. This one’s a subtle nod to history, an almost hidden mark of respect by Kolodko.
Kockásfülű Nyúl
Checkered-eared Bunny
November 2018
Here’s another one for nostalgia! Perched atop Castle Hill by the funicular is a sculpture of yet another beloved Hungarians TV character. The Checkered-eared Bunny was the central figure of a wildly popular animated series in the 1970s. Believe it or not, we even had the Checkered-eared Bunny in the U.S. The cartoon had no dialogue, so it didn’t require dubbing and it aired as a segment called “The Bunny In the Suitcase” on the Nickelodeon TV show Pinwheel.
The character lived inside a trunk in the attic of a skyscraper, and each episode would open with the rabbit waking up, stepping outside, and using a telescope to spy out adventure. Which is exactly what he’s doing here.
Rubik-kocka
Rubik's Cube
February 2019
I was never any good at solving a Rubik's Cube—an object specifically designed to make you feel dumb. I just did not have the patience. Still don’t. Ask Rick. But this one’s okay because there’s nothing to solve.
This infuriating toy was invented by a Hungarian professor of architecture, Ernő Rubik, in 1974. And Kolodko has memorialized it in bronze as a tribute to one of Hungary's greatest contributions to global pop culture. It’s set it right by the river across from Parliament. Usually, Kolodko’s placement plays into the meaning of each of his sculptures, but this one stumps me. Sorry.
Libidó, vagy Lufikutya csonttal
Libido, or Balloon Dog with Bone
May 2019
This piece is a tongue-in-cheek nod to Jeff Koons, the contemporary American sculptor, and his glamorous—and oh-so-spendy—art.
I’m told that the bone and the dog symbolize the pull of attraction, earning the sculpture its title, Libido. The backstory involves Koons’ first wife, the Budapest-born Ilona Staller, also known as Cicciolina, the Italian porn star and politician (smh…only in Italy). Koons’ career as an in-demand artist exploded with his erotic series featuring Cicciolina.
But honestly, this one needs to be viewed—and photographed—from exactly the right angle. Turns out it’s pretty easy for a miniature sculpture of a balloon dog to be mistaken for a small pile of poo.
Magyar sárga [lost]
Lisa Simpson
August 2019
Oh how I would’ve liked to see this one. But it, too, was stolen or destroyed. It’s a Simpson character, so I’m betting on stolen. This piece presented the popular American TV character as a sort of Joan of Arc tied to a post in a Budapest park.
A 14 karátos auto
14-carat Roadster
August 2019
This striking, not-as-small-as-the-others gilded Alfa Romeo statue adorns Rejtő Jenő street, named after the prolific Hungarian author known for his eccentric pulp novels. Rejtő, who also wrote under a pseudonym, was prolific in many genres but is known and loved for a cult series of intentionally over-the-top pulp fiction stories with outrageous characters, absurd plot twists, and a wry sense of humor—one of which was titled, “The 14-carat Roadster.”
Rejtő was Jewish and died in a labor camp on the Eastern front in 1943. His works were initially banned by the Communists, but they became increasingly popular from the 1960s onward, contributing phrases like “szőke ciklon” (blonde hurricane) became a part of the Hungarian vernacular.
Búvár és a kulcs
Diver and the Key
August 2019
Legend has it that when the opulent New York Café first opened, it was an enormous success. At some point, Hungarian author Ferenc Molnár was having such a great time with his friends and peers that he didn’t want it to. So he stole the key and tossed it into the Danube so the café could never close. That sounds a bit dubious, but it’s a good story. This little statue commemorates the event with a small, helmeted diver holding an oversized key on top of a hydrant—a reference to the river.
Noé bárkája
Noah's Ark
August 2019
An ode to diversity and resilience, Kolodko's miniature Noah's Ark sits quietly in the quaint Bethlen Gábor tér, a rhombus-shaped intersection that’s home to the second largest synagogue in Budapest, a weekly farmers’ market, and a clinic for the University of Veterinary Medicine. Get it?
This little gem of a sculpture is a bit larger than most of his other works and it holds a secret. If you come at the right time of day, the sun hits a few tiny windows in the ark to create a tiny rainbow inside. The windows may be a nod to the either the Miksa Róth memorial house or mural, both of which are nearby. And the rainbow is the symbol of Noah’s covenant and the promise of a new beginning. I’m not too concerned about what it means. I just think it’s pretty!
Seress Rezső
September 2019
On the wall of the Kispipa restaurant in Akácfa Street is a mini-pianist frozen in time. This is a tribute to the life and work of Rezső Seress, composer of the haunting “Gloomy Sunday” (Szomorú vasárnap), originally titled “The World is Ending” (Vége a világnak), and known alternately as the “Hungarian Suicide Song.” Yikes! But it’s an enduring favorite, apparently, with versions recorded by Billie Holliday and Ricky Nelson (yep—Rick’s namesake!). So, you know, there’s that.
Seress, if you can believe it, was a trapeze artist who taught himself how to play piano one-handed after an accident ended his, um, trapeziness? He’s also known for writing such hits as “Waiter, bring me the bill” (Fizetek főúr) and “I love being drunk” (Én úgy szeretek részeg lenni). He lived most of his life in poverty in Budapest—even after surviving Nazi labor camps—primarily because he wouldn’t go the U.S. to collect his royalties.
Holdjáró
Lunar Rover
August 2019
Hidden in a tiny little park barely more than a glorified median strip on Hold utca (Moon Street) is a miniaturized moon rover. This nifty little Lunar Rover is an ode to Hungarian engineer Ferenc Pavlics, who, after fleeing Hungary after the failed 1956 uprising, found himself working for NASA. He’s responsible for designing the special, lightweight wheels for NASA's Apollo Lunar Roving Vehicle. This tiny bronze tribute, perched on a moon-shaped bollard, is a neat nod to Pavlics' innovation and a piece of hidden space history right here on the streets of Budapest. You could say it's one small step for a man, but a giant leap for Hungarian ingenuity!
Usánka [lost, no photo]
Ushanka
2019 sometime
Oooh…this one’s a good one! Originally this sculpture was a tiny ushanka hat (one of those fur hats with ear flaps that Russian soldiers wear) sitting on a fancy cushion like a crown, and it was installed on the edge of Szabadság tér (Freedom Square). This is the square the American Embassy faces and, hilariously, is the site of the only Soviet war memorial left standing in Budapest. Believe it or not, it’s protected by a treaty so the Hungarians can’t ever take this one down.
Kolodko’s plan was to put this ushanka up and then another similar piece with a tiny football helmet nearby to comment on the continued Russian and American meddling in Hungarian affairs.
But a very conservative member of Parliament didn’t get the message. He strongly disapproved of what he felt was, I don’t know, whatever. So after alerting the media, of course, he found it and destroyed it with the blunt end of an axe. (Really? Who in a city the size of Budapest just has an axe lying around? Clearly very conservative members of Parliament I guess. And axe murderers.) Because that probably only took a minute or so, which doesn’t make good TV, he then marched with it to the river and threw it in. (There’s a lot of dramatically throwing things into the river in Budapest.)
So we’ll mark this one as “lost.”
Kisbalta
Little Axe
January 2020
Oh but wait!! Just over a month later, another fancy cushion appeared in the same spot Ushanka had been—but now instead of an ushanka hat, there was a little axe on it.
Hahahaha! Good one!
I mean it looks like an axe. But it feels like a middle finger.
Szenes Hanna, vagy Pöttöm ejtöernyöslány
Hannah Szenes, or Parachute Girl
March 2020
Tucked away in another tiny little neighborhood minipark is this tribute to a compelling but I’m guessing mostly forgotten Jewish heroine, Hanna Szenes. This little figure made me sad, not like all the others. But is a beautiful symbol of audacious courage and selfless sacrifice.
Szenes was born in 1921 to a Jewish family. Her father, a playwright and journalist, died when she was young. But she took after him and wrote poetry. And pretty good poetry at that. She graduated in 1939, when it was pretty obvious where the country was headed in terms of antisemitism. So she up and moved to a kibbutz in Palestine.
Four years later, Britain was recruiting volunteers to parachute into Hungary and help the Allies and Jews behind enemy lines. Szenes signed up immediately and was one of only 32 chosen out of 250 applicants. She parachuted into Yugoslavia close to the border and snuck into Hungary.
She was caught almost instantly. Which means that, at the age of 22, she was brutally tortured and killed before her “trial” even started. How’s that for a kick in the balls?
“Süsü a sárkány” bőrében Bodrogi Gyula [lost]
“Susu the Dragon” with the head of Gyula Bodrogi
April 2023
Hungarian children spent their days in the late 1970s glued to the TV, entranced by the adventures of a naïve, lovable dragon named Süsü. Kolodko created a little sculpture of Süsü and put it on the Hungarian TV headquarters building. And he gave the friendly dragon a new face—that of Gyula Bodrogi, the actor inside the dragon costume. Sadly, this little statue was also stolen or destroyed.
Mr. Bean mackója
Mr. Bean’s teddy bear
November 2020
In the midst of Brexit chaos, Kolodko commemorated the U.K.'s tumultuous farewell to the European Union with an adorable sculpture of Mr. Bean’s beloved teddy bear mounted to the outside of the former British Embassy building in downtown Pest. So cute!
At a time when political and geographical borders seem to be getting sharper and more contentious, this comforting symbol serves as a wistful reminder of shared cultural ties. I suppose we could all do with a bit of humor and nostalgia right now—especially after reading about the immediately previous mini statue—courtesy of the indefatigable Mr. Bean and his ever-so-faithful Teddy.
Liberty, vagy Ferenc József
Liberty, or Franz Joseph
May 2021
This mini statue of the Big Guy himself, Franz Joseph, the Emperor of Austria (and King of Hungary, obvs), is located on my favorite of all the bridges in Budapest—Szabadság híd (Freedom, or Liberty, Bridge). The bridge was originally named after good ol’ Franz Joseph. Legend has it that he drove in the last rivet—a shiny silver one, mind you—to commemorate its completion.
The tiny statue's hammock, a charming detail if I may add, took me back to the time when the bridge was closed to traffic and temporarily reclaimed by the public. Back then, hammocks graced the lofty cables of the bridge, turning this iconic city landmark into an unexpected leisure spot. A gentle nod, perhaps, to the spirit of relaxation that once imbued this grand structure, courtesy of Kolodko's always intriguing and cleverly humorous vision.
Lecsó
Ratatouille
August 2021
This little guy might be the only one of Kolodko’s statues that are true to scale—it's a gastronomically inclined rat and an affectionate hat-tip to Pixar's Ratatouille. With a touch of Banksy. Our tiny chef is caught in the act of spraying “lecsó” on the wall. Lecsó is a traditional Hungarian staple, a pepper stew made with fresh, seasonal vegetables. It’s like ratatouille or shakshuka but with tons of paprika to thicken it a bit, giving it a distinctive Hungarian twist. This sculpture, as cute as it is, is pretty meta—a clear testament to the resilience and value of street art.
Orosz hadihajó, vagy Üzenet
Russian Warship, or Message
March 2022
Amidst the turmoil stirred by the war in Ukraine, Kolodko has made a big statement with a little sculpture. It’s a warship with a mini Putin sitting atop an oversized stone finger with a signet ring with the national Ukrainian coat of arms.
Just to make sure nobody misses the message, Kolodko put this larger-than-usual sculpture on the Moscow Promenade near the end of the Árpád Bridge—a location chosen intentionally for its loaded names. And the stark contrast between the miniaturized Russian leader and the gargantuan middle finger just drives it all home. This one’s gutsy.
Skala Kópé
April 2022
Right on busy Nyugati tér is a mini statue that is a straight up nostalgia trip. It’s a little guy riding a barcode sled—he’s Kópé, the animated mascot for Skála, an 1980s retail icon in Hungary. Skála stores were a chain of department stores run by a cooperative, so they weren’t the usual government-owned stores. Kópé was the cheerful, friendly character who appeared in TV and print ads. His oft-repeated slogan, “I am Skála Kópé, my heart is for the customers!”
This Kópé plays on his little sled in front of a completely renovated Skála Metró building, with his heart literally leaping out of his chest. Hey, maybe they’ll bring him back! When it comes to retail and revolutions, it seems everything old is always new again.
Trabant
April 2022
On the Buda side of Margaret Bridge sits a tiny Trabant car, an enduring icon of the cold war era, perched just so, offering an unexpected yet delightful photo op. Kolodko really has an unparalleled knack for capturing nostalgia. Fondly referred to as “Trabis,” they were the most popular cars in Eastern Europe. They were known for their simple design, low cost, and durable plastic body—well, and the long wait list to get one. Even my friend Zoli drove me around Budapest in his Trabi mumblety years ago!
Fun fact: The name Trabant was derived from the German word “drabant,” which means “satellite,” and it was inspired by Sputnik, launched by the Soviet Union in 1957, the same year that the first Trabant was introduced. The logo resembled a stylized version of Sputnik, with four circles representing the satellite’s antennas.
Wait, where was I going with this? Oh, right…mini statues.
Kolodko’s version is made of limestone, not plastic, and is designed as a toy car with a wind-up key on the side. It’s cool.
In vino veritas
May 2022
They say “all roads lead to Rome,” my road led to Roman ruins in Óbuda. (Everyone knows that Buda and Pest combined to create Budapest—but no one except Hungarians remember that a third, smaller city, Óbuda, was also part of the deal.) The ruins of what Romans called Aquincum is mostly foundations that I’m pretty sure have been “recreated” by the Hungarians and wild grass about three feet high. I kid. They tell me it’s real and that Aquincum was the capital of the Roman province of Pannonia Inferior and that it had a population of about 40,000 people at its peak.
Whatever, I wasn’t there for questionable history, but a tiny statue. And right there on top of one of the half-walls that remain is a tiny little Roman legionary, just napping in the sun, still clutching his wine jug. Honestly, though, he looks a little worse for wear, so it might be less of a nap and more of a blackout.
Egyszer volt Budán kutyavásár
Once Upon a Time, There Was a Dog Fair in Buda
May 2022
This one’s actually several little statues strewn throughout a small square on the Buda side of the city. There are three different sculptures hidden in the shrubs—a basket of puppies, a puli, and a vizsla sculpted to look like a beloved cartoon character named Frakk. There’s also a tiny coin with King Mátyás’ profile, but I was so focused on the seriously adorable dogs that I missed it.
“Dog Fair” is based on a Hungarian folk tale and 1981 cartoon of the same name. Something something King Mátyás something greedy rich man something comeuppance something something poor man lives happily ever after. With his dog. You get this idea.
Nincs kompót, vagy Az oroszok már a spájzban vannak!
No More Jam, or The Russians Are Already in the Pantry!
September 2022
Tucked between two walls that don’t quite meet along the Buda riverbank is a Russian soldier peeking from inside a pantry closet.
The phrase, “the Russians are already in the pantry” describes a situation that is hopeless. Radio announcers used it when Soviet troops invaded Hungary to crush the 1956 uprising to warn listeners that the Russians were approaching Budapest. It became a cynical catchphrase after it was used in a 1965 Hungarian satirical film, “A tizedes meg a többiek” (The Corporal and the Others). After that, people would use it the describe minor inconveniences or annoyances—like finding a really long line at the supermarket. (See “the terrorists have already won,” “we’re doomed, doomed I tell you,” or “Thanks, Obama!”)
This little sculpture is especially fun because it’s the first one that moves! You can open and close the door to the pantry! I was practically giddy when I discovered that.
Szurikáta
September 2022
This little sculpture is super sweet and for a good cause. It’s a little meerkat standing guard by the fence of a children's diabetes clinic at the medical university. She’s named Szurikáta, after the Surikáta Foundation for Diabetic Children, which commissioned the statue. Kolodko unveiled Surikáta to mark a century since the discovery of insulin.
The name Szurikáta plays off the Hungarian word for injection, "suri," and the meerkat symbolizes the tribe or colony of family, friends, and caregivers that every diabetic child relies on. The nicest touch is that Surikáta carries a little backpack, likely full of all the supplies diabetic children have to keep on hand to manage insulin.
Sztálin csizmája, vagy Among Us
October 2022
The spot where Kolodko placed this little sculpture is deep with meaning. It’s near where a truly enormous statue of Stalin was erected in 1951 as a sort of “gift” for his birthday. Just five years later during the 1956 uprising, Hungarians tore it down. Mostly. They couldn’t destroy the statue’s boots, which survived person-less for another four years.
The piece itself is a pair of boots (get it?) jutting out from under an upside-down skateboard. The skateboard refers to the new Ethnographic Museum that so, so many Budapesters hate hate hate and that looks a bit like a skatepark ramp. Only really big. His secondary title, Among Us, refers to the online game that features deception and betrayal—perceived hallmarks of both the Soviet overlords and today’s Fidesz ruling party.
Előre a múltba
February 2023
At Keleti pályaudvár (Eastern Railway Station), you’ll find another tiny car bearing the title "Forward to the Past" but pointing toward the West. It’s also a play on words, referencing the “Back to the Future” movies. But this time it’s a time-traveling Trabant, that icon of the Eastern Bloc, instead of a DeLorean. It’s tiny license plate says “HU” for Hungary, a pair of sneakers hang from the rearview mirror, and the tires have flipped into flight mode. And the doors open up, just like Doc Brown’s time machine! Kolodko installed this piece to coincide with the 30th anniversary of the fall of communism in Hungary.
Usánka visszatér
Ushanka Returns
May 2023
Guess what? It’s back! Our old friend, the ushanka hat!
As you may recall, that idiot Hungarian MP threw this little sculpture into the river a few years back. Apparently, it sprouted little frog legs after being in the water so long and it’s climbed back out. Kolodko set this little guy right on the river steps outside Parliament.
The frog legs are a visual pun on the Hungarian saying, “jumped out of his skin” (“kibújt a bőréből”), which means to be surprised or shocked by something. This sculpture is a clever response to the vandalism of his previous work and shows that art cannot be silenced or destroyed by violence. I love it.
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