Josh Müller
Wir wollen kein Theater sondern Kino
Index 1 - 622

26. 11. - 16. 12. 2017
opening: Sa 25. 11. 2017 7pm
finis: Sa 16. 12. 2017 7pm


 
 



Wir wollen kein Theater sondern Kino* I Auszug aus Index 1 - 622
Deutschland. Bilder. Eine Sprache, die uns oft immer noch scheinbar daran hindert 
schwerelose Poesie zu formulieren, weil sie oft so direkt, ungeschmückt und spröde
einem den Atem stocken lässt… für viele immer noch die Sprache der Vollstrecker
bis in die Gegenwart. Dass wir ausgerechnet diesem Land und seinen Menschen den 
Begriff „Romantik“ zuschreiben, bewirkte einst Friedrich Schlegel, der im Wesentlichen den modernen Begriff dessen prägte und welcher sich in der bildenden Kunst z. B. in den Bildern eines Philipp Otto Runge manifestierte. Zunächst in eine Begrifflichkeit von Heimat mutiert und dem Zeitgeist angepasst, sich im wieder aufgebauten Nachkriegs-Deutschland als Gegenwelt präsentierend– der Nährboden für eine neue, nüchterne, spröde Sicht auf die Dinge – hin zu einer Sachlichkeit und Analytik, welche sich in den 70ern u. a. durch Künstler wie Rolf Dieter Brinkmann oder die Bechers formulierte. Die 68er Hippie-Revolution, Sattheit, Depression, Melancholie, Grau, Autos, Industrie, November, Verpuffungen an roten Ampeln, die ins Grün umspringen, dumpfer, mechanischer Lärm. Vom Nebel werden wir reich belohnt für unseren freiwilligen Tausch mit der Realität, denn wir erhalten dafür Magie in ihrer melancholischsten Form. Trotz allem ist er nichts anderes als eine auf dem Boden liegende Wolke. Natürlich müssen Deutsche sich betrinken, ist der Alkoholkonsum in der nördlichen Hemisphäre höher als anderswo. Sehnsucht generiert sich an Orten, diese werden zu imaginären Bühnen, die wir nicht betreten wollen, sondern vom Abseits aus betrachten, um nichts kaputt zu machen – den nötigen Abstand, um sich in Gedanken zu verlieren, sich in DIE Geschichte fallen lassen zu können. Eine gedankliche Aneignung dieser Bühne, auf der wir gerne etwas Flüchtiges inszenieren möchten, ganz für uns allein. Das Verfahren der Verpuffung bietet sich hier als elegante Lösung, eine informelle noch dazu, geradezu gestisch und nicht von langer Dauer, gerade so lange um kurz mit gebotenem Abstand einem Spektakel mit ausgelatschten Interpretationsmodi beizuwohnen. 
Ja, nein, all das kann deutsch?
Es riecht nach aufkeimender Revolte, nach einer gern okkupierten Metapher von zu ernst gemeinter Kritik ...aus einem Stillleben wird ein Film. 
Es klart wieder auf, das Standbild ist wieder eingeschaltet, jetzt kann man gehen, um wieder zu kommen und um erneut auf die Frage eine Antwort zu erhoffen und infolgedessen der Ort einem etwas Neues, Magisches preisgibt, was wir bisher nicht sehen oder wahrnehmen konnten. Ein neuer Film kann gedreht werden, wieder ohne Kamera.


Udo Bohnenberger



Wir wollen kein Theater sondern Kino* 
[We don’t want theatre, we want cinema] Samples from Index 1 – 622

Germany. Pictures. A language that frequently still seemingly inhibits us from formulating weightless poetry because it often so directly, unadorned and unwieldy takes one’s breath… for many still today the language of the executors. That we attribute Romanticism to this country and its people, of all things was once effected by Friedrich Schlegel, who coined its concept, which in fine arts is manifested in the pictures of Philipp Otto Runge, for instance. First mutated to a conception of home and adapted to contemporary zeitgeist, presenting itself as counter-world in rebuilt post-war Germany, the matrix for a new, sober, aloof point of view towards objectivity and analytics, which was framed in the 70s by artists like Rolf Dieter Brinkman or the Bechers. The hippie revolution of ’68, satiety, depression, melancholy, grey, cars, industry, November, deflagrations at red lights turning to green, muffled, mechanical noise. The fog abundantly rewards us for voluntarily swapping it with reality, for we receive magic in its most melancholic form. Nevertheless, it’s nothing other than a cloud lying on the ground. Of course, Germans have to get drunk, for alcohol consumption is higher in the northern hemisphere than elsewhere. Longing is generated in places; these become imaginary stages that we don’t want to enter but instead look at from aside in order not to break something, the required distance to lose oneself in thought, to let oneself drop into THE history – a conceptual appropriation of this stage, on which we would like to direct something ephemeral, only for oneself. The method of deflagration offers an elegant solution here, and also an informal one, virtually gestural and not lasting long; just long enough to briefly witness a spectacle with worn out modes of interpretation from a safe distance. 

Yes, no, German is able of all that?
It smells like germinal revolution, like a readily occupied metaphor for too serious criticism, a still life becomes a film.
It clears up again, the still is switched on again, now you can go, only to return and hope again for an answer to the question, and as a result the place reveals something new, magical that we couldn’t see or sense so far. A new film can be shot, once again without a camera.

Udo Bohnenberger
 
Translation: Jeanette Pacher

*The tiltle was given by Nicolas Jasmin 













 foto: Pascal Petignat

Öffnungszeiten: Während der laufenden Ausstellung!
Sa 15 bis 21 Uhr
und nach tel. Vereinbarung!

 

Kontakt:
Marxergasse 16
A-1030 Wien
0043680 21 63 551
email: offspace@chello.at

 

Mit der freundlichen Unterstützung von:



Rudi Weidenauer - CIRCUMSTANZA
Production - Octavian Trauttmansdorff with FOX

25.06. - 22.07.2017
opening: Sa 24.06.2017 7pm
finis: Sa 22.07.2017 7pm 






„Circumstanza“ – Situations
On Rudolf Weidenauer’s work and modes of action
Everything that is, I’m gonna dump.
Everything that was goes down the urinal.
Only what has no chance of becoming will I diligently go about.

Peter Rühmkorf


“Do something with your life!” A seemingly harmless imperative sentence that demonstrates that life is no longer meaning per se but has become an adjustment variable for supposedly higher purposes. Rudi Weidenauer’s oeuvre was dedicated to questioning life commitment and searched for art forms, which would still allow him and others to live a life. The whole point of artistry is to find this specific endpoint that offers an escape from the usual debris. In this, in the calm when purpose dissolves, a pleasure can emerge that brings something to the fore that no longer serves as commitment to whatever aims that, having no better word, may be called “life”. For it will hardly be all the other nonsense (work, consumption and self-optimisation) that we are constantly told to do.
One of the strategies (if this is what you really want to name it) that Rudi Weidenauer employed was the (so-called) “Scherzl” strategy: ironic sketches and bricolages that indicated something bigger, which in most cases didn’t even exist. Here, the disruption of thoughts was the method. The often sudden end can be considered as emergency measure, for which two reasons can be named: on the one hand, most things Rudi did were an offer of talks. Once the pottering around could be given up in favour of a human encounter or collective daydreaming, it was. On the other hand, to him “works” were deeply suspicious. In his oeuvre, one thus should find a clear rejection of work(s). “People always want to make something, but so much has already been done. Now I should add to this, too?” was one of his characteristic, partly consciously paradoxically outlined thought loops. Frequently after announcing not to do anything, he would sit down and do something. A significant part of his work that would have documented how capable he was at times in being idle in a striking way is – due to certain orders of logic – no longer available. The rest however shows how fragile art is when it keeps its composition open. In some of Rudi Weidenauer’s manifestations that, for their emergence from everyday impulses, can be labelled “true-to-life”, something seems to be clear and visible, only that you can’t pin down what.

At times, Rudi Weidenauer downright suspiciously observed the reception of his work. He knew the pleasure others took in turning his actions into something they had never been, and how he always needed to be on alert to the chasm of conventionalization. At the same time, he inquisitively listened to every interpretation and was privately also pleased about misunderstandings. His unbroken readiness to start and make the next sketch was accompanied by a clear sense for what was too “big” and was threatening to become too “defined”. Once they had left the trail of determined uncertainty, the works turned back to the familiar purpose-driven linkages that thwarts life and makes it sticky. For Rudi Weidenauer, the worst kind of fly glue was the artwork itself. If he had the impression that he was sitting as an artist on an artist’s seat to make an artwork on the artist’s desk, he would crack and go jogging. To him, this was an intolerable constellation. “We’re not even going anywhere near this!”

Frank Jödicke

Translation: Jeanette Pacher
























                   
                                                                                                                                              Foto: Stefan Lux                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     




Öffnungszeiten: 
Während der laufenden Ausstellung!
Sa 15 bis 21 Uhr
und nach tel. Vereinbarung!


Kontakt:
Marxergasse 16
A-1030 Wien
0043680 21 63 551
email: offspace@chello.at


Mit der freundlichen Unterstützung von:













DIY - documenta
26./27.5. 2017 6pm 









documenta DIY

Every five years, a comparatively small town in Northern Germany plays host to one of the world’s largest and arguably most important art exhibitions. This year, the first DIY documenta will be held in Stuttgart and Vienna. . .
The DIY documenta is part Gedankenexperiment, part learning machine, part exhibition. On a much smaller scale and with practically no budget, the DIY documenta looks to evoke the constitutive dichotomies that define its older sister: the local (provincial?) and the universal, the historical survey together with the Momentaufnahme of the present, the critique and celebration of representation, the joyous affirmation of dilettantism and the megalomania of the world encompassing showcase. . .
Masters Students from the Merz Akademie in Stuttgart along with students from the Universität für angewandte Kunst, Vienna, together with their teachers are responsible for the realization of the exhibition. The exhibition will be shown at the art space LOTTE in Stuttgart and FOX in Vienna.


Participants in the exhibition and seminars are Francesca Aldegani, Elena Rosalia Apollonio, Selvi Atas, Chiara Bals, Zahar Bondar, Joost Bottema, Siena Brunnthaler, Hatun Colak, Sophie Marie Csenar, Anna Doppler, Esra Göksu, Marlies Gruber, Tristan Griessler, Isabell Ingber, Rafaella Isnit, Anastasia Jermolaewa, Maura Jasper, Maximilian Jettmar, Ludwig Kittinger, Selma Klima, Philipp Köster, Lili Liang, Samuel Linus Gromann, Léa Manoussakis, Julie Mantwill, Caroline Meyer-Jürshof, Felizitas Moroder, Peter Ott, David Quigley, Aline Rainer, Laura Schäfer, Elisabeth Schmid, Susanne Therese Schwarz, Vincent von Tiedemann, Maria Tsaneva, Christoph Voglbauer, David Weimar, Patrick Wellmann, Florian Wille, Sasha Zalivako.





























Photo: U.B.









Kontakt:

Marxergasse 16
A-1030 Wien
0043680 21 63 551
email: offspace@chello.at


Mit der freundlichen Unterstützung von:























Anna Hofbauer
19.03. - 08.04.2017

opening: Sa 18.03.2017 7pm
finis: Sa 08.04.2017 7pm 










Almost everything I know about “mein Vulkan bricht nur für dich nicht aus Anna Hofbauer” 
[my volcano doesn’t erupt only for you, Anna Hofbauer] 
 at the moment – what I have seen and heard about it – was delivered to me in two black boxes. One, hand-sized, that can’t be opened; the other, the size of a notebook that can. One of their sides is covered with a glass top, and by some kind of trick I know nothing about they are lit up from the inside, giving me an insight on their contents. The tip of my right forefinger runs over the glass of the smaller box without being able to feel much. The glass is perfectly smooth, possibly a bit of dust, grease, just a slight irritation caused by some dried fluid, which is scratched away with a fingernail.
My eye sees green and white pads filled from top to bottom with black letters moving away underneath the glass. In between small drawn figures repeating time and again a certain movement. Two small upright dogs holding an incredibly long stick in each paw that they tap against each other whilst raising the eyebrows. A grinning boy in a cat costume, giving a thumbs up, winking. A rotating ghostly figure that stretches its face around its cheeks, only to let it spring back again. Photographs amongst all this. The fingertip touches one, now covering the whole glass top. Now running from left to right. Successively, views from the studio follow – details of treated clay slabs, black-and-white photographs hanging on a wall, first a long shot, then a close-up, slips of paper with blood tests, a desk seen from above. On its top, tools – clamps, scissors, gloves, glue – and more slabs of raw, unglazed clay, some of them in clamps. A comic book held open by a hand with red fingernails. People around a blue billiard table in a wood-panelled room. The finger stops at a photograph of children climbing on a bronze sculpture made of piled massive parts. It has an odd gleam and corrugated shades; a shot of a slide projection. The tips of thumb and forefinger are pressed against each other and spread apart on the glass. Twice. A strange gesture, especially if you misplace it. I repeat it with my hand in the air at eye level but I can’t ascribe any meaning to it. From your point of view maybe: L-O-L!
Instead, now in close-up, a girl’s face appears who has managed to climb to the top of the sculpture and proudly smiles at the camera. At how many by now?
If I mull over this for too long, my fingers remain idle, the backlight switches off, the glass turns black; the space behind dies away and presents another in which I recognise my own reflection. Almost black-in-black, only the white of the eye stands out.
But precisely because of this analogy with black glass, I’m more interested in the black of the eye. If you move close enough to your bathroom mirror and try to look into it, you will also notice that your eye is a mirror in the mirror, and in it you see your own face. Possibly one of the few expressions this is capable of.
For even if the well-known phrase of ‘the eye as the window to the soul’ suggests something else, taken by itself it is deeply expressionless. What can it disclose apart from a couple of clues regarding a person’s health, if it is clouded or reddened? Indeed, the colouring around the black may carry some culture-bound connotations, nevertheless it essentially remains the same except from its scale when the pupil is widened or narrowed. What can this tell us? Bright or dark surroundings. High, or not.
The houses’ windows in Ghost Stories cannot reflect. They remain without glass panes. Also their other functions, of letting in light and allowing a view, will probably never take effect because the houses they are part of only had another storey built atop in order to increase compensation payments when the settlement in southern China, where they stand, is knocked down.
The exploration of a location, however, follows a principle that we have already dismissed. Photographed slides projected onto a matt screen, a mirror in between, and finally then glass again that the camera zooms in to or zooms out of in order to select its section. The narrative of succession is the result of the order of shots on the film roll; the cuts are to allow for more negatives to fit on the paper for exposure. With the contact sheet, in fact also touch is called into play, in this case that of two smooth surfaces. The light treats all equally, particularly equally long, even if some could have done with more, some with less time. At this point, the feature of the houses’ empty orbital cavities to let in light does play a role, after all. For only due to this do they receive their gloom on the exposed paper.
For the fingers it would be more interesting to actually be able to touch the reliefs they find behind the glass. But I assume that even if I stood in front of them they would remain untouched. Although the form and visual impression are due to irregularities and rises on the surface, it is ultimately and above all a view, a relief. Because with this word I think too strongly of geology and, strained by blackness, imagine looking onto the mountain landscape of Monte Negro and picture how erosion has caused this, I make a serious mistake. For unlike the rock from which the mountains are scratched out of, clay is soft when it is formed. If the surface of Cherries and Bananas evoked a different impression, Anna Hofbauer’s voice explains to me pouring out from a silvery metal crack in the glass whilst I place my ear on it, then this were due to chamotte in the clay. Fired, ground clay that is added to the rest of the clay-and-water mixture, which stays hard and sticks onto the tools when they cut through the soft material, and leaves marks like scratches. In the motif, we encounter another form of looking through the glass. Behind it, three reels divided into sections with coloured symbols are rotating, set off by a pull of the lever. When three of the same stop next to each other, the machine is fired up, spilling a strumming gush of coins.
Both Volcano reliefs show this segmentation, too. They consist of multiple tiles on which smooth parts appear slightly tilted, also partly contrasted by different types of clay that extend the tilt across the grid and together create an abstract depiction of the eponymous motif. Whilst still running my finger over the surface, I discover a possible formal inspiration in the logo of an online casino of the same name, which appears as advertisement in shots of a Southeast European city, and I slowly realise that the pattern’s smoothness has not called any geological associations. And yet, the idea that volcanoes are mountains formed not through erosion but rather through eruption, respectively through first very hot and malleable masses that solidify when they cool down could be quite revealing.
I ignored the aspect of great heat being able to transform matter as banality, although I could see how fire(ing) had at least changed the colours of the clay slabs and I had been told that pieces chip if air is knead in when moulding.
Equally crucial is the scorching heat for forming glass, the material I had so close contact to, which once got glowing can be blown up like a balloon. Allegedly, it always remains to be a fluid, however, even if a hypothermic one. One can notice this in old windows, which thicken towards their bottom as the glass has slowly flowed downwards over the years. The panes that I look at and touch may well have a different composition, having lost this quality. If I remain still however and let the large glass showing a white sheet turn black, and then steadily stare into this blackness for several moments, the spheres of light begin to blow up and flow across it, among others in the colours of cherries and bananas. Without a single sound, and no volcano eruption against the nocturnal sky, it nevertheless blends its own light into the room’s darkness.

Clemens Roesch
transl. Jeanette Pacher



Öffnungszeiten:

Während der laufenden Ausstellung!
Sa 15 bis 21 Uhr
und nach tel. Vereinbarung!

Kontakt:

Marxergasse 16
A-1030 Wien
0043680 21 63 551
email: offspace@chello.at 





































Foto: Stefan Lux

                                    





Mit der freundlichen Unterstützung von: