PARROTTA CONTEMPORARY ART STUTTGART BERLIN

SUSANNE M. WINTERLING

»Isadoras Schal«

von Birgit Kulmer, Parrotta Contemporary Art

Mit ihrer eigens für die Galerie entstandenen Installation „Isadoras Schal“ unternimmt die in Berlin lebende Künstlerin eine eigensinnige Relektüre der Moderne und ihrer Ikonen. Sie verwebt in ihrer installativen und fotografischen Arbeit widerspruchsvolle Momente wie Technik versus Körper, Artifizialität versus naturhaftem Ausdruck, Mystizismus versus Rationalität und unterläuft damit überkommene Dualismen des Diskurses der Moderne. Charles Baudelaire hat in seinem Essay „Le peintre de la vie moderne“ (1863) den Bergriff der „modernité“ mit den Eigenschaften des „Wandels“ (le transitoire), des „Flüchtigen“ (le fugitif) und des „Zufälligen“ (le contingent) verbunden. Damit sind nicht nur Kriterien der Bestimmung des Modernen benannt, sondern diese Merkmale kennzeichnen zugleich die Kunst des Tanzes, die auch Thema bei „Isadoras Schal“ ist. Die formal strenge Schwarz-Weiß-Gestaltung des Ausstellungsraumes wird mit „Isadoras Schal“ zum Hintergrund einer Bühnenkonstruktion, die in ihrer reduzierten Gestalt als bewegliches schwarzes Quadrat eine Gruppe von Puppen in konstruktivistisch anmutenden Kostümen trägt. In ihrer geometrisierenden Formensprache evozieren jene Kasimir Malevichs Kostüme der futuristischen Oper „Sieg über die Sonne“. In einer kürzlich im Le Corbusier Haus „Unité d’Habitation (Type Berlin)” von Susanne M. Winterling inszenierten Performance „On the displays of light, inside and outside – there might be no victory over the sun” kamen diese Kostüme bereits zum Einsatz. Die schwarzen Verkleidungen mit ihren kantigen Auswüchsen ließen die Körper der jungen Mädchen, auf die sie zugeschneidert waren, noch fragiler und formbarer erscheinen, als es ihr Alter ohnehin schon mit sich bringt.

„On the displays of light, inside and outside – there might be no victory over the sun”, im: Le Corbusier Haus „Unité d’Habitation (Type Berlin)”, im Rahmen der 5. Berlin-Biennale.

Mit ihrer Stuttgarter Installation knüpft Susanne M. Winterling darüber hinaus an Oskar Schlemmers „Triadisches Ballet“ in der Stuttgarter Staatsgalerie an. Dies insofern als die Tänzerinnen auf der angedeuteten, der Zuschauerränge entbehrenden Bühne abwesend und durch Puppentorsi ersetzt sind. Schlemmer beschreibt die Kostüme seines Triadischen Balletts als „ein Zwischenglied zwischen absoluter unmenschlicher Marionette und der natürlichen menschlichen Gestalt“. Der Mensch, insbesondere jedoch der tanzende Mensch, galt auch der Wegbereiterin modernen, freien Tanzes Isadora Duncan als Repräsentant einer höheren Ordnung, jedoch nicht als mathematisch-geometrisch bestimmbarer Typus wie bei Oskar Schlemmer, sondern als ein „natürlich“ gedachter Körper in seiner Einheit aus Physis und Psyche. Isadora Duncan, auf die Susanne M. Winterling mit dem Ausstellungstitel explizit Bezug nimmt, gehört zur ersten Generation von Tänzerinnen, die sich von der Position des rein ausführenden Objektes verabschieden und sich Raum für ihre eigenen Vorstellungen vom Tanz erkämpfen. Jenen verstand sie nicht nur als Kunst, sondern auch als Mission zur "Heilung zivilisatorischer Schäden". Sie lehnte den starren Formenkanon des traditionellen Balletts ab und stellte ihren als „natürlich“ gedachten Körper in den Mittelpunkt eines improvisierten Tanzes – ohne Korsett, ohne Spitzenschuhe – sondern barfuß in einer hellenistisch anmutenden Robe, zu der auch ihr fließender Seidenschal gehört. Sie orientiert sich dabei an antiken Abbildungen von Tanz – und Alltagsszenen und übernimmt deren Bewegungseigenheiten. Sie gründet Tanzschulen, die erste 1904 in Berlin, in denen sie ihre Schülerinnen, für deren Kost und Logis sie aufkommt, zu freien Menschen erziehen möchte.Von Isadora Duncans Tanz, der wie jeder Tanz eine Kunst des Augenblicks ist, gibt es so gut wie keine Aufzeichnungen – lediglich durch die Fotokamera, die ihn still stellt – zu Posen gefrieren lässt. Dieser Liaison aus Tanz und Fotografie unterliegt eine eigentümliche Nähe aus Tanz, Vergänglichkeit und Tod. Diese Nähe wird durch den Titel der Ausstellung „Isadoras Schal“ noch hervorgehoben, denn dieser wurde der Tänzerin zum tödlichen Verhängnis, als er sich in den Radspeichen eines Bugattis verfing und sie zu Tode strangulierte.Damit stellt die Bühnenkonstruktion, drehbar um den zentralen Pfeiler des Raumes, den historischen Kern, oder mehr noch, ein fein gesponnenes Netz aus historischen Bezügen, Referenzen und Zitaten dar, das stets auch die persönliche und familiäre Geschichte der Künstlerin integriert und damit im Hier und Jetzt ankert. Die Unauflösbarkeit des für den Betrachter ausgelegten Netzes aus Bezügen, der sich immer wieder verwirrenden Fäden, entspricht dabei einer künstlerischen Methode, die gegenüber der hier von Susanne M. Winterling zitierten avantgardistischen in Zweifel zieht, man könne zu Pudels Kern oder zum „Schwarzen Quadrat“ tatsächlich vordringen, ohne einen Teil der Wahrheit auszublenden. So beschneidet ein offener Kreis, der zugleich den Bezug zum Ausstellungsraum herstellt, das schwarze Quadrat der Bühne und lässt es als unvollendet erscheinen. Denn: „On the displays of light, inside and outside—there might be no victory over the sun”. Die Fotoserie „Die Drehung um sich selbst“ (2008) zeigt Aufnahmen aus einer Berliner Ballettschule, welche die Künstlerin über einen längern Zeitraum immer wieder besuchte, um eine gewisse Vertrautheit der Mädchen mit dem Beobachtet-Werden durch die Kamera zu erreichen. Auf den Fotografien erscheinen die Körper der Mädchen durch die relative Langzeitbelichtung in ihrer Bewegtheit teilweise verschleiert und in ein sanftes goldenes Licht getaucht. Sie bilden damit einen Gegensatz zur Starre der Bühnenkonstruktion mit ihren schwarz kostümierten Puppen. Ihre Bewegungen erscheinen leicht, als ließe sich in diesem geschlossenen Universum der Tanzschule tatsächlich ein Freiraum ertanzen – ganz im utopischen Sinne der Tanzpädagogin Isadora Duncan. Die Videoinstallation „Secret Writing III“ (2006) am Ende eines ansteigenden, dunklen Ganges zeigt eine im Entstehen begriffene Geisterhandschrift, die da wie ein Lehrer mit weißer Kreide auf eine schwarze Tafel zu schreiben scheint: „It does not exist if it is not framed“. Der Gedanke an Derridas Aufsatz „Parergon“ (Beiwerk/Ornament) in “Die Wahrheit in der Malerei” kommt auf. Der Text nimmt als Ausgangspunkt Kants Charakterisierung des Rahmens in seiner „Kritik der Urteilskraft“, nicht als essentielles Element, sondern als eine externe Hinzufügung - Parergon. Nach Kant macht der Rahmen, die Gestalt des eigentlichen Werkes (Ergon) nur deutlicher, definitiver und komplett und zieht die Aufmerksamkeit auf das, was im Inneren des Rahmens geschieht – den Inhalt. Dies, so stellt Derrida fest, macht den Rahmen allerdings zu einem ganz und gar unersetzlichen Ornament – das heißt zu einem konstitutiven Element. Denn erst der Rahmen macht das Werk eigenständig (autonom) innerhalb des Feldes der Sichtbarkeit und bestimmt damit die Bedingungen der visuellen Rezeption. Durch den Rahmen ist ein Bild niemals nur ein Ding unter anderen, sondern er macht es zum Objekt der Kontemplation. Für Derrida antwortet der Rahmen auf ein signifikantes und prinzipielles Fehlen im Werk selbst. Dieses Fehlen macht das “framing” notwendig und nicht nur ornamental und beliebig, wie Kant annimmt, sondern essentiell. Tatsächlich rüttelt Derrida an der Hierarchie von Werk und Rahmen um, ohne eine neue Opposition aus Werk und Nicht-Werk zu etablieren, beide Seiten durch den Verweis auf Paradoxa ihrer Seinsweise in ein dynamisches Verhältnis zu versetzen.Diese bestehen darin, dass der Rahmen das Werk von seinem Kontext zu separieren sucht und dabei ein Objekt durch seine Umhüllung unserer Aufmerksamkeit zuführt, die es sogleich als Kunstwerk versteht und ihm daher einen Bedeutungsgehalt zuschreibt. Der Rahmen löst sich in Bezug auf das Werk im allgemeinen Kontext auf, in Bezug auf den Kontext jedoch löst es sich quasi im Werk auf. Von daher scheint der Rahmen eigentlich vollends zu verschwinden, da er keinen Ort besitzt. So schlägt Derrida vor, nicht mehr von „frame“, sondern nur noch von „framing“ in seiner aktiven Form beziehungsweise von „frame effects“ zu sprechen. „Es gibt Rahmen, aber der Rahmen existiert nicht.“ Insofern kann Susanne Winterlings Videoarbeit, die das Verschwinden des Rahmens zum eigentlichen Thema hat, auch als eine zeitgenössische Neuformulierung von René Magrittes „Ceci n´est pas une pipe” gelesen werden, mit welcher sie formal die naiv anmutende Handschrift auf schwarzem Grund teilt. Während Magritte sich auf die unschließbare Lücke zwischen dem Objekt und seinem Abbild konzentriert und die unvereinbaren Möglichkeiten der Lesbarkeit seiner Darstellung vorführt und schließlich kollabieren lässt, konzentriert sich Susanne M. Winterling nun verstärkt auf das Medium und den Rahmen, jenseits der Darstellung als solcher. Ein auf die Galeriewand projizierter Videofilm, der diese immer wieder neu beschriftet, macht die rahmende Funktion des Ausstellungsortes anschaulich. Die hier wieder und wieder wie von Geisterhand beschrifteten Wände programmieren die Erwartungen der Besucher und disziplinieren ihr Verhalten. Susanne Winterling kehrt somit das “hermeneutic surplus” des Ausstellungsraumes hervor und unterläuft es sogleich, indem sie es zum Gegenstand der Reflexion macht.

Gabriele Brandstetter: Tanzlektüren. Körperbilder und Raumfiguren der Avantgarde, Frankfurt am Main 1995, 35.

Jacques Derrida: Die Wahrheit in der Malerei, (Va vérité en peinture, Paris 1978) aus dem Französischen von Michael Wetzel, Wien 1992, S. 103.

### ENGLISH VERSION ###

»Isadora's Shawl«

by Birgit Kulmer, Parrotta Contemporary Art

With her installation, "Isadora's Shawl " specifically created for the Gallery space, the Berlin based artist undertakes an opinionated rethinking of Modernity and its icons. In her installations and photography she weaves together contradictory moments, such as technology versus the body, artificiality versus natural expression, mysticism versus rationality and thus undermines traditional dualisms of the discourse of modernity. Charles Baudelaire in his essay "Le peintre de la vie moderne" (1863) connected the concept of "modernité" with the properties of the "the transient" (le transitoire), "the fugitive" (le fugitif) and the "the contingent" (le contingent). This describes not only the criteria determining Modernity, but these features also characterize the art of dance, which is as well a theme of "Isadora's Shawl". The strict formal black and white design of the exhibition space is in "Isadora's Shawl" a backdrop of a stage construction, reduced to the form of a maneuverable black square carrying a group of mannequins. Her geometric style evokes the thought of Kasimir Malevich's futuristic costumes from the opera "Victory over the sun". These costumes appeared recently at the Le Corbusier house "Unité D' Habitation (type Berlin)" in a staged performance produced by Susanne M. Winterling called "On the displays of light, inside and outside – there might be no victory over the sun". The black costumes with their chiseled appendage let the bodies of young girls, seem even more fragile and shapeable as their age already entails. Susanne M. Winterling ties her Stuttgart installation together with Oskar Schlemmer's "Triadisches Ballet" in the Stuttgart Staatsgalerie. In this respect the stage is implied, the seating for the audience is absent and the dancers are replaced by mannequins. Schlemmer describes the costumes of his Triadic Ballet as "a link between absolute inhuman puppet and the natural human form." Humans, in particular dancing humans, according to Isadora Duncan, are considered representatives of a higher order; she was considered the pioneer of modern, free dance, not defined however as a mathematical-geometric type like Oskar Schlemmer, but rather thought of as a "natural" body in its oneness of physique and psyche. Isadora Duncan, to which Susanne M. Winterling refers to explicitly with the exhibition title, belonged to the first generation of dancers, who moved away from the position of being purely a performing object and fought for a space for their own ideas of dance. Regarding this, they understood it not only as art, but also as a mission to "heal a damaged civilization". She rejected the rigid framework of the canon of traditional ballet and introduced her "natural" body in the center of an improvised dance - no corset, no pointe shoes - but barefoot in a Hellenistic-style robe, to which her flowing silk scarf belongs. She oriented herself to the ancient images of dance - and everyday life scenes taking over their movement peculiarities. She founded dance schools,the first in 1904 in Berlin, where she taught for free and paid for the room and board of her pupils. Isadora Duncan's dancing was like any dance - an art of the moment, from which there is as good as no documentation - only taken by camera, seeming to stand still- poses that are frozen. This Liaison of dance and photography underlies a peculiar closeness with dance, transience and death. This proximity is accentuated by the title of the exhibition "Isadora's Shawl", because this is what brought the dancer to her fatal death, when her scarf got caught in the wheel spokes of a Bugatti car and strangled her to death. Thus the stage construction, swivelling over the central column in the space, symbolizes the historic core, or even more so- a finely spun web from historical implications, references and quotations, which also integrates the personal and family history of the artist and thus anchors it in the here and now. The durable weave of the network of implications for the observer, which is again and again a thread that gets tangled up, corresponds to the artistic practice of Susanne M.Winterling who is cited doubting the opposite method to hers- that of the avant-garde, in which one could indeed advance towards "des Pudels Kern" (the crux of the matter) or to the "Black Square", without blocking out a bit of the truth. So an open circle, which is a reference to the exhibition space, cuts the black square on the stage making it seem unfinished. Because: "On the displays of light, inside and outside, there might be no victory over the sun".

"On the displays of light, inside and outside - there might be no victory over the sun", in: Le Corbusier Haus "Unité d'Habitation (Type Berlin)", at the 5th Berlin Biennial.

The photo series "Die Drehung um sich selbst" (2008) shows photographs from a Berlin ballet school, which the artist visited repeatedly over a long period time in order to obtain from the students a certain level of confidence in front of the camera. In the photographs the bodies of the girls appear, through the relatively long exposure time, partially veiled in their movement and plunged into a soft golden light. They form thereby a contrast to the rigidity of the stage construction with its black costumed mannequins.Their movements appear easy, as if in this closed universe of the dance school they were actually dancing to achieve freedom - in the complete Utopian sense that Isadora Duncan taught.

The video installation "Secret Writing III" (2006) projected at the end of a rising, dark corridor shows a emerging ghost hand writing: "It does not exist if it is not framed" appearing like a teacher writing with white chalk on a blackboard. The thought of Derrida's essay "Parergon" (accessories/ornament) comes to mind from "The Truth in Painting". The text takes as its starting point Kant's characterization of framework in his "Critique of the Power of Judgment", not as an essential element but rather as an external addition - Parergon. According to Kant, the framework makes the shape of the actual work (Ergon), more clear, definitive and complete drawing attention to what is done inside of the framework - the content. This, determines Derrida, makes the framework, however, an utterly irreplaceable ornamentation - that is a constitutive element. Because only the frame makes the work independent (autonomous) within the field of the visibility and determines thereby the conditions of the visual reception. Through the frame a picture is never just one thing among others, but rather it makes it the object of contemplation. For Derrida the framework answers to a significant and principle absence in the work itself. This absence makes "framing" necessary and not only ornamental and arbitrary, as Kant assumes, but essential. Indeed Derrida shakes up the hierarchy of work and framework, without establishing a new opposition from the work and non-work, to transfer both sides by reference to the paradox of its being into a dynamic relationship. This consist in the fact that the frame seeks to separate the work from its context and thereby grabs our attention to an object through its encasement, which one understands immediately as a work of art and is able to attribute meaning to it. The framework resolves itself in relation to the work in a general context, however in relation to the context it resolves itself in the work. Hence the frame actually seems to disappear completely, because it has no place. So Derrida proposes to speak no longer about "frame", but rather only of "framing" in its active form or to be precise, of "frame effects". "There is framing", says Derrida, but the frame does not exist. To the extent that Susanne Winterling's video work, has the disappearance of the frame being the actual subject, it can be read, also as a contemporary formulation of René Magrittes "Ceci n´est pas une pipe", with which it shares the same naively seeming handwriting on a black background. While Magritte concentrates on the space that one is not able to fill between the object and its image and demonstrates the incompatible possibilities of the legibility of its representation, and lets it collapse in the end, Susanne M. Winterling concentrates now on reinforcing the medium and the frame, beyond the representation as such. A video film project on the gallery wall, which consists of this handwriting written over and over, makes the framing function of the exhibition space clear. Here again and again the ghost handwriting on the wall programs the expectations of visitors and disciplines their behavior. Susanne Winterling thus reverses the "hermeneutic surplus" of the exhibition space and immediately undermines it by making it the subject of the reflection.

Gabriele Brandstetter: Dance Readings. Body images and figures of the avant-garde space, Frankfurt am Main 1995, 35

Jacques Derrida: The Truth in Painting, (Va vérité en peinture, Paris 1978) from the French by Michael Wetzel, Vienna 1992, p. 103

Spinnweben und Seifenblasen

Feingesponnene Netze über biederem Holzparkett. Susanne M. Winterling in der Bawag Contemporary. Von Andrea Heinz.

In: an.schläge – Das feministische Magazin, März 2009.

Das glänzende Parkett in der Bawag Contemporary stört ein wenig. Es passt so gar nicht zu den Arbeiten von Susanne M. Winterling, die gerne als „feingesponnenes Netz“ bezeichnet werden. Winterling koche „Filme, Fotocollage und Recherchematerial auf Essenzen für bezaubernde Hexen ein“, erklärt mir der Pressetext. Bezaubernde Hexen also. Märchenhaft, Feenhaft - oder eben: „weiblich“. Das Ewig-Weibliche schon wieder. Ich denke an ein altmodisches, leicht verstaubtes Boudoir, Wolken aus Puder und Parfum. „roccoco smells like teen spirit“ begrüßt eine/n die Homepage von Susanne Winterling, und so kann man es natürlich auch sagen.  Auf den ersten Blick ist die Ausstellung vor allem eines: wunderschön anzusehen. Sie versetzt in eine Welt, die meterweit über dem biederen Holzparkett schwebt. Eine Märchenwelt, wenn man so will. Und erst, wenn man ein paar Lagen Tüll und Spitze weggeschoben, wenn man den Staub und den Puder weggepustet hat, sieht man, welche Unmenge an Bezügen und Beziehungen dahinter steckt. Ein feingesponnenes Netz, das ist es tatsächlich. Und die Schönheit scheint nur da zu sein, um das Wissen, das dahinter steckt, haltbar zu machen.  „I'll be your mirror but I'll dissolve“ heißt die Fotoserie, die eine/n in der Ausstellung begrüßt. Schimmernde Seifenblasen vor schwarzem Grund. Ein 16mm Film projiziert die Seifenblasen an die Wand. Lässt sie im Raum schweben – und verschwinden.  Dahinter eine weitere Fotoserie, unscheinbar anmutend, tatsächlich aber so etwas wie das Herz der Ausstellung. Schwarz-Weiß-Abzüge, teilweise Collagen, die verschiedene Bilder wie Netze übereinanderlegen. Es scheinen Darstellungen von Schönheit und Weiblichkeit zu sein, Darstellungen, die gefallen wollen. Nur, wenn man genauer hinsieht (und oft reicht das nicht eimal, man muss genauer nachlesen, genauer nachforschen) entdeckt man, dass die Schönheit nur der Köder ist. Und sich dahinter eine Botschaft verbirgt. Einige der Abzüge zeigen Standbilder aus Filmen. Effi Briest von Rainer Maria Fassbinder. A Swiss Rebel von Carole Bonstein. Kes von Ken Loach. Daneben das Buchcover des Sammelbandes Early Sorrows. Selected by Charlotte Zolotow. Es geht um das Erwachsenwerden. Und es geht um Frauenbilder.   Effi Briest: Vernünftig verheiratet mit dem um Jahrzehnte älteren, steifen und pflichtbewussten Baron Innstetten. Effi ist jung uns sie will leben. Sie flüchtet in eine Affäre mit dem gleichfalls älteren, aber wesentlich leichtlebigeren Major Crampas. Am Ende ist Effi ausgestoßen aus Familie und Gesellschaft, Crampas tot – und Innstetten todunglücklich.   Annemarie Schwarzenbach: Schweizer Schriftstellerin und Journalistin, Antifaschistin, morphinsüchtig und lesbisch. Das Verhältnis zu ihrer reichen und vor allem rechten Familie ist naturgemäß nicht eben das Beste. Klaus und Erika Mann sind dafür ihre Freunde, Carson Mc Cullers, Autorin von The heart is a lonely hunter, verliebt sich Hals über Kopf in sie.   Und schon sind wir ein bisschen weiter ins Netz gegangen. Denn Carson Mc Cullers hat eine Kurzgeschichte für den Sammelband Early Sorrows geschrieben. Ausgewählt und veröffentlicht von der (Kinderbuch-)Autorin, Dichterin und Verlegerin Charlotte Zolotow. „Ten storys of youth“ heißt es im Untertitel. Eine story of youth ist auch der Film Kes von Ken Loach, filmstill auf einem weiteren Foto. Und auf der Homepage von Susanne Winterling finden wir gleich eine ganze Liste von Filmen über das weibliche Erwachsenwerden. Das Netz zieht sich zu. Um Identität geht es hier, um Rollen, die man suchen und finden muss, die so weit über das vielzitierte und doch schemenhaft gebliebene Ewig-Weibliche hinausgehen und genauso facettenreich und vielseitig sind, wie die Bilder von Susanne Winterling.  Das Rattern des Projektors links neben mir lenkt meinen Blick ab von der Fotoserie, hin zu den zwei Frauen, die vor mir an die Wand geworfen werden: Sie stehen sich gegenüber, schwarz gekleidet vor schwarzem Hintergrund. Zwischen ihnen wandert ein hell-beiger Trenchcoat. Eine zieht ihn an. Schließt einen Knopf. Öffnet den einen Knopf wieder. Zieht den Mantel aus. Gibt ihn der anderen. Die zieht ihn an. Schließt einen Knopf... und so weiter. Bis in alle Ewigkeit. Le sens pratique heißt der Film, Gefühl für das Praktische, das Zweckmäßige. Vielleicht auch die Sachlichkeit. Wem der Mantel gehört, wissen wir nicht. Warum er weitergegeben wird auch nicht. Zum Schutz, aus Fürsorge – oder aus Zwang. Um die andere abhängig zu machen, zu bevormunden – oder um Zuneigung auszudrücken. Ist die Fürsorge, die vorgebliche Zuneigung am Ende nur eine ganz perfide (eine sehr sachliche und praktische) Art, sich das Gegenüber zu unterwerfen?   Daneben, noch eine Frau. Sie wendet mir den Rücken zu und sie sieht aus, als wäre sie das, was gemeinhin professionell genannt wird. Kurze dunkle Haare, schwarze Kleidung, einzig der steife weiße Kragen und die ebenso sauberen weißen Manschetten blitzen hervor. Sie hält eine Geige in der Hand und die Betrachterin erwartet sich so einiges. Was sie bekommt, ist Vogelgezwitscher, übertönt nur von erbärmlichem Gequietsche und Gekratze.  Erklärt wird der Besucherin wenig in dieser Ausstellung. Im Gegenteil: Allein steht sie auf besagtem Parkettboden, vor sich fallende Seifenblasen und zwei Frauen, die einen Mantel aus- und anziehen. Das ist nicht die Schwäche dieser Ausstellung, es ist ihre Stärke. Sie fragt uns, in wem wir uns spiegeln – und ob dieser Spiegel, der uns doch ein Stück weit Identität geben soll, nicht vielleicht nur eine Seifenblase ist, im Begriff, sich aufzulösen. Sie fragt uns, wer uns einen Mantel gibt, um uns vor Kälte, Wind und Regen zu schützen – und ob wir nicht vielleicht manchmal besser im Regen stehen bleiben, die Kälte aus- und dem Wind standhalten. Und schließlich bringt sie uns dazu, mehr über die Art von Frauenleben zu erfahren, über die selten und wenig gesprochen wird. Denn vielleicht kann man von denen, die nur schwer zu entdecken sind, mehr lernen, als von denen, die vor uns stehen und aussehen, als würden sie alles richtig machen.  Und so gibt es letzten Endes nur Eines auszusetzen an dieser Ausstellung (neben dem Parkett natürlich, aber was soll man machen): Zu klein ist sie.     

I is Another

In: MOUSSE – contemporary art magazine, Februar/März 2009.

By Stefania Palumbo.

Adolescenti alla “ricerca di un proprio tempo perduto” – arrabbiati, impauriti, congelati sull’orlo di un trampolino o di un tetto; icone femminili anticonformiste degli anni Venti, come la Marchesa Casati, Isadora Duncan o Eileen Gray - a cui s’ispirava il film in 16 mm presentato all’ultima Biennale di Berlino nella suggestiva cornice della Neue Nationalgalerie di Mies van der Rohe – che complessivamente forgiano un’identità femminile universale, e allo stesso tempo un’“autobiografia impossibile”, se assimilata a quella dell’artista. Al centro del lavoro della tedesca Susanne Winterling, classe 1971, è sempre l’individuo, la sua biografia, la sua personalità, fluida e mutevole, restituita attraverso dissolvenze incrociate in una coreografia basata sulla simmetria e la ripetizione. Il risultato è un’immagine allo specchio, che assieme alla persona riflessa restituisce il suo background nell’accezione di passato, contesto, temporalità.

Stefania Palumbo: Vorrei cominciare l’intervista con una domanda sui tuoi studi. Filosofia e storia dell’arte al college, un periodo all’Università di Tubinga – una delle più antiche della Germania – e poi l’approdo alla pratica artistica. Pensi che nel tuo lavoro si vedano tracce di questo percorso?

Innanzitutto, non la vedrei come una questione di progressione temporale. La mia formazione era tipica della tradizione umanista, e si inquadrava nella mia estrazione familiare. Per me non era possibile dire che aspiravo a essere un’artista, avevo una certa responsabilità verso la mia provenienza sociale. Il mio background era un po’ l’antitesi delle tante famiglie hippy che giravano all’epoca. Per me era più appropriato iscrivermi all’università e studiare filosofia e storia dell’arte, in modo da avere sbocchi nelle attività umanistiche in senso lato (i miei avrebbero voluto che lavorassi nella diplomazia). Comunque per me lo studio era un piacere, ero una bambina molto curiosa, sempre immersa in pensieri contorti. Amavo i libri e cercavo di crearmi un mondo tutto mio, fatto di immagini, idee e sogni. È un po’ quello che faccio oggi, non ho fatto molti progressi, in fin dei conti. Forse mi piaceva l’avventura, e da questo punto di vista il mondo della filosofia è impagabile. Tuttavia, ho sempre desiderato costruire cose visibili, o almeno puntarci sopra un riflettore, ma un riflettore sensoriale: non mi accontentavo di parlare e scrivere. I miei progetti, quindi, erano sempre più spesso legati all’arte e al cinema, e ho iniziato a girare i miei primi video – preferirei chiamarli studi – mentre scrivevo la tesi sulla filosofia analitica e la fenomenologia, e nel frattempo studiavo la teoria femminista del cinema. La mia esperienza formativa più importante, però, è stata la partecipazione a un collettivo artistico, Academy Isotrop, i cui fondatori non erano tutti artisti.

Come definiresti il tuo concetto di estetica in arte?

È una domanda troppo generica, non so da che parte cominciare… Forse, in modo altrettanto generico, potrei definire il mio approccio fenomenologico, con un accento sull’inclusione dei fenomeni culturali.

Il protagonismo delle figure femminili sembra essere una costante nel tuo lavoro, un interesse di solito espresso attraverso immagini e storie di donne importanti e di grande fascino, come Annemarie Schwarzenbach, la marchesa Luisa Casati, Eileen Gray, Isadora Duncan. Sembra emergerne una sorta di identità femminile universale. Da dove nasce questo interesse?

L’identità potrebbe essere paragonata a una membrana nella sua oscillazione tra esperienze condivise e private, cioè soggettive. La ricerca di quella che chiamiamo identità sembra profondamente radicata nell’animo umano. Simboleggia anche la struttura organica e reticolare di ciò che compone una personalità, e magari spinge una persona a studiare, o a farsi affascinare da un amante vecchio o nuovo, dall’autore di un libro che ti ha preso, da un film da cui ti sei sentito di colpo toccato, o anche offeso. A mio modo di vedere, tutto ciò crea un groviglio complesso, molto prolifico in termini espressivi e per il modo in cui forza i confini sensoriali, ma anche l’interazione sociale e politica. Mi permette di essere amica intima di un regista del quale adoro i film, per esempio, o di instaurare un dialogo con una persona di cui sto studiando le idee. Il fatto che queste persone siano spesso – ma non sempre – donne è, in un certo senso, una coincidenza, ma definisce un punto di riferimento forte. Inoltre, richiede un’attenzione speciale al dettaglio e rimanda verso una torre d’avorio di perfezione ed eccellenza, che pur restando sempre irraggiungibile, continua a splendere davanti ai nostri occhi.

Un altro aspetto caratteristico del tuo lavoro è un’indagine quasi ossessiva e un forte interesse per l’età dell’adolescenza. In questo caso, però, il tuo approccio appare più scientifico e analitico, quasi documentaristico.

Anche questo nasce dall’attenzione per l’individuo, solo che è stato incorporato nell’approccio più concettuale di cui parlavo prima. Ci riporta ai punti di intersezione tra l’identità culturale e una storia personale vissuta sulla propria pelle. Come hai detto tu, i personaggi sono la parte più importante di queste storie, come nelle installazioni, in cui vorrei vedere lo spettatore coinvolto in un dialogo con il lavoro. O, nel caso dei ritratti, in un dialogo con la persona rappresentata, come se si volesse ricrearne la presenza.

Tu stessa hai parlato di “autobiografia impossibile” riguardo alla tendenza, particolarmente accentuata nel video Piles of Shades (2006), a combinare le immagini di diverse icone femminili con la tua, in un sistema di dissolvenze incrociate che impone un ritmo particolare al tuo universo di modelli. In questo modo, la possibilità che lasci allo spettatore di entrare a far parte di questo processo di auto-identificazione diventa più seducente, più fluida, quasi ipnotica (come nel video Le sens practique, 2005), in cui due donne vestite di nero da capo a piedi, contro uno sfondo nero, continuano a ripetere il gesto di mettere un cappotto beige una sulle spalle dell’altra). Una specie di riflesso simmetrico. Pensi che il ritmo conti nel tuo lavoro?

Nell’idea di autoritratto o autobiografia c’è qualcosa di molto stimolante, benché si sappia che può essere solo un’approssimazione del tuo personaggio, mai la sua vera storia o la tua essenza più autentica. Te lo fa capire quel certo nucleo di verità nelle situazioni, come quando dici “Non potrò mai sentire il dolore che provi tu”. Mi sembra più sensato provare a creare un atteggiamento o una percezione sensoriale simile, per renderlo comunicabile. Per questo mi interessano tutte le influenze che un’identità può subire nel suo sviluppo, forse perché sono loro a determinare le nostre idee e le nostre azioni, a volte più della situazione in cui effettivamente ci troviamo. Comunque, l’identità non è mai qualcosa di fisso, ma resta fluida, mutevole, fondata sulla performance e sulle esperienze. Ha bisogno di una rappresentazione continua, che ti torna sempre indietro, a volte dolce, a volte amara.

Le dissolvenze sono punti di cambiamento, e aprono una prospettiva nuova, pur essendo fondate su una coreografia visiva che sfrutta la simmetria e la ripetizione. Allo stesso modo, sperimentare il suono della musica come una cosa strutturata, o dotata di un certo ritmo, può aumentarne la forza e la bellezza (come il vecchio esempio delle cellule e degli organismi al microscopio).

Torniamo a riflettere sull’importanza dell’immagine dello specchio nel tuo lavoro, e dei suoi vari significati filosofici: ha forse a che vedere con un’appropriazione del mondo reale? Una specie di filtro attraverso il quale guardi le cose?

Beh, forse mi sono fatta prendere la mano, comunque penso che tu abbia ragione; anzi, mi spingerei ancora più in là: non è solo un filtro, perché sta alla base del significato della rappresentazione. Per citare Rimbaud: “Io sono un altro”. L’immagine dello specchio, come ha sottolineato Lacan, ha un ruolo cruciale nello sviluppo dell’individuo e sembra non coinvolgere solo la persona o la cosa riflessa, ma le circostanze, il contesto e la temporalità.

Tornando alle tue indagini sull’adolescenza, potresti parlarmi della performance con i teenager? Quale parte hai affidato loro nella tua esplorazione?

L’adolescenza è un periodo magico e traumatico. Ci sono tante decisioni ed esperienze da fare, e si vivono con una sensibilità speciale, cui di rado viene riconosciuto il giusto peso. Nei cultural studies si indaga il modo in cui questa fase della vita ha trovato un’espressione culturale nel corso delle epoche. D’altra parte, però, l’adolescenza rimane un fatto del tutto individuale, e forse rappresenta una sorta di “ricerca del tempo perduto” per chiunque, me compresa; per esempio, ho sempre cercato di capire come mai io e mia sorella eravamo venute così diverse. No, per essere più sincera, ciò che faccio potrebbe essere descritto come l’accensione di un riflettore su alcuni momenti e gesti degli adolescenti che riprendo o con cui lavoro in una performance. Come se estrapolassi un elemento e lo rendessi astratto, per poterlo condividere. Come in una delle mie performance, dove una nuotatrice adolescente esita sul bordo di un trampolino. Era la scena di un video che avevo girato e, durante il montaggio, quel momento mi era sembrato così intenso che avevo desiderato riprodurlo senza il filtro mediatico del video, così l’ho trasformato in una performance. Nel video era un momento toccante, ma breve e privo di “importanza”, mentre per la ragazzina era un fatto cruciale. Lo stesso accade nel gioco-danza casuale attorno a fonti di luce naturale come esperienza dell’architettura, o negli adolescenti suicidi sul tetto. Al tempo stesso, però, nelle installazioni e nei collage ci sono riferimenti letterari, come gli adolescenti arrabbiati che suonano i tamburi: un’idea presa dal Tamburo di latta di Günther Grass, un film e un libro che da adolescente mi facevano arrabbiare, ma che in qualche modo devono avere avuto un impatto su di me, e l’idea di suonare il tamburo per smettere di crescere mi sembra molto affascinante.

Spesso, nel lavoro degli artisti si possono trovare tracce della loro storia privata. Fino a che punto sei consapevole della tua esperienza e riesci a elaborarla nel tuo lavoro?

Forse anche questo è legato al fascino dello specchio, il modo in cui ti sforzi di trovare queste tracce o non riesci a fare a meno di trovarle, e reagisci a esse. Per esempio, la storia della villa di Eileen Gray a Cap Martin, e tutto il contesto mi avevano fatto arrabbiare, e sono certa che la ragione vada cercata nella mia esperienza personale, ma la sua influenza diventava molto più generale. Forse vi erano connessi ricordi e momenti del passato, come quando un collega della scuola di cinema e arte dopo la presentazione dei nostri film (in cui io figuravo come unica regista donna) mi disse: “Oh, è un film molto bello, non solo perché sei una ragazza”. O quando l’insegnante di fisica mi insultò davanti a tutta la classe perché cercavo di protestare contro l’energia nucleare, anche se i miei voti erano tra i più alti, e non mi fu neanche permesso di esporre la mia argomentazione. Lui fece allusioni ai miei problemi familiari; avrei voluto sotterrarmi. Stupidi episodi come questo restano incisi dentro di te, e non è facile affrontarli su un piano razionale. D’altro canto, mi sembra più importante lavorare con le cose che ti piacciono e ti sembrano importanti: per esempio, la storia del cinema delle origini, o il rapporto di una forma astratta con lo spazio. Per concludere, penso di non elaborare nulla, sono più che altro in balia degli eventi.

Per te è importante il contesto in cui sei invitata a esporre, o il rapporto che il tuo lavoro può instaurare con la storia e l’architettura del luogo. In Eileen Gray, The Jewel and Troubled Water (2008), presentato alla 5° Biennale di Berlino, il film in 16mm riguardava lo scenario in cui era esposto il lavoro, la Neue Nationalgalerie di Mies van der Rohe.

Spesso mi sembra necessario, ma in genere è solo un’altra declinazione dell’approccio site-specific. La Nationalgalerie, come tutti sanno, è un capolavoro dell’architettura, e ha avuto anche un suo ruolo storico e politico. La possibilità di lavorarci era una sfida, e un privilegio di cui mi sento molto grata. Era una parte necessaria dell’installazione, in cui tuttavia rientravano molte altre influenze, indagini e discussioni che avevo approfondito, oltre al concept dei curatori della Biennale. Forse alcune parti sono imponenti e sembrano offuscare la composizione nel suo complesso, ma con gli stessi pezzi si potrebbe realizzare una composizione finale completamente diversa. E a me sembra più importante quello che può succedere se lasci che queste parti interagiscano o si leghino in modi diversi. In questo caso, ho considerato la visione e la storia della nuova rappresentazione moderna della Germania con occhi diversi, sullo sfondo dei dibattiti attorno alla teoria dell’architettura di quel periodo e il suo rapporto con la fotografia, che mi aveva portato al lavoro di Eileen Gray.

Una parola sui tuoi progetti per il futuro?

Beh, in questo momento faccio roba così seria, penso che dovrei lavorare su qualcosa di più leggero.

I is Another (Engl.)

By Stefania Palumbo

Adolescents “in search of their own lost time” – angry, frightened, frozen at the edge of a trampoline or a roof; non-conformist female icons of the Twenties, like Marchesa Luisa Casati, Isadora Duncan or Eileen Gray – inspiration for the 16mm film shown at the last Berlin Biennial in the evocative setting of the Neue Nationalgalerie by Mies van der Rohe – who together convey a universal feminine identity and, at the same time, an “impossible autobiography”, if compared to that of the artist. The focus of the work of the German artist Susanne Winterling, born in 1971, is always the individual and biography, the fluid, mutable personality portrayed through crossfades in a choreography based on symmetry and repetition. The result is always an image in the mirror, a reflection of the person but also of their background, in the sense of past, context and times.

Stefania Palumbo: I’d like to start off the interview with a question about your studies. Philosophy and art history in college, a period at the University of Tübingen – one of the oldest in Germany – and then you arrived at artistic practice. Do you think traces of this path can be seen in your work?

First, I would like to look at this not as a matter of linearity in time, since my education in general was very average in the humanist tradition, but I was very much aware of it due to my family background. It was not really possible for me to just say I wanted to do art. Somehow I had a kind of social responsibility towards where I came from. And that background was maybe the opposite of a lot of hippie families around that time. So it seemed more appropriate to go to university and study philosophy and art history since that still offered options in the humanities in general (my parents wanted me to become a diplomat). And of course I wanted to study, I was a very curious child, always caught up in weird thoughts. And I loved books and creating my own world out of images, ideas and dreams. Kind of what I still do, I guess I did not make it very far.

Maybe adventurous is a good description, and the world of philosophy is an amazing place for that. But I always wante to make things visible or shine a spotlight on them, a sensual spotlight, and writing and talking seemed not to be the right thing. So I ended up doing more and more art and film-related projects, shooting my first videos – I would rather call them studies – and at the same time writing my thesis on analytical philosophy/phenomenology and also working on feminist film theory. But maybe my major educational experience was an art collective, Academy Isotrop, that was founded with a group of people, not all of them artists.

What is your concept of aesthetics in art?

This question is too general, I don’t know how to approach it… but maybe with the same generality I could say I am a phenomenologist with an emphasis on the inclusion of cultural phenomena.

The centrality of female figures seems to be a constant in your work, an interest often expressed in your pieces through images and stories of important, evocative women like Annemarie Schwarzenbach, Marchesa Luisa Casati, Eileen Gray, Isadora Duncan. A sort of universal female identity seems to emerge. Where does this interest come from?

Identity could be compared to a membrane in its oscillation between shared experiences and private ones, in the sense of subjective experience. The entire search for what one might call identity seems to be very human and basic. It also symbolizes the organic network structure of what sums up a personality, and maybe what leads one to study and become fascinated by a new or old lover, the author of a book one got involved in, or

a movie one suddenly finds oneself touched or hurt by. As far as I can see, this creates a complex tangle that is very rich in terms of expression and the way it pushes sensual boundaries, as well as social interaction and politics. It does allow me to be close friends with someone whose films I adore, for example, or enables a dialogue with someone whose ideas I am exploring.

The fact that these are mostly – but not always – female is, shall we say, a coincidence, but defines a strong point of reference. Moreover, it calls for special attention to details and gestures up to an ivory tower of perfection and excellence, which of course is always out of reach, but glowing nevertheless.

Another specific aspect of your work is an almost obsessive investigation, an interest in the age of adolescence. Here, however, your attitude seems more scientific, analytical, almost documentary.

It is the same kind of fascination with the individual, and I guess this just got incorporated into the more conceptual approach I was outlining before. It does draw the circle back to the intersection points of cultural identity and a personal “within this skin” history. And as you say, the characters in all these stories are the most important part, just as in an installation I would like the viewer to be engaged in a dialogue through the work. Or in the portraits, to engage with person that is in the portrait, perhaps as if recreating their presence.

You yourself have spoken of “impossible autobiography” in reference to the tendency, particularly evident in the video Piles of Shades (2006), to combine different images of female icons with your own in a fade-in fade-out that seems to give a particular rhythm to your entire world of references. The chance you give spectators to become part of this process of selfidentification is thus made more seductive, more fluid, almost hypnotic (like in the video Le sens practique (2005), in which two women completely dressed in black, against a black background, constantly repeat the gesture of putting a beige coat on each other’s shoulders). A sort of symmetrical reflection. Do you think there is a rhythm to your work?

There is something interesting in the idea of a self-portrait or an autobiography, but you always know it might just be close to the character, but never their real story or their core, a certain truth to the situation tells you that, like the “I can never feel your pain” discussion. But doesn’t it make more sense to try to create a similar attitude and sensual perception in order to communicate? So I am curious about all the influences an identity can undergo in its development, perhaps especially since this is what determines our actions and ideas, sometimes even more strongly than the actual situation. And identity might not be a stable thing anyway, but fluid, changing, and based on performance and stories. It needs permanent performance and will always be thrown back to you, sometimes sweet, sometimes bitter.

The fades and dissolves are points of change first, and they open up another perspective while being based on a visual choreography that works with symmetry and repetition. Like experiencing the sound of music as one that is structured, or has a rhythm, can be part of its beauty or strength (like the old example of cells and organisms under the microscope).

Reflecting again on the importance of mirror imagery in your work, and its different philosophical meanings: does it perhaps have to do with summing up the real world? A sort of vehicle through which you look at things?

Oh, maybe I got sidetracked, but yeah, I think you are right; but I would even go further: it’s not just a vehicle for me because it is so much at the bottom of what representation is about. And I would go with Rimbaud, the “I is another”. The mirror image has such a crucial role in the development of the individual, as Lacan focused on, and it also seems to never just involve who or what is mirrored, but the circumstances, the framework and the temporality.

Going back to your examinations of adolescence, could you talk to me about your performance pieces that feature teenagers? What part of your exploration is entrusted to them?

Teenage times are magical or traumatic. There are so many decisions and experiences made with a certain sensitivity that is not necessarily valued, but is special anyway. It’s a topic of cultural studies how this has found expression in our culture over the ages. But on the other hand, it’s very individual, and maybe it’s like an “in search of lost time” phenomenon for everybody, including me; trying to find out how my sister and I came to be so different, for example. No, to be more sincere, what I do could be described as shining a spotlight onto certain moments and gestures of these teenagers that I portray or work with in a performance. Like the extraction or abstraction of it, in order to share it. As in one of my performances where a teenage swimmer acts out doubt and withdrawal on a diving board. It was a scene in some video material I shot, and when I edited it I thought this moment was so intense that I wished I could have that without being conscious of the video medium, and then I turned it into a performance. In the video it was a beautiful moment, but very small and of no “importance”, but for her it was a big issue. Or the random dance-walk-play around natural spots of light as an experience of architecture, as well as the suicidal teenagers on its roof. But in the same way, in the installations or collages there are references like the angry teenagers playing the drums: an idea from Günther Grass’s The Tin Drum, a film and book I was actually angry at as a teenager, but it must have made an impression on me somehow, and the idea of playing the drum to stop growing is quite fascinating, I think.

In the work of many artists one can find traces of their personal history. To what extent are you aware of your own experience and able to manage it in your work?

Yeah, maybe that’s also connected to the fascination with mirroring, the way you try to find these traces or cannot help finding them, and you just react to it. Like the story of Eileen Gray’s house in Cap Martin and the context gradually made me feel very uncomfortable and angry, and I am sure that is based on my own experiences as well, but reaches such a wider influence that it becomes scary. Maybe connected to it were memories and moments like when a colleague in film/art school after the presentation of our films (where I was the only woman director) said to me “Oh, it’s a really good film, not just because you are a girl”. Or my physics teacher calling me names in front of the whole class when I tried to argue against nuclear power, even though my grades were among the best, and I was not even allowed to begin my argument. He referred to my problematic family background; I think I wanted to turn into a rock. Small things like that get written into you, and I guess they’re difficult to approach just rationally. On the other hand, somehow it’s more important to work with the things you care about and that are important to you; this can even be the early steps of film history, or the relation of an abstract form to space. So I guess I don’t really manage, I am more of a weirdo.

You place importance on the context in which you are invited to exhibit, the relationship that your work can have with the history of a place and its architecture. In Eileen Gray, The Jewel and Troubled Water (2008), presented at the 5th Berlin Biennial, the 16mm film regarded the setting in which the work was displayed, the Neue Nationalgalerie by Mies van der Rohe.

Very often it does seem necessary to me, but maybe sometimes that can be another form of being site-specific. The national gallery is of course a very special piece of architecture, and moreover, there is its history and political role. And the chance to work with it was like a challenge, as well as something I was thankful for. It was a necessary part of the installation, which also had many other influences, investigations and discussions I was interested in ,as well as the curators’ idea for the biennial.

Maybe some parts are huge and make up a lot of the whole composition, but with the same huge part you could make a completely different final composition. And I guess it seems more important to me what can happen if you make these parts interact or relate in different ways. In this case, I saw the visuality and story of Germany’s new modern representation through different eyes against the background of the discussions in architectural theory around that time and its relation to photography, which had brought me to Eileen Gray’s work.

A word about your upcoming projects?

Oh it all sounds so serious now, I guess I should work on something more playful.

3 SUSANNE M. WINTERLING, EILEEN GRAY, THE JUWEL AND TROUBLED WATER, 2008.

In: Artforum International, Top Ten, Josef Strau, September 2008, S. 183.

Traditionally, organic architecture - termed such, clearly enough, for its dialogues between architectural functions and those of the human bodey - is dismissed as reactionary. But at the Berlin Biennieal, Susanne M. Winterlings's transformation of the Neue Nationalgalerie's two symmetrical coat-check rooms into a set of "lungs" had to be acknowledged as an excellent critical (and hysterical) intervention in a man-made encvironment. Her installation - undermining the tastefully bourgeois space, creating an almost manic sense of insecurity within modernist identity - was a dark site within the museum, but also something quite "alive".

5. berlin biennale für zeitgenössische kunst 5.04. bis 15.06.2008
When things cast no shadow

In: Monopol Magazin, April 2008.

Die 5. berlin biennale für zeitgenössische kunst mit dem Titel „When things cast no shadow“, kuratiert von Adam Szymczyk und Elena Filipovic, bringt Künstler verschiedener Generationen und Nationalitäten bei Tag und bei Nacht in einer Ausstellung zusammen, die versucht, die Vielfalt heutiger Kunstpraxis aufzuspüren. ... (Link to source)

Kunstbiennale Berlin
Was hinter der Faust haust
Von Niklas Maak, in: FAZ.NET

(...)

Architekturtheorie der Doppeldeutigkeiten

Susanne Winterling zum Beispiel hat die Garderobenkabinen ausgeräumt und in ihnen Objekte, Filme und Fotos zu einer suggestiven Architekturtheorie der Doppeldeutigkeiten arrangiert. Aufgelöste Formen, Wiedergänger, Nachbilder, halbscharfe Erinnerungen: alles, was in rationalistischen Bauvisionen keinen Platz hat, versammelt sich hier. Man sieht in einem Film, wie Kondenswasser an den Scheiben der Nationalgalerie herunterläuft, im Wasser brechen sich die Lichter der vorbeifahrenden Autos, die Welt funkelt als chaotisches Bilderkaleidoskop in den Bau hinein und offenbart die Schönheit des Kontrollverlusts. In der Mitte dieses Raums steht schließlich ein Modell; es zeigt den Dachgarten des Hauses der Designerin Eileen Gray. Sie ist das vielleicht prominenteste Opfer männlichen Kontroll- und Gestaltungswahns in der neueren Architekturgeschichte - ihr Freund und Konkurrent Le Corbusier war immer wieder heimlich in ihr Ferienhaus eingedrungen und hatte dort schließlich ungefragt nackte Frauen an die Wände gemalt, was Gray nicht, wie er, als Veredlung, sondern als Gewaltakt empfand.
Es ist noch die Frage, ob man diese Kunst auch versteht, wenn man sich weniger für Architekturgeschichte und -theorie interessiert, und einigen wird dieser Teil der Biennale vielleicht zu subtil und hermetisch erscheinen. Trotzdem ist es spannend, wie da an eine andere, offenere Tradition der Moderne erinnert - und von ihr aus ein Pfad in die Gegenwart gelegt wird. Auch Haris Epaminonda baut aus Versatzstücken Miesscher Architektur einen Ort, der nicht Innen- und nicht Außenraum ist und von seltsamen Zwitterobjekten besiedelt wird. (...)