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HOME
Is it the River?
Opening
01.04.2009, 7PM
Until 09-05-2009
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To the Top
Echo
2009
XDCAM on Blu-ray
3’45''

Echo
2009
XDCAM on Blu-ray
3’45''

solo show "Is it the River?"
2009
installation view

Verinnerlichter Ort der Beschränkung
2009
branch, hangers, clothes, shoes
205 x 190 x 305 cm

Verinnerlichter Ort der Beschränkung
2009
branch, hangers, clothes, shoes
205 x 190 x 305 cm

O.T. (untitled)
2009
aluminium - sign (typeface: mistral), brooms
194,5 x 250,5 x 64 cm

solo show "Is it the River?"
2009
installation view

HAAANS
2008/2009
offset print on paper, framed, pile of magazines
189 x 131 x 6 cm, 23 x 30 x19 cm

HAAANS
2008/2009
offset print on paper, framed, pile of magazines
189 x 131 x 6 cm, 23 x 30 x19 cm, detail

solo show "Is it the River?"
2009
installation view

O.T. (untitled)
1976
paper, felt-tip pen, ink
21 x 29 cm

Vogeltränke (to cast one's mind back into mould)
1999/2009
bronze, water
31 x 46 x 35 cm

Vogeltränke (to cast one's mind back into mould)
1999/2009
bronze, water
31 x 46 x 35 cm

 

Suddenly a crackling noise finds its way through the brush woods, echoing through the abandoned wetland. The silence, which was only barely accompanied by frail birdsong and the nearly inaudible pattering of the rain, is now broken by hasty footsteps. Someone is on the run. For just a few seconds, he loses his way, he stumbles, falling into the muddy water. That moment seems to last a small eternity, the sound of tripping and pouring pervades the air. There is nothing but that swooshing sound. But pulling himself together, the man continues his escape into uncertainty. What’s the urge to go on in such a hurry, without even looking back? There could be something, someone after him – but after a while, he can be heard coming through the bushes again. He is falling and getting to his feet. Running after himself, leaving his echoing steps between his appearances.

 

"HAAANS“! – there is an intense temptation to call out into the setting; "HAAANS, stop for a moment! What’s the matter?" But he won’t say. He just stares straight ahead. His face marred by blank gaps, holes. This is just an image of the initial condition. The face is made up of several parts, like a reflection in a broken mirror, an image smashed apart – just after the impact of a missile. "Mistral“ says the lettering on a rocket, that caused the fragment to scatter in all four winds. Or was it the northwind called "Mistral?" One can only assume, because that assembled face is still looking ahead silently. Were there some parts lost on their way to the final gathering? The blank areas tiny splinters still remain, like those that are always missing when attempting to glue together a broken teacup, even if the lines of breakage are exact. But – no one around to get information from, only the neatly deposited garments someone left on a branch. The clothes are rather dirty, the sight suggests that someone was out during foul weather or had slipped into the mud. There’s no trace of the owner, although that jacket and trousers seem strangely familiar...

 

The echo of the restrained calls, that had been attempted before, is still spinning back and forward in the mind, getting lower and lower. Like the rippels in the head-shaped object on the floor. More exactly, it is the cast of a mould of the back of a head. The head itself is not there anymore, but instead there is the slightly moving surface of water shimmering in the bronze basin. It seems to be some kind of cocoon, which was left by its inhabitant when it became too tight, too small. A breakout, a deliverence, a means of escape. The escape into the woods, where suddenly a crackling noise finds its way through the brush woods, echoing through the abandoned wetland. The silence, which was only just accompanied by frail birdsong and the nearly inaudible pattering of the rain, is now broken by hasty footsteps.


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