SLEEK 32 HIGH | LOW by SLEEK Magazine

Magazine for art and fashion

An issue about mountains and valleys and upgrades and downfalls and other things of major and minor importance.

D: 9,50€, A: 11€, CH: 18CHF, I: 12€, F: 12€, Winter ESP: 12€, BENELUX: 11,20€, DK: 110DKR, 2011 /1 2 UK: £9,50, USA/others: US$ 15

Winter 2011

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JOSEPH BEUYS

sleek N°32 High / LOW

democracy is funny

Editorial

English

Contents 26 Subscribe 24 Imprint 28 Contributors 30 Index 32 Shortcuts

100

Above Fashion An interview with Gilles Rosier

deutsch

This really is the last time I’ll be drawing your attention to the situation Es ist wirklich das letzte mal, daß ich an dieser Stelle auf die Lage of our offices, I promise – it’s just that this time it fits the issue’s theme der Büroräume von sleek verweise, versprochen – nur es paßt halt perfectly, seeing as we are so high up, at least by Berlin standards, on the einfach so toll zum Thema dieser Ausgabe, daß unser Büro für Berli14th floor. All good things come from on high, they say. But is that re- ner Verhältnisse ziemlich weit oben liegt, nämlich im 14. Stock, und ally true? Bird shit, suicides, plane crashes and mass exoduses from the wie heißt es doch so schön? Alles Gute kommt von oben. Wobei... church are all arguments to the contrary. And it’s not as if everything ist das wirklich so? Vogelkot, Selbstmörder, Flugzeugabstürze und bad comes from below: plenty of very successful people have worked Massenaustritte aus der Kirche sprechen dagegen. Umgekehrt kommt their way up from the most humble beginnings, many famous writers auch nicht alles Schlechte von unten, viele erfolgreiche Menschen have based their best stories on the lowest points of human existence, haben sich aus den kleinsten Verhältnissen hochgearbeitet, so manch and divers get addicted to the euphoric effects of the deep. berühmter Schriftsteller hat seine besten Geschichten aus dem Bo So we can safely say (at the risk of densatz menschlicher Regungen geklaubt, sounding stuck-up, but that would also fit und Taucher kennen den euphorisierenthematically) that once again we have hit den Rausch der Tiefe. on a theme that only seems simple at first, Insofern können wir (auch wenn wir but once you actually start thinking about jetzt überheblich klingen, aber auch das it, you get so dizzy that you can’t tell up würde ja zum Thema passen) wieder einfrom down anymore. Why, for example, do mal feststellen, ein Thema gefunden zu mountains seem so much smaller than they haben, das nur auf den ersten Blick ein did 200 years ago, although geologically schlichtes ist, einen auf den zweiten aber speaking, probably very little has changed? so schwindelig macht, daß man nicht mehr Why, only a few decades ago, were we all weiß, wo oben und unten ist. Warum zum obsessed with living in high rises, and now Beispiel wirken Berge heute viel kleiner als leave that to the socially underprivileged? noch vor 200 Jahren, obwohl sie damals Why do we run a price check on everything geologisch gesehen wahrscheinlich genauwe purchase online to ensure we pay rock- Bird hat by Fiona Bennett. Photo © Maxime Ballesteros. so hoch waren? Warum fanden wir es noch bottom prices, but are prepared to cough up vor ein paar Jahrzehnten erstrebenswert, exorbitant sums for art? Why do we constantly aim higher and higher, in Hochhäusern zu wohnen, überlassen diese aber heute lieber den without ever having mastered our most basic instincts? Why do fewer sozial Unterprivilegierten? Warum schicken wir jedes Produkt, das and fewer people believe in God, while those in power still cling to the wir online kaufen, durch den Preisvergleich, bezahlen aber Phantasiebelief in a higher order? Why – ok, you get the point, and soon you’ll preise für Kunst? Warum streben wir ständig nach Höherem, werden be riding the highs and lows of this issue for yourselves. The most aber unserer niederen Instinkte nicht Herr? Warum glauben immer important thing, however, is that you don’t find it middling. weniger Menschen an Gott, aber die Mächtigen dieser Welt immer noch an eine höhere Ordnung? Warum – ok, bevor es langweilig wird: was in dieser Ausgabe high ist und was low, werden Sie schon Annika von Taube herausfinden. Hauptsache, Sie finden es nicht mittelmäßig.

Annika von Taube

Front Row The season’s most outstanding shows

See / Say sleek’s own Christian Küpker talks fish with André Gide

Mount Sublime Mountains are just not so great anymore

Giant Downfall Greece is in ruins, Athens is on drugs, but there’s hope

Over the moon How impostors are making the art market a better place

Movin’ on Up The higher your status, the higher you live

100

Low-down Fashion photography by Thomas Lohr

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118

146

Haute Volée

democracy is funny

Fashion photography by Morgan Roudaut

132 Vertigo

Fashion photography by Markus Pritzi

118 132

146 The Trip

Fashion photography by Leon Mark

154 High Tea

Fashion photography by Zelinda Zanichelli

162

The Tide is High Fashion photography by Kira Lillie

172

Sacred and Profane Today’s churches might be empty, but at least they look good

162

180

Heel the World Flat soles are the order of the day. Why?

186

High Voltage Is electricity a means of elevation?

186 172

195

Inventory: 196 Berlin People 204 Berlin Places 210 Studio Visit 214 The Collector – A serialized novel 216 The Further Chronicles of Anthony Haden-Guest 220 Further Reading 226 Preview 22

Auf den Flügeln eines Parfums

JOSEPH BEUYS

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Kein Check-in, kein Mikrowellen-Essen und garantiert kein langes Warten vor dem Gepäckförderband: Ein Flug mit dem 2st Century Beetle bietet vor allem die angenehmen Seiten des Fliegens. Ist man nämlich erst mal angeschnallt und hat den Sitz in eine entspannte Position gebracht, beschleunigen den Piloten bis zu 47 kW (200 PS)) auf Reisegeschwindigkeit. So erreichen Sie in nur 7,5 Sekunden

democracy is funny

Imprint

Tempo 00 2) und nur wenig später Ihr Ziel. Für die Unterhaltung während des Flugs sorgt zum einen der sportliche TSI®-Motor und zum anderen das optionale Fender-Soundsystem. Damit Sie nicht nur schneller, sondern auch besonders entspannt ankommen. Wir hoﬀen, Sie bald wieder an Bord begrüßen zu dürfen, und wünschen Ihnen eine angenehme Weiterreise. www.beetle.de

SLEEK 32 Winter issue PUBLISHER Christian Bracht

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JOSEPH BEUYS

sleek N°32 High / LOW

democracy is funny

Paweł aLthaMer

High Five!

You may have noticed by now that here at sleek we have rather a soft spot for opposing ideas (like »High / Low« for example). So of course we’re always happy to find other manifestations of oppositions merging, like these splendid Napa leather and cashmere gloves from the latest collection by Roeckl. These classic driving gloves have a contemporary twist: a cosy cashmere lining that ensures you won’t lose your grip on the wheel – or your copy of sleek. Want to get your hands on them? Well, you know what you have to do*. * while stocks last / solange Vorrat reicht.

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JOSEPH BEUYS

sleek N°32 High / LOW

democracy is funny

Contributors

Kira Lillie Kira Lillie grew up in Santa Cruz, California, and currently lives in Paris. She divides her time between directing, photography and VK Lillie, her jewellery line. For this issue of sleek, Kira has contributed the exclusive photos taken during the shooting of her short fashion film »Waters« which was recently selected and awarded the »Beauty prize« in this year’s A Shaded View on Fashion’s film festival. The film is about the purifying and unifying power of water.

Lucy Powell Lucy Powell is a British artist / t ranslator / editor who also teaches English artspeak to Germans and co-runs the art and science conversation project Satellite Salon. She has edited the online cultural magazine signandsight.com for many a year and is now entering her second year at sleek, which she considers a most healthy mix of high and lowbrow content. Having written this short bio herself, she included this compliment of her own free will, but is prepared to admit she’ll take money for it.

Sameer Reddy When we first met Sameer Reddy, he was a freelance editor writing on culture-related themes and living in Berlin. He left the city last year, but it left its mark on him – because today he is an artist, now based in New York. While we can’t understand how someone involved in art can leave Berlin, we are happy that Reddy still writes. He pens the Behind the Seen column for W online, contributes to NY Times’ The Moment, Surface and the Wall Street Journal, and – some ties still bind him to the city that made him an artist – to sleek.

Morgan Roudaut With a background in art, Morgan Roudaut applies an artistic and non-commercial and approach to fashion photography. »I forget the importance of fashion in this art«, he says of his work, but he also concedes that he needs the fashion aspect in order to create his visions of femininity. What better way to unite fashion and art than by photographing the highest fashion possible? For sleek, Roudaut captured haute couture pieces selected by sleek regular, stylist Darryl Rodrigues.

>> Das einzige Weihnachtsgeschenk, auf das Sie sich bis zum Frühling freuen können. Das neue smart electric bike. Schenken Sie zu Weihnachten Vorfreude: Im Frühjahr 2012 erscheint das neue smart electric bike – die aufregendste Art, sich trendy zu bewegen. Mit seinem puristischen Design und seiner hohen Funktionalität lässt es nicht nur die Herzen technikbegeisterter Radfahrer höherschlagen. Verschenken Sie das einzigartige Gefühl, zu den Ersten zu gehören, die die Zukunft lenken dürfen.

www.smart.com

smart – eine Marke der Daimler AG

Bei dem abgebildeten Produkt handelt es sich um ein seriennahes, noch nicht zertiﬁziertes Modell. Abweichungen im Design und in technischen Daten sind bis zum tatsächlichen Verkaufsstart möglich.

JOSEPH BEUYS

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Index

ABC

Acne, www.acnestudios.com, +45 33 140030

Lanvin, www.lanvin.com, +33 1 44713335

Adam Kimmel, www.adamkimmel.com, PR Consulting, +33 1 73541950

Louis Vuitton, www.louisvuitton.com, +49 89 25544750

A.P.C., www.apc.fr, +33 1 44398783 Alexis Mabille, www.alexismabille.com, Finch & Partners, +33 1 83954346

MNO

Azzedine Alaïa, +33 1 42723057

Maison Martin Margiela, www.maisonmargiela.com, +33 1 44536320

Burberry Prorsum, www.burberry.com, Loews, +49 89 21937910 Bottega Veneta, www.bottegaveneta.com, Loews, +49 89 21937910

Maxime Simoens, www.maximesimoens.com, Finch & Partners, +33 1 83954346

Barbour, www.barbour.com, Articus & Stewens, +49 89 28729730

Margaret Howell MHL, www.margarethowell.co.uk,

Carhartt, www.carhartt.com, Work in Progress Pr, +49 3027594188

+44 20 70099003

Craig Lawrence, www.craiglawrence.co.uk, +44 7899944140

Miu Miu, www.miumiu.com, Loews, +49 89 21937910

Céline, www.celine.com, +33 1 55890792

Nigel Cabourn, www.cabourn.com, +44 191 2847093

Chanel, www.chanel.com, +49 40 8009120

Norse Projects, www.norseprojects.com, +45 33630337

Comme des Garçons, www.comme-des-garcons.com, +33 1 47036090 COS, www.cosstores.com, Loews, +49 89 21937910 DEF

PRS Prada, www.prada.com, Loews, +49 89 21937910

Damir Doma, damirdoma.com, PR Consulting, +33 1 73541950

Pringle of Scotland, www.pringlescotland.com, Nicole Weber Communications, +49 40 4149480

Derek Rose, www.derek-rose.com, Push Consultancy, +44 20 72782121

Polo Ralph Lauren, www.ralphlauren.com, Loews, +49 89 21937910

Diesel, www.diesel.com, Henri und Frank Pr, +49 40 32027710

Raf Simons, www.rafsimons.com, Pr Consulting Paris, +33 1 73541950

Dr. Martens, www.drmartens.com, Bondi Marketing, +49 230 9911880

Sunspel, www.sunspel.com, +44 115 9735292

Dries van Noten, www.driesvannoten.be, Henri & Frank Pr, +49 40 32027710 Elie Saab, www.eliesaab.com, +33 1 42567775

TUV

Forgotten Future, www.forgottenfuture.co.uk, I-PR, +44 2077390272,

Topman, www.topman.com, +44 207 2912415

GHI

Vanessa Bruno, www.vanessabruno.com, +33 1 40267065 Valentino, www.valentino.com, +33 1 47236461

Hermès, www.hermes.com, +33 1 40174706 Iris van Herpen, www.irisvanherpen.com, Totem Pr, +33 1 49237979

WXYZ Weekday, www.weekday.com, Agency V, +49 30 42019200

JKL

Wood Wood, www.woodwood.dk, Agency V, +49 30 42019200

Jan Taminiau, www.jantaminiau.com, Station Service, +33 1 42213636

Woolrich, www.woolrich.com, Network Pr, +49 40 4503060

Jil Sander, www.jilsander.com, Loews, +49 89 21937910

Wolford, www.wolford.com, +49 89 290522530

Julien Fournié, www.julienfournie.com, Station Service Pr, +33 1 42213636

Wrangler, www.wrangler.com, Schröder & Schömbs, +49 30 3499640

Lala Berlin, www.lalaberlin.com, Prag Pr, +49 30 46776028

Yiqing Yin, www.yiqingyin.com, Totem Pr, +33 1 49237979

JOSEPH BEUYS

Shortcuts

sleek N°32 High / Low

Shortcuts

democracy is funny

A selection of high-end and lowbrow items to elevate your spirits, raise your awareness of things immaterial and lift you to a higher state of consciousness – or, in short, to prepare you for this issue’s theme

A lot of what people used to categorize as miraculous has been revealed as scientifically explicable, but we are still capable of wonder. This exhibition explores how religion, philosophy and science have shaped our notion of higher powers. »Miracles«, Deichtorhallen, Hamburg, until 5 February, 2012. Javier Téllez, still from One flew over the Void (Bala perdida), 2005.

Double High

Fig. 1

Fig. 2

Fig. 3

Fig. 4, 5

Designers love it, customers love it and, with collections sold out within hours of hitting the stores, the major high street chains certainly do – collaboration. This match made in heaven of high-end designers and affordable fast fashion chains ups the ante in wardrobes the world over. Fig. 1 Missoni for Converse from the Converse First String limited edition series. Fig. 2 Aileron black & silver shoe, by Gareth Pugh for Melissa. Fig. 3 Running shorts by Jun Takahashi, founder of Undercover, for Nike, from the Nike × Undercover Gyakusou Performance Running collection, AW 2011. Fig. 4, 5 Women’s belt, bracelet, men’s belt, and women’s silk skirt, all by Versace for H&M.

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@V&A IMAGES/VICTORIA AND ALBERT MUSEUM, LONDON

democracy is funny

Elevations and revelations

Connecting to art can be quite a challenge, even for those who like looking at it and who voluntarily (children mostly not included) visit places where it’s exhibited. The solution to this problem is art that connects you to art in the most direct way possible. Be careful though, this doesn’t always mean you can touch. Left: Carsten Höller, Untitled (Slide), 2011. On view at »Carsten Höller: Experience«, New Museum, New York, until 15 January, 2012. Right: Monika Sosnowska, The Staircase / Die Treppe, 2010. Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen, K21 Ständehaus, Dusseldorf. © the artist / VG Bild-Kunst, photo © Achim Kukulies.

Regina de Miguel’s latest film work, Nouvelle Science Vague Fiction, brilliantly shows how, now that almost everything on this planet has been fully explored, the tools for exploring it have paradoxically become more and more obscure and unintelligible. Pairing footage from such natural phenomena as Slovenia’s intermittent lake Cerknica with state-of-the-art research tools like the Dwingeloo radio telescope, de Miguel shows that discovery never ends as long as man has anything to do with it. An excerpt of the work can be viewed at www.reginademiguel.net.

VICTORIA AND ALBERT MUSEUM DAS WELTWEIT FÜHRENDE MUSEUM FÜR KUNST UND DESIGN 18.11.2011 – 15.4.2012 IN BONN

œ BUNDESKUNSTHALLE.DE

KUNST- UND AUSSTELLUNGSHALLE DER BUNDESREPUBLIK DEUTSCHLAND MUSEUMSMEILE BONN · FRIEDRICH-EBERT-ALLEE 4 · 53113 BONN · TEL. 0228 9171-200

JOSEPH BEUYS

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Nestled in a valley near Europe’s highest waterfall, the spa town of Bad Gastein is a picturesque alpine destination that was once one of the swankiest spas in the Alps. Today most of the historic hotel buildings erected on the steep slopes are empty, lending the town an eerie, otherworldly charm reminiscent of the atmosphere described in Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain. But lately a new generation of hoteliers has set out to revive the place, which is fast becoming a favourite winter destination for creative urbanites and now even has its very own artist residency, initiated by collector Andrea von Goetz. The town’s special atmosphere clearly informs the artists’ works (among them Philipp Fürhofer, pictured above) exhibited at a defunct power plant located near the town’s legendary waterfall of spring waters. For artists wanting to venture into the unknown, the »Kunstresidenz Bad Gastein« offers perfect conditions. www.sommer-frische-kunst.at

Mountains come in handy

For most of us, having limited mobile phone signal is an annoying blip in our daily routine, but artist Nilbar Güreş’ »Open Phone Booth« project shows a Kurdish and Alevi community willing to climb mountains to make that call. Left: Nilbar Güreş, Cemile is standing, from the series »Open Phone Booth«, 2011. C-print, 108 × 150 cm. Right: Alisan is Calling, production still from the series »Open Phone Booth«, 2011.

Photo © Wanja Scholz.

democracy is funny

Magic Mountain

JOSEPH BEUYS

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Fig. 1

democracy is funny

Less is more

Fig. 2

Fig. 3

Fig. 5

Fig. 6

Fig. 4

Fig. 7

There’s a gazillion bags, clocks, leggings, gin bottles, smar tphones and other ever yday products out there. But some stick out from the crowd: Fig. 1 Travel wear no longer has to mean looking like you just rolled out of bed. Fine Merino leggings from the Perfect 10 Collection by Pringle of Scotland. www.pringleofscotland.com Fig. 2 Do not be fooled, this might look like the archetypal supermarket brown paper bag, but this Cabas bag is made of ultra luxurious leather, in a quality typical of Céline. www.celine.com Fig. 3 Remember when air travel was a classy affair? This is an amenity kit you’ll want to keep. Trussardi Travel Kit for Cathay Pacific, www.trussardi.com Fig. 4 If the Queen Mum reached a biblical age drinking gin, why can’t you? Hendrick’s Gin, by the way, is one of the very few gins to be distilled in elite batches. www.hendricksgin.com Fig. 5 Designed by Jasper Morrison and with all 100% of its profits going to help rebuild family homes and play areas in a fishing village in the tsunami-devastated Japanese Tōhoku region, the AC 01 Limited Edition Japanese f lag clock by PUNKT is available until December 2011. www.punktgroup.com Fig. 6 Swedish designers Skogsberg & Smart in collaboration with Absolut created this Pinstripe Crystal Bottle and matching glass. www.absolut.com Fig. 7 Owning the newest phone on the market is so yesterday, what really counts is owning the most exquisite phone. The BlackBerry Porsche Design P’9981 Smartphone combines the style of Porsche Design with the knowledge of mobile experience provided by Blackberry and has the potential to become a classic (which in phone age means it could still be around next year). www.porsche-design.com

The Armory Show

Through infinite space ®

Piers 92 & 94

Theaster Gates is the 2012 Artist Commission

March 8–11, 2012 New York City www.thearmoryshow.com Theaster Gates, Memento 1, 2011, 48” diameter, decommissioned fire hoses and wood. Courtesy of Kavi Gupta CHICAGO I BERLIN

Sound is all around us, thanks to a new generation of docking sound systems by Sony that cater to even the most individual listening habits. This holds especially true for the spherical systems (you cannot miss them as they are round, but just in case, we’re talking SRS-BTV25 and RDP-V20iP). With their 360° Circle Sound technology, these sculptural globes will send you into a spin, filling the entire room with sensational sound. Designed to dock all generations of iPads and iPhones, the Bluetooth function will also let you stream your favourite tunes from any other smartphone or MP3 player. So next time you and your friends need to chant in circle while knotted in yoga asanas, there will be no annoying cables in your way, and the music will take you, unfettered, to a higher state of being. www.sony.de

JOSEPH BEUYS

Shortcuts

sleek N°32 High / Low

sleek:

democracy is funny

A conversation with designer Giles Rosier about the decline of haute couture, the Galliano syndrome and the future of the fashion industry.

Interview by Elisabeta Tudor English

Deutsch

There was a time when Gilles Rosier was up there with the best of them. The French fashion designer was working with the biggest names in the business, Pierre Balmain, Christian Dior, Guy Paulin and Jean Paul Gaultier. Master Kenzo Takada personally made him creative director of womenswear, Jean Paul Gaultier would never have got where he did without his first creative assistant. All those names are still huge today but Rosier, whose eponymous brand graced boutiques across the globe, disappeared from the scene in a puff of smoke in 2007 and has been all but forgotten. Far from being bitter about it, however, the designer is happy at no longer having to swim in the shark tank, and he’s enjoying his creative freedom.

Es gab eine Zeit, da war Gilles Rosier dick im Geschäft. Der französische Modedesigner entwarf für die ganz Großen der Branche, für Pierre Balmain, Christian Dior, Guy Paulin und Jean Paul Gaultier. Meister Kenzo Takada persönlich übergab ihm die kreative Leitung der Womenswear, Jean Paul Gaultier wäre ohne ihn, seinen ersten Assistenten, nicht zu dem geworden, was er heute ist. Heute, da sind die anderen immer noch bekannt, aber Rosier, dessen gleichnamige Marke in Boutiquen weltweit erhältlich war, verschwand 2007 ganz plötzlich von der Bildfläche, und kaum jemand erinnert sich an ihn. Doch keine Spur von Verbitterung, der Designer ist im Gegenteil froh, daß er nicht mehr im Haifischbecken schwimmen muß, er genießt seine kreative Freiheit.

sleek: Why

There are as many fashion schools and designers as there are fish in the sea. Everyone wants to be a fashion designer, but isn’t the industry already completely saturated? GR: I find the situation now extremely interesting. The problem with fashion is not the spread of it but how the structures have changed. Back in the sixties haute couture was the laboratory of fashion. But by the seventies all these English terms had started creeping in, like marketing, branding, corporate identity, consulting, licensing... instead of individual creative minds suddenly everything was being taken over by an army of anonymous forces, and profit began to take precedence over genius and diversity. Corporations like LVHM contributed dramatically to this shift and so it’s no wonder today when designers show zero sensibility for tradition and quality or lose control over their own brands. sleek:

Like John Galliano you mean? John Galliano is not the only one who’s suffered from the relentless rhythm of the collections and who buckled under the pressure. Alexander McQueen and Christopher Decarnin had the same problem. It’s not a nice metaphor but designers today are essentially battery hens, expected to produce incessantly. But eventually the lightbulb burns out because a designer is not a machine. Two haute couture shows a year, the same for menswear and womenswear and then you have pre-collections, cruise-collections, capsule collections, accessories, kidswear, collaborations and the rest of it. How can one individual be responsible for all that? sleek: GR:

sleek:

Is there anything you can do to prevent this designer burnout?

GR: Don’t let it get that far in the first place. A brand should select a de-

signer because they can manage the brand identity and not just because 42

sleek: Warum haben Sie 2007 einfach aufgehört mit dem Modedesign, und was machen Sie seither? Gilles Rosier: Ich hatte alles satt, habe mich ausgenutzt gefühlt von der Modewelt, und dann habe ich, bevor alles zu spät war, die Notbremse gezogen und mich aus dem ganzen Zirkus verabschiedet. Wenn auch nicht für immer. Jetzt unterrichte ich, das Fach »Nouvelle Couture Luxe« zum Beispiel an der Esmod. Die Klasse ist mit 34 Studenten viel zu groß, aber ich sehe das als Herausforderung. Daneben mache ich noch Bühnenbild und Kunstinstallationen für Unternehmen und Modemessen.

Modeschulen und Modedesigner gibt es mittlerweile wie Sand am Meer, dabei ist die Industrie doch total saturiert, oder? GR: Ich finde das eigentlich eine ganz interessante Entwicklung. Das Problem mit der Mode ist nicht ihre Verbreitung, sondern die veränderten Strukturen. In den sechziger Jahren war die Haute Couture das Laboratorium der Mode, die Quelle neuer Ideen. Aber ab den Siebzigern tauchten auf einmal diese englischen Begriffe auf, wie marketing, branding, corporate identity, licensing... statt einzelner kreativer Köpfe waltete auf einmal ein Heer anonymer Kräfte, und Umsatz begann mehr zu zählen als Genie und Vielfalt. Konzerne wie LVHM haben entscheidend zu dieser Entwicklung beigetragen, und es ist kein Wunder, wenn ein Designer heute kein Gefühl für Tradition und Qualität zeigt oder die Kontrolle über seine eigene Marke verliert. sleek:

So wie John Galliano? John Galliano ist nicht der einzige, der unter dem unmenschlichen Saisonrhythmus leiden mußte und dem Druck nicht standhielt. Alexander McQueen oder Christophe Decarnin hatten schließlich das gleiche Problem. Es ist keine schöne Metapher, aber Designer sind heute wie Legehühner in Käfighaltung. Man erwartet, daß sie ständig Neues produzieren, bloß irgendwann brennt die Glühbirne durch, weil ein Designer keine Maschine ist. Zwei Haute Couture-Schauen im Jahr, das gleiche für Womenswear und Menswear und dann kommen noch Pre-Collections, Cruise Collections, Capsule Collections, Accessoires, Kidswear, Kollaborationen und was nicht noch alles dazu. Wie kann ein einziger Mensch für all das zuständig sein? sleek: GR:

Gilles Rosier. Photo © Mamoru Sakamoto.

Above fashion

did you suddenly turn your back on fashion in 2007 and what have you been doing since? Gilles Rosier: I’d had it up to here with the whole thing, I felt used by the fashion world, and so before it was too late I slammed on the brakes and left the circus. Not for good, I have to admit. One of the things I do now is teaching »Nouvelle Couture Luxe« at the Esmod. The class has 34 students and is much too big but I see that as a challenge. Then I also do set design and art installations for corporate clients and fashion fairs.

Was kann man gegen diesen Designer-Burnout machen?

GR: Garnicht erst die Voraussetzungen dafür schaffen. Eine Marke soll-

they happen to be hot at the time. And as a designer you should make as few compromises as possible, demand a certain amount of creative freedom and most importantly, be able to work in a team. For some strange reason the teamwork aspect has gone under completely. When I started out in fashion in the eighties, Guy Paulin allowed me to look over his shoulder. Today most of the fashion house interns never get to see the designer in person. There’s an incredible amount of alienation in a profession that demands so much creativity, and another issue is that designers are no longer judged by their peers, but solely in terms of their public image. This creates a fear of failure, because you can control your work but you can’t control how the public views you. I experienced this myself and it’s anything but fun. I think the only designer who allows himself to elude industry pressures and is successful without any form of advertising whatsoever, is Azzedine Alaïa, and I think lots of designers envy him. But haute couture still exists, so why isn’t it possible for designers to live out their creative fantasies there, far away from the constraints of the market? GR: Because haute couture has nothing to do with reality. In the old days haute couture was all about customer retention and demonstrating creative and technical ability, it was about savoir faire. It was not about VIPs in the front row, or pompous shows for Moulin Rouge tourists or unwearable caricatures of dresses, it was about one dress that fits the customer like a glove. I started with this idea of savoir faire and refined my knowledge from atelier to atelier, whether it was Pierre Balmain or Christian Dior. At the end of the seventies the fashion houses gradually started getting in so-called créateurs for the prêt-àporter. These were the golden days of Montana, Mugler and Gaultier. I was completely fascinated by this universe, suddenly fashion designers were young and crazy, we all worked together and you no longer needed to spend years assisting some couturier in order to be taken seriously. Then along came the foreign investors with their licensing business and suddenly we all had to be profitable, and this came at the price of creativity. sleek:

Young designers these days seem to be turning their backs on the fashion industry’s rigid rules, showing their collections independently of runway schedules and organizing themselves in independent networks. GR: Yes, it’s good to see and it’s also extremely important, because in the end the whole industry will benefit. People are bored of mass production and anyway no one can keep up with the over-inflated runway schedules, so the creative freshness and authenticity of the young labels counters this to some extent. I personally felt almost disgusted by my own work towards the end because it was basically all about generating high sales. And I got sick of having to pave the way for other designers, even if I don’t regret any of the jobs I did. I can imagine my next project being a fashion collective without putting my name to it, which functions outside the system and transports the feeling that made me become a designer in the first place: the love of fashion. sleek:

te einen Designer wählen, weil er mit der Markenidentität umgehen kann und nicht, weil er gerade angesagt ist. Und als Designer sollte man sowenig Kompromisse wie möglich eingehen, ein bestimmtes Maß an kreativer Freiheit einfordern und, ganz wichtig, im Team arbeiten. Merkwürdigerweise ist der Aspekt der Zusammenarbeit völlig verloren gegangen. Als ich in den achziger Jahren mit der Mode anfing, konnte ich Guy Paulin bei der Arbeit über die Schulter schauen. Heute bekommen die meisten Praktikanten eines Modehauses den Designer nicht mal mehr zu Gesicht. Da passiert eine unglaubliche Entfremdung für einen Beruf, der soviel persönliche Kreativität verlangt. Und was auch noch problematisch ist: Designer werden nicht mehr von Experten des Fachs beurteilt, sondern nach ihrem öffentlichen Image. Das erzeugt Versagensängste, weil man die öffentliche Wertschätzung anders als die eigene Arbeit nicht kontrollieren kann. Ich habe es selbst erlebt, und es ist alles andere als spaßig. Ich glaube, der einzige bekannte Designer, der es sich erlauben kann, die Zwänge der Modeindustrie zu umgehen und seinen Erfolg hält, obwohl er keinerlei Werbung betreibt, ist Azzedine Alaïa. Wahrscheinlich wird kein Designer so sehr von seinen Branchenkollegen beneidet wie er. Aber es gibt doch noch die Haute Couture, warum kann man sich als Designer denn da nicht abseits von Marktzwängen kreativ austoben? GR: Weil Haute Couture der Realität enthoben ist. Früher diente die Haute Couture der Kundenbindung und als Ausweis des eigenen kreativen und technischen Könnens, es ging um das savoir faire. Es ging nicht um die VIPs in der ersten Reihe, um pompöse Schauen wie gemacht für Moulin Rouge-Touristen und um untragbare Karikaturen eines Kleides, sondern um ein Kleid, das sich perfekt an den Körper der Kundin schmiegt. Ich habe mit diesem savoir faire angefangen und mein Wissen aus jedem Atelier mitgenommen, ob bei Pierre Balmain oder Christian Dior. Ende der siebziger Jahre kamen nach und nach die Modehäuser mit den sogenannten créateurs als Basis für die prêtà-porter. Das war die Blütezeit von Montana, Mugler und Gaultier. Ich war von dieser Entwicklung völlig fasziniert, auf einmal waren die Modeschöpfer jung und verrückt, wir arbeiteten alle gemeinsam und mußten nicht erst jahrelang einem Couturier assistieren, um ernstgenommen zu werden. Dann ging es los mit den ausländischen Investoren, mit dem Lizenzgeschäft, und auf einmal mußten wir rentabel werden, und das ging dann auf Kosten der Kreativität. sleek:

sleek: Bei Jungdesignern ist derzeit eine Abkehr von den strengen Vorgaben der Modeindustrie zu beobachten, sie zeigen ihre Kollektionen unabhängig vom Schauenplan und organisieren sich in unabhängigen Netzwerken. GR: Ja, und das ist schön zu sehen und sehr wichtig, denn davon kann letztlich die gesamte Branche profitieren. Die Leute sind gelangweilt von Massenproduktion und haben eh keinen Durchblick mehr durch den aufgeblasenen Schauenplan, die kreative Frische und Authentizität der jungen Labels kann dem etwas entgegensetzen. Ich selber habe mich zum Schluß fast angeekelt gefühlt von meiner eigenen Arbeit, weil es nur noch darum ging, hohe Verkaufszahlen zu generieren. Und ich hatte es satt, den Weg für andere Designer frei machen zu müssen, auch wenn ich keinen einzigen Posten bereue. Als nächstes Projekt stelle ich mir ein Modekollektiv vor, das nicht meinen Namen trägt, das außerhalb des Systems funktioniert und das jenes Gefühl transportiert, weshalb ich überhaupt Designer geworden bin: die Lust auf Mode.

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DEBASED

The world’s first and oldest champagne house, Ruinart, has invoked the inspiration of designer Maarten Baas to design a case for their most prestigious cuvées, the Dom Ruinart 2002 and the Dom Ruinart Rosé 1998. The Dom Ruinart Prestige Cuvées pay homage to the father of Ruinart, Benedictine monk Dom Thierry Ruinart, a bold and visionary pioneer. Produced entirely from Grands Crus chardonnay grapes, the illustrious potions undergo a decade-long maturation process before they are ready to be enjoyed. Once on the lips, the taste lingers like a precious memory you will want to preserve as long as possible. The case, resembling a natural coal monolith and recalling Baas’ signature »smoked« furniture, pays tribute to this idea. The shrine-like object is not built only to hold a champagne bottle, but also other valuables such as cufflinks, jewellery – or the memory of the www.ruinart.com taste of champagne.

Oriol Vilanova sets out to document the archaeology of monuments from around the world as shown on picture postcards. But the statues of national heroes on the quaint tourist souvenirs are cut off to focus on their ornate bases instead. Regardless of the ideology, political orientation and national memory the statues might represent, their bases are interchangeable. Thanks to a simple intervention, the series makes a conceptual statement on the cost of creating national myths. Oriol Vilanova, all images from Repetition is a Base Question, 2010. Found postcards.

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Art|Basel|Miami Beach thanks you for a great ten years.

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The only way is up!

Fig. 3

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Fig. 1 The VW Up!, the latest and smallest addition to the VW f leet, is now available, and a quirky selection of merchandise has been brought out to celebrate the launch. For example: Fig. 2 rucksack, Fig. 3 salt and pepper shaker, Fig. 4 breakfast plates, Fig. 5 thermo f lask, Fig. 6 »kid box« with fun travel utensils. Available at VW’s »Autostadt« mobility theme park in Wolfsburg, or online at www.volkswagen-lifestyle.de

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BIRDS I

Friederike Horbrügger / Fabian Knecht, Sky Paintings, 2010. Courtesy Kunstverein Arnsberg. With the support of Stiftung historischer Flugzeuge Venlo and Aeroclub Arnsberg.

Thermal updraft is a natural force in the atmosphere that determines cloud formation and enables anything in flight to resist gravity. These upwardly swirling air masses are used by migrating birds for soaring and gliding, to help them travel long distances. Friederike Horbrügger and Fabian Knecht set out to explore the space between the clouds and the ground. To outline the movement of invisible air currents, the Berlin-based artists used a »swarm« of birds made of toilet paper, and released them into a thermal updraft, throwing them out the window of a glider, itself an aircraft whose movements are thermal-dependant. While the performance is motivated by scientific research, it also creates an immense poetic force, nourishing our age-old dream of flight by setting aloft a lowly material that is otherwise flushed down the pipes after we have performed one of our basest bodily functions.

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Ride the next level

Shanghigh

We might be too young to have experienced it ourselves, but we know from old films and our grandparents’ stories: aviation used to be an elegant affair - you certainly don’t see any pictures of Howard Hughes standing in line for airport security. The new Mercedes-Benz SLS AMG Roadster is an open-top super sports car that comes as close as it gets to the golden age of august aviation, boasting a lightweight aluminium spaceframe body and a seven-speed dual clutch transmission. It comes as no surprise then that the interior takes its cue from cockpit design. An exhilarating open-air driving pleasure, driving this roadster is like flying high.

Shanghai, the world’s largest city, now boasts a new centre for artistic production on its vertiginous skyline: the Swatch Art Peace Hotel, a protected early With century 20th a sharedbuilding, interest in which the dress oncecodes housed of various the Peace social Hotel, groups, has been photographer meticulously Arirestored Versluisby and the profiler SwatchEllie Group. Uyttenbroek Next to a have luxurious spentdesign the lasthotel 16 years offering documenting excellent the dining numerous and breathtaking identities ofviews, our diverse two floors society. in the Starting historic out structure in Rotterdam, have been theyconverted have sinceinto moved workshops on to other andcities livingaround quarters thefor world, artists documenting from around Capuccino the globe.Girls The ateliers in Milan can and beLeathermen configured to insuit Rotterdam each artist’s to Pin needs, Upsand in London the in-hotel or Rockers exhibition in Beijing space presents (see alsothe p. 224). results Exactitudes, of the artist residency 92. Pin-Ups programme. – London Residencies, 2008, 2008by (left), the way, and Exactitudes, last 6 months… 130.yes, Coolwe Cafe all–know Milano artists 2011, like 2011.the www.exactitudes.com high life. www.swatch-art-peace-hotel.com

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Birds II

Oliver Perrott, all images from the series »The Shoot«, 2006. C-prints, diverse dimensions. www.oliverperrott.com

Shooting living things in the woods is a beloved pastime for many British country folk, often resulting in controversy, media scandal and piles of dead animals. Photographer Oliver Perrott is no stranger to the lifestyle and stigma surrounding the sport of pheasant shooting, as his uncle owns the local farm and organizes shoots like the one shown here. Perrott refrains from judgment, showing the sport as an intrinsic element of the British cultural landscape. Currently on view at »Spirit of the Downs«, Highdown Vineyard, Ferring, West Sussex, until 30 March, 2012.

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Visit our freshly revamped website and see for yourself how neat and nicely structured it has become to deliver yet more and better content than ever, so you will never have to look at other websites ever again!

Revised & Improved! Newly relaunched!

Marc Anthony all you need to know about art and fashion

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Fallen Angel

One day, an angel stood, her immobile wings of desire fixing her to the spot...

A boy came by and, struck by her golden beauty, tried to capture her heart... and tried... and tried...

...a magic scent...

The angel couldn’t resist...

Photographer Georgia Kuhn Fashion editor Lorena Maza Costume designer Nathanel Vaknin Hair / Make up Christa at Blossom Managment Models Anne-Claire and Pelle at M4 Models

Pelle wears denim shirt by Wrangler Blue Bell, T-shirt by Acne, trousers by Wood Wood and shoes by Diesel (in both looks), and applies body spray by Axe Excite. Anne-Claire wears sweater by H&M and denim trousers by Cheap Monday. Want more angels? Visit www.axe.de and check out the Axe Excite advent calendar. Make an angel happy and see what you get in return… ... and finally did the right thing, applying a wonder weapon...

... and was set free.

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Front row

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The season’s most outstanding shows at a glance!

Marni

Corneliani

What happens when you take the strict discipline of Martha Graham’s geometric abstractions, throw in some touches of modernist architecture and top it all off with quirky 60s details? You get the wearable contradictions that make Marni’s Consuelo Castiglioni’s heart sing. And ours too.

In times when men want to dress well but not be mistaken for bankers, Corneliani pertains to the idea of sensible luxury, which is the only way to go. With its subdued colour scheme and military-inspired looks, the understated collection is enhanced by big statement pieces.

From the 2011 Autumn / W inter collection

www.corneliani.com

www.marni.com

From the 2011 Autumn / W inter collection

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Felipe Oliveira Baptista

David Koma

In a post-apocalyptic world according to Baptista, the first signs of life on the charred planet would come in the form of reptilian prints and touches of blue, green and yellow. Despite its Melancholia theme, the collection is more optimistic than austere – and triumphant.

Outfitter to the stars David Koma reveals an obsession for all things round, fur pompoms et al, while keeping on the right side of the fine line between glamorous and tacky. Svelte numbers with punched out circles on leather skirts encase the feminine silhouettes.

From the 2011 Autumn / W inter collection

www.felipeoliveirabaptista.com

www.davidkoma.com

From the 2011 Autumn / W inter collection

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fish die b ell

Illustration by Christian Küpker

Based on material by the Journal Museum Godeffroy, Hamburg

ENGLISH

DEUTSCH

»Fish die belly up and rise to the surface. It’s their way of falling«, French writer André Gide once noted. But while the Nobel literary laureate makes the simple observation of a natural phenomenon sound like a poetic masterpiece and philosophical thesis of universal dimensions, the fish’s rise to the surface is actually caused by the air and bacteria that enter its bladder post mortem. The quote exemplifies, however, that often the question of qualifying something as low or high is all about delivery. Perhaps Gide’s remark was prompted by his near-death experience brought on by an illness he caught while travelling in Algeria, an experience that certainly turned his world upside down. When he recovered, Gide abandoned the moral high ground of his strict puritanical upbringing, learned a couple of lessons from exploring the how-low-can-you-go question, and finally settled for something in between.

»Wenn Fische sterben, treiben sie bauchwärts an die Wasseroberfläche. Das ist ihre Art, unterzugehen«, beobachtete einmal der französische Schriftsteller André Gide. Bei einem Literaturnobelpreisträger klingt eine einfache Naturbeobachtung gleich wie eine philosophische Erkenntnis unendlichen Ausmaßes – dabei gerät der Tod einem Fisch nur deshalb zum Höhenflug, weil sich seine Blase post mortem mit gärenden Bakterien füllt. Wie dem auch sei, ob etwas als hoch oder tief bewertet wird, ist wie so oft einfach nur eine Frage der Perspektive. Gide war vielleicht deshalb so fasziniert von seiner marinen Beobachtung, weil sie ihn daran erinnerte, wie er selber einmal fast gestorben wäre, an einer Krankheit, die ihn auf einer Reise durch Algerien befiel, und wie er danach nicht mehr wußte, wo oben und unten war. Jedenfalls tauschte er in der Folge seine durch puritanische Erziehung gewonnenen Moralvorstellungen gegen ausschweifende Ausflüge in die Niederungen menschlicher Begierden – bis er sich schließlich mit einem gemäßigten Lebensstil zufrieden gab.

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See/Say

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Mount sublime

Leo Fabrizio, Gütsch_UR, 2002. Lambda print on aluminum, 80 × 1 00 cm. © t he artist / www.leofabrizio.com. Although Switzerland had been politically neutral for four centuries, when the Nazis started invading the neighbours, the Swiss military dug over 20,000 bunkers in the Alps to hide its soldiers, weapons, ammunition and other supplies. The Swiss bunkers are meticulously camouflaged to blend in with their surroundings, and due to Switzerland’s geography, many of them are tucked away in the mountains and even on mountaintops. A peculiar choice, especially if they were meant to protect from air raids. Leo Fabrizio discovered around 50 of them and his series offers a view of the Helvetian mountains that sits uneasily with the country’s peace-loving image.

Over centuries the awe-inspiring presence of mountains has inspired poets, philosophers and painters to extol them as the epitome of the sublime. But is this image of the mountain still valid? Jahrhundertelang hat die Ehrfurcht gebietende Präsenz der Berge Dichter, Philosophen und Maler dazu inspiriert, sie als den Inbegriff des Erhabenen zu preisen. Doch hat dieses Bild des Berges auch heute noch Gültigkeit? 69

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Mount sublime

Text by David Ottosson German translation by Susanne Merx Deutsch

The mountains are at our mercy. We cut off their heads to drain them of oil and minerals. And mountains of ice are melting or being shredded for use in cocktails or mineral water. The parable of Mohammed and the mountain seems less impressive today, and the idea of prophets living on mountaintops faintly ridiculous when it has become a popular activity for families to climb them. It is hard, these days, to see the mountain as sublime. But then this perspective has always been one we actively chose to subscribe to. Heinrich Heine summed it up well in his travelogue Harzreise (1824), on a trip through the Harz mountains, whose altitude could be described as modest at most: »We climb mountains to look down on people.« It is difficult to see the sublime in our own nature, so we look for it in things we feel are either somehow above or beneath us. To demonstrate our tendency to look for things greater than ourselves we need look no further than religion, but we’re also apt to see nobility in things we have dominion over – Indians, tigers, women… perhaps the mountain will join them, its fragility tangible now that mountaintop removal mining is becoming general practice. Mountains once possessed two sublime qualities: immutability and inaccessibility. Both have disappeared. Weekend climbers have overrun the Eiger North face, considered »the last problem of the Alps« back in the 1930s, and the great mountain conquerors have been downgraded to the status of big game hunters, if slightly more benign. And as for immutability, we’ve already mentioned mountaintop removal mining. Japan has always had a different aesthetic perspective on mountains. Painting Mt. Fuji on bathhouse walls used to be a profession in itself. Perhaps this has something to do with Fuji’s unique qualities, but the feelings elicited by such sento paintings are the opposite of those produced by the paintings of J. M. W. Turner and Caspar David Friedrich. Fuji is presented as hypertangible, but also surreal. The artist Momus recently wrote a gently ironic post about whether Fuji needs a twitter feed in order to remain relevant. In reality, of course, Fuji was never really relevant, either to Western European discourse on nature aesthetics or to mountaineers who describe its ascent as »unspectacular«. Fact is that the very concept of »mountain« is artificial. The largest mountain in the world lies mostly under water, and most of us

Die Berge sind uns gnadenlos ausgeliefert. Wir schneiden ihre Gipfel weg, um ihnen Öl und andere Bodenschätze zu entziehen. Die Eisberge schmelzen oder enden zerkleinert in Cocktails oder Mineralwasser. Die Parabel von Mohammed und dem Berg erscheint heute nicht mehr besonders eindrucksvoll und die Vorstellung von auf dem Berg lebenden Propheten beinahe lächerlich angesichts der Menschenhorden, die beim Sonntagsausflug die Gipfel stürmen. Heutzutage ist es nicht mehr so leicht, den Berg als etwas Erhabenes zu empfinden. Andererseits war diese Perspektive schon immer eine, für die wir uns explizit entschieden haben. Heinrich Heine hat dies in seiner Harzreise (1824) über seine Wanderungen durch den nicht gerade zu den Hochgebirgen zählenden Harz sehr schön zusammengefaßt: »Auf die Berge will ich steigen, lachend auf euch niederschauen.« Weil es so schwer ist, das Erhabene in unserer eigenen Natur zu entdecken, suchen wir danach in Dingen, die uns entweder größer oder kleiner als wir selbst erscheinen. Schon in der Religion zeigt sich unsere Neigung, nach Größerem als uns selbst zu suchen, doch sehen wir Nobles auch gern in Dingen, über die wir Macht haben – Indianer, Tiger, Frauen... vielleicht wird sich der Berg, dessen Zerbrechlichkeit uns durch den immer weiter verbreiteten Gipfelbergbau anschaulich gemacht wird, in diese Liste einreihen. Einst waren Berge durch zwei erhabene Qualitäten gekennzeichnet: ihre Unveränderlichkeit und ihre Unzugänglichkeit. Beide sind obsolet. Die Nordwand des Eiger, die in den dreißiger Jahren des letzten Jahrhunderts noch als »das letzte Problem der Alpen« galt, wird von Sonntagskletterern überrannt, und die großen Bergbezwinger von einst haben heute den Status von Großwildjägern, wenn auch mit leicht positiverer Konnotation. Was die Unveränderlichkeit angeht, haben wir den Gipfelbergbau ja bereits erwähnt. In Japan hatte man dagegen schon immer ein etwas anderes ästhetisches Verhältnis zu Bergen. Es gab früher einen eigenen Berufsstand, der nichts anderes tat, als Badehauswände mit dem Abbild des Fuji zu verzieren. Vielleicht hängt dies auch mit den einzigartigen Eigenschaften des Fuji zusammen, doch rufen solche Sentogemälde genau entgegengesetzte Gefühle zu denen der Werke eines J. M. W. Turner oder Caspar David Friedrich hervor. Fuji wird als ultragreifbar und dennoch als surreal dargestellt. Kürzlich postete der Künstler Momus leicht ironisch, daß Fuji möglicherweise einen Twitter-Feed nötig habe, um von Bedeutung zu bleiben. Realistisch betrachtet war Fuji natürlich niemals wirklich bedeutend, weder was den westeuropäischen Diskurs zur Ästhetik anbelangt, noch für Bergsteiger, die seinen Aufstieg als »unspektakulär« beschreiben. Tatsache ist, daß schon die Vorstellung von »Berg« an sich künstlich ist. Der größte Berg der Welt liegt großteils unter Wasser, und die meisten von uns würden ihn daher nicht als solchen bezeichnen. Menschlich wie wir sind, setzen wir uns eben gern zu großen Körpern in Beziehung. Um mit Bertrand Russell zu sprechen: »Metaphysiker neigen, wie Wilde, dazu, sich eine magische Verbindung zwischen Wörtern und Dingen vorzustellen, oder zumindest zwischen Syntax und Wortstruktur. Sätze haben Subjekt und Prädikat, daher besteht die Welt aus Stoffen und Attributen.« Und in großer Mehrheit sind wir latente oder flagrante Metaphysiker (oder Barbaren, wenn man so will). Nach Symmetriestudien zu urteilen ist Schönheit ein ziemlich objektiver Begriff, doch was erhaben ist, liegt nach wie vor im Auge des Betrachters. Aus dem, was unsere Augen als erhaben erachten, läßt sich

democracy is funny

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Marianne Nielsen, Mountains, 2005. Glazed porcelain, dimensions variable (from 11 to 26 cm). Photo © Ole Akhøj.

Georg Aerni, # 2573-4, Paris, 2005. C-print, 197 × 156 cm. In his series »Territorien«, Georg Aerni applies the awe-inspiring perspectives and aesthetics used in architecture photography to man-made structures of another kind – artificial reconstructions of »natural« terrains found in European zoos. Fiberglass mountains follow the natural irregularities of plate tectonics with such accuracy that this mimicry of nature for the sake of scenography seems almost as unethical as putting the animals behind bars. This make-believe rocky mountain, a symbol of freedom and suggestive of endless horizons and spiritual elevation, seems especially offensive in this context.

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Mount sublime

Hiroyuki Masuyama, J.M.W. Turner, Mont Blanc, from Brévent, 1836, 2008. Digital composite image, lightbox, 25.6 × 28 × 4 cm. Courtesy Galerie Sfeir-Semler, Hamburg / B eirut. See also the artist’s solo exhibition »Hiroyuki Masuyama Kaleidoskop«, Galerie Sfeir-Semler, Hamburg, until 14 January, 2012.

would not acknowledge it as such. What we want is vast bodies to relate to, being as we are, human. As Bertrand Russell put it: »Metaphysicians, like savages, are apt to imagine a magical connection between words and things, or at any rate between syntax and word structure. Sentences have subjects and predicates, therefore the world consists of substances and attributes.« And the vast majority of us are latent or flagrant metaphysicians (or barbarians, if you prefer.) Beauty, judging by studies in symmetry, is fairly objective, but the sublime still lies in the eye of the beholder. And how your eyes shape the sublime will in turn inform how you treat the world. Small wonder then that Buddhist monks, with their prescribed respect for the most insignificant mote of dust, should treat people gently as well. My personal sublime is currently found in the porcelain mountains of artist Marianne Nielsen. With great mountains cleverly turned into fragile objects, we are reminded of how silly a metaphysical view of nature can be, while being granted its pleasures at the same time.

ablesen, wie wir mit der Welt umgehen. Daher ist es kein Wunder, daß buddhistische Mönche mit ihrem verordneten Respekt für das kleinste Staubkörnchen auch Menschen gut behandeln. Erhabenheit erkenne ich derzeit in den Porzellanbergen der Künstlerin Marianne Nielsen. Große Berge, clever in zerbrechliche Objekte verwandelt, erinnern uns daran, wie albern die metaphysische Sichtweise auf die Natur sein kann, und lassen uns gleichzeitig ihre Freuden genießen.

Hiroyuki Masuyama, J.M.W. Turner, The Devils Bridge near Andermatt, 1802, 2008. Digital composite image, lightbox, 47.1 × 31.8 × 4 cm. Courtesy Galerie Sfeir-Semler.

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Mount sublime

Hiroyuki Masuyama, Morgennebel im Gebirge 1808, 2006. Digital composite image, lightbox, 71 × 104 × 4 cm. Courtesy Galerie Sfeir-Semler, Hamburg / Beir ut. Hiroy uk i Masuya ma explores the paintings of Caspar David Friedrich and James Mallord William Turner through the medium of photography. The Romantic painters were lauded for their ability to capture »the real« in the landscape, depicting nature for nature’s sake and with their own eyes instead of copying from other painters. But most of their paintings were idealised portrayals of nature’s formidable beauty rather than depictions of existing locations. Both painters used elements from various sites – striking rock formations, the meandering of a river through a valley – to achieve their images of the sublime. Masuyama also bases his photographs on a compilation of images he took in landscapes that he found reminiscent of those in the 19th century paintings. About 100 photos are mounted into each picture to recreate its every detail. This technique also highlights the lengths man goes to in the attempt to capture nature’s sublime beauty. Presented in lightboxes, the photographs have a transcendental air, luminous and imposing, and just a tiny bit more splendid than the real thing.

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Mount sublime

Ori Gersht, Far Off Mountains and Rivers, 2009, f rom the series »Evaders«. C-print on a lu m i n iu m, 230 × 152 c m . C ou r t e s y Mum mer y+Sch nelle, London. The Lister Route in the Pyrenees, on the border between France and Spain, is a route with a long history of smuggling, economic migration and the search for refuge from political or religious persecution. During World War II many used this route to escape Nazi-occupied France – most famously Walter Benjamin, who committed suicide when he found the border closed on the day he attempted to cross it. Photographing this place, Ori Gersht makes a clear visual reference to German Romanticism, a gesture suggestive of the fatal attachment to German culture that prevented many from grasping the horrific scope of the Nazi agenda until it was too late.

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Walter Niedermayr, Rifugio Auronzo 8 / 2 005, 2005. Digital pigment print, 131 × 211 cm. Courtesy Galerie Nordenhake, Berlin / Stockholm. No photographer has explored alpine landscapes more extensively than Walter Niedermayr. A child of the South Tirolian mountains, he seems to have set out to create a mountain encyclopaedia, in the knowledge that his work can never be complete. Take his fondness for working with diptych to polyptych structures: by fragmenting the view like this Niedermayr stresses the impossibility of capturing more than a fraction of something too

Mount sublime

vast to be captured, of something that will go on and on, expanding infinitely. Talking about infinite, Niedermayr doesn’t celebrate untouched nature, he is interested in man’s presence in nature, he captures ski slopes, the wounds and scars that people inflict on mountains, but he doesn’t judge. He seems confident that whatever the traces left by humans, they will vanish and all that will remain is something too big for him to ever capture to the full. No-one will.

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Ebbe St u b W i tt ru p, Presumed Realit y # 17, 2007. C-print, 95 × 136cm / 1 20 × 1 75 cm. Courtesy the artist and Martin Asbæk Gallery, Copenhagen. When Ebbe Stub Wittrup found a box of slides of hiking excursions in Norway and Switzerland from the late fifties, he turned them into »Presumed Realities«, manipulating the already faded photographs, digitally blocking out details or tweaking the sharpness. The photos stem from the golden age of adventure, a time when the dangers of mountaineering became calculable, due to improvements to equipment. For the fashionable mountain tourist, a variety of goods suddenly came on the market, from hiking boots to weatherproof active wear. Made for the family album, these photos exude the pride of conquest, but also a certain melancholy at the dwindling of things left to conquer.

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West frieze detail (northern stairway): the ocean gods Nereus, Doris, a giant, and Oceanos (left to right). ALL IMAGES Details from the Pergamon Altar, a monumental marble construction (35.6 × 33.4 m) dating from the 2nd century BC, depicting the Gigantomachy, the battle between the Giants and the Olympian gods. Installed at the Pergamon Museum, Berlin. © bpk / A ntikensammlung, SMB / Johannes Laurentius.

Giant Downfall

The Apollonian tragedy unfolding in the birthplace of democracy and philosophy this summer has shaken Europe’s foundations. But while the ruins of modern Greece threaten to overshadow those of antiquity, a young creative generation is looking ahead with Dionysian ardour. Die Tragödie, die sich derzeit im Geburtsland von Demokratie und Philosophie abspielt, läßt ganz Europa erbeben. Doch während die Trümmer des modernen griechischen Staates die große Vergangenheit fast vergessen lassen, macht sich eine junge Generation von Kreativen unverdrossen auf den Weg in die Zukunft.

Text by Hili Perlson German translation by Marcus Ingendaay English

Deutsch

For the 2004 Olympic games and in the midst of solid economic growth, Athens was cleaned up in a campaign to make the city’s patchwork aesthetic more visually accommodating. Regarded as visual pollution, even billboard advertising was banned. Today, mountains of rubbish pile up in the streets due to strikes, and Athens’ maze-like centre is swarming with drug dealers and junkies. Scenes straight out of The Wire are everyday reality in the Greek capital. Athens’ drug fiends are everywhere, shooting up publicly in broad daylight. Walking around Agora Square you have to dodge the syringes, and heroin sedated bodies are sprawled about in limbo on their way to the ground. A recent report by British health magazine The Lancet argues that the recent spurt of the drug epidemic, a worrying 51% rise in new HIV infections, and soaring suicide rates are a direct outcome of the financial crisis. With businesses closing and strikes and violent clashes paralysing everyday life, many leave if they can. But in the midst of the chaos and the bright yellow »For Rent« signs, a young creative scene is blooming. When financial systems fail, the resourcefulness of a creative mind shines most brightly, and these minds have resolved to put Athens on the international creative map. Take »This is Amateur«. Founded by Thodoris Dimitropoulos, Stathis Mitropoulos and Spiros Pliatsikas, the company’s creative output spans graphic design, music, fashion and a line of legendary parties where the three also DJ under the moniker Amateurboyz. Feeding an environment where work and play intertwine, they have become one of the motors of the local scene – both in spite of the grimness of the situation and also the astoundingly high level of ignorance about it: »Drugs have always been a problem here«, they say. »Greece is the first stop on the heroin trek into Europe, so we’ve always had a lot of addicts. What has changed however, is how much more tolerant people have become, the police included. So now you see junkies shooting up in the open.« Yorgos Kelefis, editor of Greece’s only original independent publication for youth culture and lifestyle, Ozon Magazine, confirms:

Damals, 2004, kurz vor den Olympischen Spielen und mitten im wirtschaftlichen Aufschwung, wollten Athens Stadtväter dem bunten bis chaotischen Stadtbild noch mit einer Kampagne beikommen. Um der, wie sie es nannten, visuellen Umweltverschmutzung Einhalt zu gebieten, war plötzlich sogar Plakatwerbung verboten. Vorbei. Da immer gerade jemand streikt, türmen sich heute Müllberge auf den Straßen, und die Drogenszene hat das unübersichtliche Stadtzentrum fest im Griff. Bilder, die man sonst nur aus The Wire kennt, sind Alltag in der griechischen Kapitale. An jeder Ecke lungern verwahrloste Junkies, die in aller Öffentlichkeit fixen. Rund um die Agora achtet der kluge Mensch auf seine Schritte, denn man tritt sich leicht eine Nadel in den Schuh, während herointote Gespenster, die sich nicht mehr auf den Beinen halten können, langsam an der Wand hinab in den Schmutz gleiten. Die englische Fachzeitschrift The Lancet berichtet, daß die Drogenschwemme zu einem 51-prozentigen Anstieg von HIV-Neuinfektionen geführt hat. Und je tiefer die griechische Wirtschaft in den Abgrund rutscht, desto höher klettert die Selbstmordrate. Firmenpleiten, Streiks und Ausschreitungen lähmen das öffentliche Leben. Wer kann, verläßt die Stadt. Gleichzeitig boomt inmitten von Katastrophe und Ausverkauf (gut sichtbar an den knallgelben Maklerschildern überall) die junge Kreativszene. Wenn es im Finanzsystem düster aussieht, strahlt es aus den Ideenschmieden besonders hell, denn sie sind in dieser Situation fast die Einzigen, die noch an Athens Zukunft glauben. Zum Beispiel Thodoris Dimitropoulos, Stathis Mitropoulos und Spiros Pliatsikas von This is Amateur, einem Kreativstudio für Grafikdesign, Musik, Mode und Event-Management. Als DJs unter dem Namen Amateurboyz bekannt, sind sie die treibende Kraft der örtlichen Kreativszene, die sich gegen die Tristesse zur Wehr setzt, unter anderem indem sie das Elend konsequent verdrängt. »Wir hatten hier in Griechenland schon immer ein Drogenproblem«, sagen die drei. »Griechenland ist die erste Station auf dem Heroin-Treck 83

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South frieze detail: Rhea (Cybele), mother goddess of Asia Minor, joins the battle riding a lion.

»It’s sad to admit, but junkies are all over the place and there is no one to heal, protect or even ›hide‹ them. The authorities turn a blind eye: they don’t see, they don’t act, they don’t care.« With the crisis in full swing people probably have other things to worry about. Yet this indifference is countered by creative projects in Athens that reclaim the city’s »drug zones«, redirecting the public gaze to the problem while seeking to rehabilitate »no go« areas in the city. ReMap, for example, is an international art event that coincides with the Athens Biennale. Founded by property owner and developer Iason Tsakonas, Remap spreads across the area of KerameikosMetaxourgeio, a notorious drug zone. The biennale, on the other hand, moves around the city with each edition and this year the main venue is located in Plateia Theatrou (Theatre Square) in the Psyrri neighbourhood, right across from the methadone clinic. The 3rd Athens Biennale is curated by Nicolas Bourriaud and X&Y (Xenia Kalpaktsoglou and Poka-Yio, two thirds of the collective XYZ – the third member being Augustine Zenakos – which founded the biennale). »Returning to the centre of Athens this year was a conscious and almost inevitable decision«, they say. »The main venue, Diplareios School, is a huge building that occupies an entire public square, to the point that the building is the square. Diplareios is an empty public space. We created a time warp in its vacuum; inside you’ll find elements of Greek history stirred to an anachronistic cocktail. Looking outside the windows you’ll see today’s Athens. The building functions like a panopticon and, without a doubt, reality outside its windows is harsh.« The fact that the biennale opened on time was in itself no mi-

North frieze detail: The three Moirae, the goddesses of fate, overpowering two giants using swords and lances.

nach Europa, entsprechend hoch ist die Zahl der Süchtigen. Was sich allerdings geändert hat, ist, daß es die Leute nicht mehr im mindesten schert, das gilt auch für die Polizei. Mittlerweile setzen sich Junkies ungeniert und vor aller Augen ihren Druck.« Yorgos Kelefis, Herausgeber von Ozon Magazine, Griechenlands einziger unabhängiger Lifestylezeitschrift, kann das nur bestätigen. »Es ist deprimierend, aber die Abhängigen prägen jetzt das ganze Viertel, und niemand unternimmt etwas dagegen. Für diese Menschen gibt es weder Hilfe noch Therapie, man will sie nicht einmal mehr wegsperren. Alle schauen weg, so muß sich niemand darum kümmern.« Vielleicht hat das krisengeschüttelte Land tatsächlich andere Probleme. Dennoch gibt es in Athen etliche Initiativen, die der Gleichgültigkeit den Kampf angesagt haben und ehemalige No-go-Areas wieder für die Öffentlichkeit in Besitz nehmen wollen. Das Ausstellungsformat ReMap, ins Leben gerufen von dem jungen Immobilieninvestor Iason Tsakonas, ist so ein Projekt. Die Ausstellungsorte von ReMap befinden sich allesamt in Kerameikos-Metaxourgeio: Drogenland. Und die Biennale machte es ebenso. Da sie an feste Räume nicht gebunden ist, wagte sie sich in diesem Jahr tief ins Krisengebiet rund um den Theaterplatz in Psyrri, in Sichtweite der Methadon-Klinik. Kuratiert wird die dritte Athener Biennale von Nicolas Bourriaud und X&Y (dahinter stehen Xenia Kalpaktsoglou und Poka-Yio vom Kollektiv XYZ, den eigentlichen Gründern der Biennale). »Daß wir in diesem Jahr ins Stadtzentrum zurückgekehrt sind, war eine bewußte, beinahe zwangsläufige Entscheidung«, sagen sie. »Unser Hauptveranstaltungsort ist die Diplareios-Schule, ein rosa Kasten, der seine Umgebung nicht nur dominiert, sondern geradezu verein-

nor feat. The biggest strikes to date had shut down the Greek capital meaning flights were delayed, and co-curator Nicolas Bourriaud arrived from Paris three days behind schedule, landing the night before the opening. »Everything was accomplished with tremendous effort«, they explain with obvious relief. »We had no state funds, no sponsorships, and a venue that had to be turned down due to student demonstrations.« Thematically, this edition of the biennale titled »Monodrome«, the final chapter of the trilogy that started with »Destroy Athens« and »Heaven« in 2007 and 2009 respectively, seems part and parcel of the historic drama unfolding on the city streets. The crisis was already well underway during preparations for the 2nd Athens Biennale, and has been escalating ever since. »Doing Monodrome«, the curators recall, »was like a rollercoaster ride. It was conceived in a state of emergency and produced on a shoestring. In a sense, it is not only an idiosyncratic project but also an exercise in curating under extreme conditions.« Resourcefulness and frugality are the key words to describe creative conditions in Athens, and some manage better than others. »We’re doing ok«, Amateurboyz say. They opened their design office two years ago, and adapted. »Of course we lowered our rates and some clients can’t pay, or worse, they use the crisis as an excuse to withhold payments, but we manage.« They share their spacious office with other freelance creatives who work on an exchange basis if they can’t pay rent; a return to a pre-monetary system seems only logical at the moment. But others have different views on the state of the creative industry. »It’s not thriving but trying... hard«, says Yorgos Kelefis. »There’s talent but no structure to express, develop and promote it. People

nahmt, ansonsten ist da nichts. In diesem Vakuum installierten wir eine Zeitschleife. Im Inneren des Gebäudes wird der Besucher durch eine Geisterbahn aus Versatzstücken der griechischen Hochkultur geleitet, der Blick durchs Fenster wiederum zeigt schonungslos die griechische Gegenwart. Das Ganze funktioniert wie ein Panoptikum, und glauben Sie uns, der Gegensatz ist heftig.« Daß die Biennale überhaupt pünktlich starten konnte, grenzt an ein Wunder, denn in derselben Woche wurde die griechische Hauptstadt durch Streiks und Straßenschlachten komplett lahmgelegt. CoKurator Nicolas Bourriaud etwa traf erst mit dreitägiger Verspätung aus Paris ein, am Vorabend der Eröffnung. »Alles an dieser Schau«, sagen die Macher, »hat uns unendliche Anstrengung gekostet. Wir hatten keinerlei staatliche Unterstützung, keine Sponsoren, dafür aber einen geplatzten Veranstaltungsort, weil Studenten unbedingt demonstrieren wollten.« Mit dem Titel »Monodrome« (Einbahnstraße) schließt sich jene Trilogie, die mit »Destroy Athens« (2007) und »Heaven« (2009) begann – und mündet unversehens im historischen Drama auf den Straßen von Athen. Spürbar war die Krise zwar schon bei der zweiten Biennale, doch daß sie einmal derart eskalieren würde, hat sich damals niemand vorstellen können. »Monodrome war die reine Achterbahnfahrt«, sagen die Kuratoren. »Schon in der Planungsphase stand alles auf der Kippe. Und richten Sie mal so eine Schau ohne Mittel aus! Man kann wirklich behaupten, die Ausstellung wird ihrem Gegenstand gerecht – indem sie nämlich von Anfang an unter Extrembedingungen stattfand.« Phantasie und Bescheidenheit sind die entscheidenden Stichwörter, will man die kreative Gesamtsituation in Athen würdigen. 85

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East frieze detail: Athena, goddess of heroic endeavor and patron of Athens.

working in art, music, theatre, fashion and cinema are stuck, and many go abroad.« Like fashion designer, photographer and blogger Filep Motwary. »I couldn’t afford to stay«, he says. »I was working around the clock but clients wouldn’t pay and my business was faltering.« He first moved from Milan to Athens back in 1998, and in 2004, just before the Olympic Games, he relocated to Paris where he worked for Galliano, Dior and Chloé. In 2005 Motwary returned to Athens and began collaborating with Maria Mastori. »I left Athens this spring. Now I live between Cyprus and the world.« Greece does not encourage young talent, he explains, unless you make it abroad first: »The Greeks lack vision.« While some people leave – Berlin is a popular destination for many young artists – others move to Athens despite, or because of, the crisis. German artist Tjorg Douglas Beer has been commuting between Berlin and Athens since 2010, and this year for Remap3, he initiated a group show with the telling title »Responsolodarity«. He also reenacted his legendary Berlin based Forgotten Bar Project there, with weekly rotating exhibitions curated by various people who came to Athens especially for these shows. »Greece is too beautiful to be left empty. There are lots of small bars and music clubs where artists and young people socialize all night. It’s vibrant and exciting and the people are warm.« Like Motwary, however, Beer reiterates the need to have international contacts in order to get things done in Athens. »There are some very interesting things happening and they’re often initiated by Greeks who have access to the global scene. These people have a strong interest in working in their home country; some do it especially to fend off the growing problematic perception of Greece in general.« 86

Giant Downfall

Manche kommen mit der Lage besser klar als andere. »Für uns läuft es gar nicht so übel«, sagen die Amateurboyz, die seit zwei Jahren ihr Designbüro betreiben. »Natürlich haben wir unsere Honorare nach unten anpassen müssen, und mancher Kunde bleibt die Rechnung schuldig, entweder weil er nicht zahlen kann oder – was schlimmer ist – weil er sich unter dem Vorwand der Rezession davor drücken will, aber unterm Strich bleibt immer etwas übrig.« Ihre großzügigen Büroräume teilen sie sich mit anderen selbständigen Kreativen, die ausstehende Mietzahlungen zuweilen mit Arbeit für This is Amateur begleichen. In der Not erscheint die Rückkehr zur Tauschwirtschaft nur vernünftig. Andere sind weniger optimistisch. »Nein, von Aufschwung kann nun wirklich keine Rede sein. Es ist eher ein Kampf ums Überleben«, sagt Yorgos Kelefis. »Die Talente sind zweifellos vorhanden, aber es fehlt jeglicher Raum zur Entwicklung. Alle, die sich hier mit Kunst, Musik, Theater, Mode oder Film beschäftigen, hängen völlig in der Luft. Deswegen gehen auch so viele ins Ausland.« Einer von ihnen ist der Designer, Photograph und Blogger Filep Motwary. »Ich kann mir nicht länger leisten, hier zu bleiben. Da schuftest du rund um die Uhr, aber die Kunden zahlen einfach nicht, und irgendwann steht dein Laden vor der Pleite.« 1998 zog er von Mailand zurück nach Athen, 2004, kurz vor Olympia, weiter nach Paris, wo er für Galliano, Dior und Chloé arbeitete. 2005 kehrte er abermals nach Athen zurück und begann eine Zusammenarbeit mit Schmuckdesignerin Maria Mastori. »Aber im vergangenen Frühjahr bin ich wieder gegangen. Mittlerweile habe ich mich irgendwo zwischen Zypern und der weiten Welt eingerichtet.« Griechenland verschleudere seine Talente, erklärt er, es sei denn, man ist bereits ein internationaler Star. »Den Griechen fehlt einfach jede Vision.« Und während die einen gehen (beliebtes Ziel ist Berlin), zieht es andere gerade wegen der Krise nach Athen. Der deutsche Künstler Tjorg Douglas Beer pendelt seit 2010 zwischen Berlin und Athen und organisierte in diesem Jahr für ReMap eine Gruppenausstellung mit dem bezeichnenden Titel »Responsolodarity«. Auch sein legendäres Berliner Forgotten Bar Project erlebte in Athen eine Art Wiederauferstehung, mit wöchentlich wechselnden Ausstellungen unter Kuratoren, die eigens dafür anreisten. »Griechenland ist viel zu schön, um es auf Dauer links liegen zu lassen. Es gibt so viele kleine Bars und Musikclubs, in denen man interessante Leute kennenlernen kann. Eine lebendige Atmosphäre, freundliche Menschen, alles ist voller Energie.« Aber wie Motwary hat auch Beer die Erfahrung gemacht, daß sich nur mit internationalen Kontakten in Athen etwas bewegen läßt. »Es laufen ein paar spannende Sachen, aber dahinter stehen sehr oft Landsleute mit Zugang zur globalen Szene. Sie wollen aber in ihrem Land arbeiten, manche tun es sogar ausdrücklich deshalb, um Griechenlands Ruf in der Welt wiederherzustellen.« Daß sich Griechenland lohnt, finden die Amateurboyz auch. »Besucher aus Berlin, London oder sonstwo verlieben sich schnell in diese Stadt. Natürlich meistens solche, die schon einen Platz im globalen Kunstraumschiff ergattert haben, aber egal: Athen ist eben schön. Wir rackern Tag und Nacht, aber es macht auch Spaß. Jeder hat seinen privaten Notfallplan, aber noch ist es auszuhalten. Und ob wir die Verhältnisse drehen können, liegt ja einzig an uns.« In der optimistischen Botschaft schwingt Ironie mit. Deutlicher drückt es das T-Shirt von Amateurboy Spiros Pliatsikas aus. »Athen frißt seine Jugend«, steht da. Aber griechische Künstler konnten sich noch nie auf staatliches Mäzenatentum verlassen und stecken die Misere vielleicht gerade darum besser weg als andere. »Wir erleben derzeit eine ganz ungewohnte Solidarität«, sagen X&Y. »Überall entstehen neue Initiativen und alternative Ausstellungsorte, viele internationale Künstler und Kuratoren interessieren sich plötzlich für Athen. Das macht natürlich Mut.« Und Tjorg Douglas Beer fügt hinzu: »Je

East frieze detail: supposedly showing Demeter, goddess of harvest, followed by Hera in a quadriga pulled by four winged horses.

The Amateurboyz confirm this: »Whenever we have visitors from Berlin, London or wherever, they fall in love with the city. Of course we’re talking about a very specific type of person belonging to a global creative bubble, but Athens is a nice place to be. We’re struggling, but we’re having a good time. Everyone has an escape plan in the back of their minds, but why leave when things are bad? We’re the ones who can help change things.« This sincere, optimistic message is delivered with a hint of irony; the T-shirt Amateurboy Spiros Pliatsikas is wearing reads »Athens eats its youth«. Artists in Greece could never rely on institutional funding and are used to working with minimal financial support, so they navigate the crisis somewhat better than others. »On top of that«, X&Y say, »new collective practices are on the rise, new initiatives and alternative places are emerging, and many international artists and curators relocate here. This creates an energy which drives us too.« Tjorg Douglas Beer adds: »The more business is done in Greece, the better and the more people use spaces and do good stuff around here, the less junkies will take over these neighbourhoods. I think everybody should come to Athens.« Which brings us to one obvious but convincing reason: »I want nine months of summer a year!« The good weather, it seems, will always keep the city alive. And as the Amateurboyz point out with a chuckle: »Financial crisis or not, you can’t buy good weather. Take that, Angela!«

besser das Geschäft hier läuft, desto mehr Künstler ziehen her und mieten Ateliers und verdrängen am Ende sogar die Junkies. Meiner Meinung nach sollten alle nach Athen kommen.« Das beste Argument ist darin allerdings noch gar nicht enthalten, nämlich die neun Monate Sommer im Jahr. Allein das angenehme Klima wird wohl dafür sorgen, daß Athen so bald nicht ausstirbt. Die Amateursboyz setzen noch einen drauf: »Finanzkrise hin oder her, schönes Wetter kann man nicht kaufen. Merk’ dir das, Angela.«

JOSEPH BEUYS

democracy is funny

sleek N°32 High / Low

Photography by Martin Klimas, www.martinklimas.de

Over the moon

Economists consider it a miracle that a thing as impenetrable as the art market even exists. What sets it apart from other markets? It is not controlled by the usual conmen, but by refined impostors. Wirtschaftswissenschaftler meinen, es sei ein Wunder, daß so etwas wie der Kunstmarkt überhaupt existiert, so undurchschaubar wie er ist. Was ihn von anderen Märkten unterscheidet? Er wird nicht von normalen Betrügern kontrolliert, sondern von raffinierten Hochstaplern.

Text by Annika von Taube English

Deutsch

I first met Finley at one of those parties on New York’s Upper Eastside that make »Gossip Girl« look middle-class. Not that I’m trying to create the wrong impression about my social status: I was only on the guest list because the hostess assumed I was the cousin of an acquaintance of hers, someone she had down as grade-A European aristocracy. Finley was also first class guest-list material in the eyes of our hostess. And the fact that he was relegated the very next day to her personal shit list, significantly curbing the radius of his social cruising ground in New York for an unlimited period, had nothing to do with Finley himself. It was thanks to the insistence of his male companion, once the party had reached an advanced stage, on pouring the remaining contents of the champagne bottles standing about the room into a stone basin closely resembling a baptismal font, and proceeding to wash his feet in it (James Lee Byars would no doubt have enjoyed his artwork being put to such practical use). Finley, by the way, is not really called Finley. I realise that it’s fairly pointless here trying to protect him by using another name, because even at the time I met him the name he was going by was not his real one. In fact there was little that was real about Finley at all, but I only found that out much later. On that evening Finley was an extremely smart guy and an art dealer. Perhaps his tie should have raised my suspicions (Damien Hirst dots on a lilac background in high-gloss silk), but Finley was so amusing, so well read, so popular and his amazement at his burgeoning success so touching, that it never occurred to me that I might be dealing with an impostor. I’m less naïve today. Today I know that the art world is full of Finleys and that indeed the entire art market system is dependent on the Finley principle. A fact that I am not judging in any way but which, to the contrary, commands my absolute respect. I personally never made it beyond the second floor of this house of cards before the whole thing started to wobble. One thing for which I have no sympathy, however, is fraud. Fraudsters, like the recently convicted art forger Wolfgang Beltracchi, are simply too outright and obvious in their premeditation, too one-dimensional in their moral abjection. They are all too aware which side of good and evil they stand on, whereas a truly professional impostor works on pretending something until it becomes reality, or at least until they themselves believe in it, which almost inevitably turn out to be the same thing. The impostor, in other words, plans in the long-term, whereas the fraudster rapidly sets himself up as the beneficiary of a system without contributing to its preservation – the fraudster is the impostor’s parasite. And to top it all the fraudster likes to excuse himself, just as Beltracchi did, by blaming the »system«, that without the naiveté

Die Bekanntschaft von Finley machte ich auf einer jener Parties auf New Yorks Upper Eastside, gegen die sich »Gossip Girl« im Mittelstandmilieu bewegt. Nicht, um hier falsche Vorstellungen zu wecken, was meinen Sozialstatus betrifft: auf die Gästeliste gelangt war ich nur, weil ich der Annahme der Gastgeberin nach die Cousine einer Bekannten war, ihres Standes beste Lage europäischer Hochadel. Auch Finley war in den Augen der Gastgeberin 1A-Gästelistenmaterial. Und daß sie ihn schon am nächsten Tag auf ihre persönliche shit list setzte und damit seinen gesellschaftlichen Bewegungsradius in New York auf unbestimmte Zeit erheblich einschränkte, lag nicht an Finley selbst, sondern daran, daß seine männliche Begleitung zu fortgeschrittener Partystunde die Restinhalte herumstehender Champagnerflaschen in eine tauf beckenähnliche Steinschale zu gießen begann, um sich darin die Füße zu waschen (James Lee Byars hätte sicher Gefallen an einer derart praktischen Nutzung seiner Kunst gefunden). Finley hieß übrigens gar nicht Finley. Und mir geht gerade auf, daß es eigentlich müßig ist, ihm hier zu seinem Schutz einen anderen Namen zu geben, weil auch der Name, unter dem ich ihn kennenlernte, nicht sein richtiger war. Auch sonst war nicht viel richtig an Finley, aber das habe ich erst viel später erfahren. An jenem Abend war Finley ein sehr smarter Typ und Kunsthändler. Vielleicht hätte mich seine Krawattenwahl stutzig machen müssen (Damien Hirst-gepunktet auf lila Grund in Seidenhochglanz), aber Finley war so amüsant, belesen und beliebt und sein Erstaunen über seinen rasend ansteigenden Erfolg so rührend, daß es mir nicht in den Sinn gekommen wäre, einen Hochstapler vor mir zu haben. Heute bin ich schlauer. Heute weiß ich, daß die Kunstwelt voll von Finleys ist, und daß sich das System Kunstmarkt überhaupt nur dem Finley-Prinzip verdankt. Ein Umstand, den ich keinesfalls verurteile, sondern der im Gegenteil meine allerhöchste Wertschätzung genießt. Ich selber bin beim Kartenhausbau nämlich nie über die zweite Etage hinausgekommen und deshalb voller Bewunderung, wenn ich sehe, wie hoch manche Kunst heute gestapelt wird, ohne daß der Turm ins Wanken geriete. Wofür ich dagegen kein Verständnis habe, ist Betrug. Betrüger wie etwa der jüngst verurteilte Kunstfälscher Wolfgang Beltracchi sind in ihrer Vorsätzlichkeit zu direkt und offensichtlich, in ihrer moralischen Verwerflichkeit zu eindimensional. Sie wissen, auf welcher Seite von Gut und Böse sie stehen, während ein richtig professioneller Hochstapler solange an der Vorspiegelung eines Sachverhalts arbeitet, bis er Realität geworden ist, oder zumindest bis er selber daran glaubt, was fast immer aufs gleiche hinausläuft. 89

JOSEPH BEUYS

democracy is funny

sleek N°32 High / Low

and greed of the others he would never have been able to do what he did. Quite apart from the matter of throwing stones in glass houses, painting pictures and pretending that they are by famous artists, and then fabricating a collection to provide a respectable provenance for the fakes, and then selling them for huge sums of cash, is easy as pie compared with what it means to participate with any degree of responsibility in the art market, which is nothing short of self-sacrifice. It takes a tremendous amount of energy to create a network of mutual dependencies, incredible will power to constantly sing the praises of one’s own artists while reserving correct judgement only for others, in order to feign a world of difference between good and poor. It is incredibly humiliating to have to maintain a sales-boosting lifestyle, forced to live in a five star hotel in Miami to be near one’s clients, while the gallery assistants are kept waiting three months on end for their pay checks. It is exhausting to have to pretend to be up in arms about a collector who, promptly after buying a work puts it up for auction, destroying the prices, in other words driving them up fabulously, and then having to make sure nobody notices or it won’t happen again for a while. It is extremely irksome to have to goad on an artist who is producing too slowly again, when people are queuing up to buy the stuff and it’s really not the right time to have to listen to the artist whingeing about things not being able to mature if he isn’t given enough time, when nothing’s going to mature anyway, so why doesn’t he just accept it and be happy about providing such good artmarket fodder, the loser. In a nutshell, the art market is a backbreaking business and no one does it out of naiveté or greed, Mr Beltracchi! By the way, it is not only the builders of the system who have to make sacrifices, but all those who want to be a part of it. For collectors, curators and critics alike, you have to clamber up a long and painful learning curve before you finally reach the point where you can say you know your way around. All too often basic common sense has to be replaced with brain washing, critical judgement with

Over the moon

Während also der Hochstapler langfristig plant, macht sich der Betrüger mal eben schnell zum Nutznießer eines Systems, ohne zu seinem Erhalt beizutragen – der Betrüger, der Parasit des Hochstaplers. Und was die Höhe ist: der Betrüger entschuldigt sich wie im Fall Beltracchi gern auch noch damit, »das System«, die Naivität und Gier der anderen habe ihr Tun erst ermöglicht. Abgesehen davon, daß hier ein Verweis auf das Sprichwort mit dem Glashaus und dem Steinewerfen angebracht ist: Bilder malen und so tun, als ob die von bekannten Künstlern wären, dazu noch eine Sammlung erfinden, um den Fälschungen eine respektable Provenienz zu verschaffen und sie teuer verkaufen zu können, das ist kinderleicht gegen das, was einem ein verantwortungsvolles Mittun im Kunstmarkt abfordert: nämlich nichts als Aufopferung. Es kostet unglaublich viel Kraft, ein Netzwerk von gegenseitigen Abhängigkeiten zu schaffen, unglaublich viel Überwindung, ständig die Qualität der eigenen Künstler in den Himmel zu loben und nur die der anderen korrekt zu bewerten, um ein Unterscheidungsvermögen zwischen gut und schlecht zu heucheln. Es ist unglaublich erniedrigend, wenn man einen verkaufsfördernden Lifestyle leben muß und wegen der Nähe zur Kundschaft gezwungen ist, in Miami im FünfSterne-Hotel zu wohnen, während in der Galerie die Assistenten auf ihr Gehalt von vor drei Monaten warten. Es ist anstrengend, wenn man sich scheinbar über einen Sammler aufregen muß, der eine Arbeit kurz nach Erwerb in eine Auktion gegeben hat und jetzt die Preise kaputtmacht, also erfreulich in die Höhe treibt, was man sich aber nicht anmerken lassen darf, weil es sonst nicht so schnell wieder passiert. Es ist nervig, einen Künstler anzutreiben, der mal wieder zu langsam produziert, dabei reißen die Leute einem das Zeug aus den Händen und jetzt ist wirklich nicht der richtige Zeitpunkt, sich das Geheule des Künstlers anzuhören, der glaubt, nicht richtig reifen zu können, wenn man ihm nicht mehr Zeit läßt, dabei gibt es da eh nichts zu reifen, warum sieht er das nicht und freut sich nicht einfach darüber, so gutes Kunstmarktmaterial abzugeben, der Versager. Kurz, der Kunstmarkt ist

cash. Artspeak has to be learned like a foreign language that in its complex meaningless contradicts the natural human need to communicate, meaning the brain has no neurons that allow for it to be learned. Above all it’s about discipline and patience. How long does it take to work out all the connections, who’s sitting where and with whom and why subsequently something worthless is therefore worth plenty? How long does it take before you no longer remember saying only last year that this year the art fair is so much better than the one last year? How long before you no longer feel the need to open your mouth and just say something is shit? Until the words »nice work« emerge from your lips with no hint of ironic undertone? Until, looking at a bad piece of work, the embarrassing question stops resounding in the back of your mind about why anyone would think this is good and why it is worth 80,000 euros? Until you simply stop questioning the prices? A helluva long time. Some never learn it. They are the poor souls who believe they have to convey authentic content which is critical of the system, of capitalism, or just critical at all, and who think they are »genuine«. When really they are nothing but party-poopers, often with no sense of humour, frustrated (sexually, too, by the way but that’s another issue, I only mention it because it’s so obvious), and mostly poor. Ok, so most impostors are poor, too, but it’s in their nature to conceal this fact by pretending the opposite is the case, which is why the richest people in the world are often impostors, a certain Mr Madoff springs to mind. Perhaps at this point we should take a quick look at the definition of »impostor« which undoubtedly has a negative whiff about it, although this does not apply when it comes to the art market. In general, the term describes people who want to appear to be more than they are. In this particular context it applies not only to the actors themselves but also to the products they sell, and since hyping goods is not illegal, we are operating within perfectly legal territory. It would only be criminal if the impostor were to underrate those people whom he needs for his own credibility, because that would mean that he would be overrating himself. The so-called Dunning-Kruger Effect (named after the two scientists who won the Nobel Prize for discovering it) is a cognitive bias thanks to which incompetent individuals tend not only to overrate their own abilities but also to underrate those of others more competent than themselves. Such people do not make good impostors because even if mundus vult depici, as the Latin saying goes, the world wants to be deceived, you should not make it too easy for them. Imposture functions purely on the basis of mutual and equal esteem from all parties. According to this logic, the price of an artwork, which makes no rational sense whatsoever, is the expression of an extremely positive attitude – in brief: the higher the prices, the higher the morals. Finley and I, by the way, crossed paths again a few years later. Thanks to good behaviour and his connections in the imposture business, he only had to serve one year in prison. Which obviously gave him plenty of time to think about the error of his ways. When I met him again, Finley was no longer an art dealer, he’d moved into property development.

ein kräftezehrendes Geschäft, und aus Naivität oder Gier tut sich das keiner an, Herr Beltracchi! Übrigens müssen nicht nur die eigentlichen Errichter des Systems Opfer bringen, sondern auch alle anderen, die Teil davon sein wollen. Egal ob Sammler, Kurator oder Kritiker, es ist ein langer und qualvoller Lernprozeß, bis man von sich behaupten kann, sich »auszukennen«. Da muß gesunder Menschenverstand gegen Hirnwäsche, Urteilsvermögen gegen Vermögen ausgetauscht werden. Da muß mit Kunstsprech eine Fremdsprache erlernt werden, die in ihrer komplexen Sinnfreiheit dem naturgegebenen menschlichen Kommunikationsbedürfnis entgegensteht und für deren Erlernen das Hirn also gar keine neuronalen Voraussetzungen bereitstellt. Und vor allem braucht es Disziplin und Geduld. Wie lange braucht man, bis man die Verbindungen durchschaut, wo wer sitzt und mit wem und wo folglich etwas, was nichts wert ist, sehr viel wert ist? Wie lange, bis man sich nicht mehr daran erinnert, schon letztes Jahr gesagt zu haben, daß dieses Jahr die Messe ja viel besser ist als letztes Jahr? Wie lange, bis man sich nicht länger endlich eine bessere Messe wünscht? Wie lange dauert es, bis man nicht mehr das Bedürfnis spürt, den Mund aufzumachen und einfach etwas beschissen zu finden? Bis einem die Worte »schöne Arbeit« ganz ohne ironischen Unterton über die Lippen kommen? Bis man beim Anblick einer schlechten Arbeit endlich nicht mehr diese peinliche Frage in sich auf keimen spürt, was daran gut sein soll und warum sie 80 000 Euro kostet, ja bis man überhaupt aufhört, Preise infrage zu stellen? Lange. Manche lernen es nie. Das sind die armen Seelen, die glauben, echte Inhalte vermitteln zu müssen, die systemkritisch, kapitalismuskritisch oder einfach nur kritisch auftreten und glauben, »echt« zu sein. Dabei sind sie einfach nur echte Spielverderber, oft humorlos, frustriert (auch sexuell übrigens, aber das ist ein anderes Thema, ich erwähne es nur, weil es so auffällig ist), und meistens arm. Gut, arm sind die meisten Hochstapler auch, aber es liegt in ihrer Natur, diesen Umstand durch Vorspiegelung des Gegenteils zu verdecken, weshalb die reichsten Leute der Welt oft Hochstapler sind, wir erinnern uns vielleicht noch an Herrn Madoff. Vielleicht an dieser Stelle eine Anmerkung zur Definition des Begriffs »Hochstapler«, dem zwar ein negativer Hautgout anhaftet, in Verbindung mit dem Thema Kunstmarkt jedoch zu Unrecht. Allgemein bezeichnet der Begriff Personen, die mehr scheinen wollen als sie sind. Im hier behandelten Kontext gilt das nicht für die Akteure selbst, sondern für die Produkte, die sie verkaufen, und da das Anpreisen von Waren nicht strafbar ist, wie auch übrigens die Hochstapelei an sich keinen Straftatbestand darstellt, geht hier alles mit rechten Dingen zu. Sträflich wäre lediglich, wenn ein Hochstapler diejenigen unterschätzt, die er für die Anerkennung seiner Glaubwürdigkeit braucht, denn das hieße, daß er sich selbst überschätzt. Die Wissenschaft kennt den sogenannten Dunning-Kruger-Effekt (benannt nach seinen Entdeckern, die dafür mit dem Nobelpreis belohnt wurden), dem zufolge inkompetente Menschen dazu neigen, nicht nur die eigenen Leistungen zu überschätzen, sondern auch die Leistungen kompetenterer Menschen zu unterschätzen. Solche Leute geben keine guten Hochstapler ab, denn auch wenn die Welt nach dem lateinischen Sprichwort mundus vult depici betrogen werden will, man darf es ihr nicht zu einfach machen. Hochstapelei funktioniert nur auf Basis gegenseitiger und gleichgewichteter Wertschätzung aller Beteiligten. Insofern ist ein rational nicht erklärbarer Preis für ein Kunstwerk Ausdruck einer höchst positiven Grundhaltung – kurz gesagt: je höher die Preise, desto höher die Moral. Finley habe ich übrigens Jahre später noch einmal getroffen. Er hatte dank seiner Verbindungen im Hochstapelgeschäft und wegen guter Führung lediglich ein Jahr in Haft verbringen müssen. Anscheinend immerhin lange genug, um über seine Fehler nachzudenken. Als ich ihn wiedertraf, war Finley jedenfalls nicht mehr Kunsthändler. Sondern Immobilienspekulant. 91

JOSEPH BEUYS

democracy is funny

sleek N°32 High / Low

A recurrent theme in the work of artist duo Lang / Baumann is the tension between mobility and stasis, transformation and disconnection. Their staircase installations are empty promises; they would be nothing but frustrating sights reminding us of the rat race life can be – but thank God they transport the viewer’s imagination. Lang / Baumann, Beautiful Steps #3, 2010. Wood, paint, 11.5 × 5 × 4 .3 m. Installation view »Regionale. Fabricators of the World. Scenarios of Self-will«, Trautenfels Castle, Trautenfels 2010.

Movin’ on up

From the bottom of the ladder to the heights of success, social status finds its expression in the housing structures of metropolises like New York City. Wer die höchsten Stufen des Erfolgs erklommen hat, wohnt auch gerne ganz oben. Die Architektur großstädtischer Räume wie New York spiegelt diesen Mechanismus. Text by Sameer Reddy German translation by Marcus Ingendaay English

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For 7 years, I lived on the parlor floor of an apartment in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan. The building was over 120 years old and had been built as public housing. In their original incarnation, its apartments were »railroads« – a far-from-ideal layout of interconnecting rooms arranged in a straight line – but subsequent renovations led to the addition of »luxuries« like a hallway. The combination of layout and floor level meant that my apartment was in semi-shadow for most of the day, but since I was in my 20s and living a largely nocturnal existence, daylight wasn’t of importance to me. There was irony in the fact that a dwelling built as an affordable option for the lower middle class now qualified as highly desirable, but unlike my upper-floor neighbors, who could spend their days basking in the sunshine of their good fortune in renovated flats stocked full of polished stainless steel appliances, I never felt like I was living the urban dream. Most likely because I wasn’t – my apartment had last been redone in the 1970s, with a kitchen lined in imitation-Spanish linoleum tile and a bathroom realized in what my broker termed a »Mediterranean« style, with the sink outside and the WC and tub enclosure inside room the size of an unambitious closet. I was certainly lucky to have my own space, but in the larger scheme of Manhattan’s manic (soon-tobe-depressive) real estate market, my apartment occupied one of the literally lower echelons. Instead, towers by brand name architects like Richard Meier and Charles Gwathmey emerged as spatial status symbols, representing the pinnacle of residential luxury. The obsession with owning a »castle in the sky« was enabled by the architectural innovation of the skyscraper. These towering edifices of glass and steel that began to rise in the 1920s and 1930s came to represent the dawn of a new age, fueled in turn by newly flush economies, the beneficiaries of which

Sieben Jahren lang wohnte ich im Erdgeschoß (Hochparterre) einer Wohnung im Stadtteil Chelsea von Manhattan. Das Haus war 120 Jahre alt und ursprünglich sozialer Wohnungsbau – was man noch am vermurksten Grundriß der Wohnung erkennen konnte. Leitidee war nämlich die Suite oder Zimmerflucht, mit anderen Worten ein Schlauch untereinander verbundener Zimmer. Vernünftige Raumaufteilung sieht heute anders aus. Zwar hatte man im Zuge diverser Sanierungen etwas mehr Wohnqualität geschaffen, etwa in Form einer Diele, doch das Hauptmanko der Unterkunft, die durchgehende Düsternis, eine Folge von Grundriss und Erdgeschosslage, sie war nicht heilbar und blieb. Da sich aber mit Anfang zwanzig mein Leben ohnehin weitgehend nachts abspielte, war Tageslicht eigentlich entbehrlich. Nur eine Ironie unserer Stadt- und Sozialgeschichte frappierte mich schon damals: Der günstige Wohnraum von gestern, einst für die untere Mittelschicht errichtet, zählte bereits wenige Jahrzehnte später zu den begehrten Lagen. Wie gesagt mit Ausnahme meiner Wohnung. Denn während sich meine Nachbarn im luxussanierten Obergeschoss an Licht und Sonne und blitzenden Edelstahlküchen erfreuen konnten, verbrachte ich meine Tage weiterhin im Halbdunkel. Dass ich hier den urbanen Wohntraum lebte, konnte man beim besten Willen nicht behaupten. Das überrascht auch nicht bei einer Behausung, deren letzten Sanierung irgendwann in den Siebzigern stattgefunden hatte und die deshalb mit allerlei historischem Ambiente aufwartete. Zum Beispiel jenem Linoleumboden in der Küche, Linoleum mit Terracotta-Optik im spanischen Kolonialstil. Oder mit einem Bad (laut Makler »bestechendes mediterranes Flair«), das sich dadurch auszeichnete, dass es gerade einmal Platz für WC und Badewanne bot und das Waschbecken deshalb im Flur angebracht war. Egal, ich war erst einmal nur froh, daß ich überhaupt eine eigene Bleibe hatte. Im größeren Kontext des erst 93

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were entitled to lay claim to their own slice of the sky. The journey from the bottom of the socioeconomic ladder to the heights of success (or, all things being relative, at least more success than your former neighbor) is one of the foundational myths of the American dream, and thanks to freer markets and information exchange, it has been assimilated by the global psyche in both the developed and developing world. My first memory of the architectural embodiment of modern-era class advancement came courtesy of an iconic television sitcom that ran from the mid-70s to the mid-80s, The Jeffersons. The story of an upwardly-mobile African American family that moves from a working class Queens neighborhood to a luxury high-rise in Manhattan, their journey was memorably articulated in the opening theme song: »Well we’re movin’ on up, to the east side. To a deluxe apartment in the sky. Movin’ on up, to the east side. We finally got a piece of the pie.« The current economic climate in America and much of Europe gives serious pause to the promise of achieving such dreams, but for decades this optimistic theme resonated inside the minds of millions of people. It suggested that life on a high floor of a luxury apartment building was the ne plus ultra of domestic bliss. Even the appliances were exceptional, working in concert to create harmony. The marketing materials of recent luxury condo developments, like Donald Trump’s Trump Soho, take such sentiments to new levels. Describing the architects’ efforts, the website trumpets (pun intended) a »shimmering glass façade that establishes a new paradigm in innovative design, making Trump SoHo® Hotel Condominium a breathtaking addition to Manhattan’s iconic skyline.« Other terms bandied about 94

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so überdrehten und später so grausam abgestürzten Immobilienmarktes von Manhattan indes rangierte meine Wohnung wohl eher in der unteren Tabellenhälfte. Zur selben Zeit wuchsen anderswo die neuen Towers in den Himmel. Repräsentative Wohntürme für diejenigen, die es geschafft hatten, meist entworfen von Stararchitekten wie Richard Meier oder Charles Gwathmey. Natürlich beruhten die neuen Luftschlösser architektonisch auf dem klassischen Wolkenkratzer der Zwanziger- und Dreißigerjahre des vergangenen Jahrhunderts, und auch ihre Botschaft war mehr oder weniger dieselbe. Die Gewinner einer boomenden Wirtschaft erhoben Anspruch auf ein Stück des Himmels. Nicht umsonst, denn der Aufstieg von ganz unten bis in die höchsten Etagen des Erfolgs verlangt nach dem passenden Ausdruck. Erfolg mag relativ sein, und Aufstieg bedeutet vielleicht nur, daß ich etwas größer geworden bin als mein unmittelbarer Nachbar und Konkurrent, doch das Bild von der Erfolgsleiter gehört zu den Gründungsmythen des Amerikanischen Traums. Dank Globalisierung und weltweiter Kommunikation findet man diese Vorstellung heute überall. Egal ob Erste oder Dritte Welt, G8-Nation oder Schwellenland, die globale Psyche ist ein und demselben Höhenrausch verfallen. Sie zieht es hoch an die Spitze. Dass gesellschaftliches und architektonisches Aufwärtsstreben Parallelen sind, fiel mir erstmals in der Kultserie Die Jeffersons auf. Die Serie lief von 1975 bis 1985 und inszenierte soziale Mobilität am Beispiel einer afroamerikanischen Familie – von bescheidenen Anfängen in Queens bis ganz nach oben in eine luxuriöse Stadtresidenz in der Upper East Side. Schon der berühmte Titelsong klingt eigentlich wie eine Hymne: »Well, we’re movin’ on up, to the east side. To a deluxe apartment in the sky. Movin’ on up, to the east side. We finally got a piece of the pie.« Für krisengebeutelte Amerikaner oder Europäer ist dieser Optimismus mittlerweile zerstoben, der Traum in weite Ferne gerückt, doch jahrzehntelang beflügelte er die Phantasie von Millionen. Ein Leben über der Stadt war das Non plus ultra an Wohnkultur. Selbstverständlich stößt dabei die Ausstattung gleichfalls in überirdische Dimensionen vor: Nichts soll das Einssein mit der höhere Sphäre stören. Und so überbieten sich die Prospekte für die aparten Wolken-Domizile wie Donald Trumps »Trump Soho« mit Beschreibungen einer geradezu außerweltlichen Abgehobenheit. Die schimmernden Glasfassaden, heißt es, seien ein »Paradigmenwechsel in Sachen innovatives Design« und ganz nebenbei die neue atemberaubende Landmarke in der Skyline von New York. Der Wohnung als »Refugium für alle Sinne«, in dem »Wohlfühlatmosphäre« garantiert ist. Selbst die Rezeptionsmitarbeiter heißen hier anders als sonst, nämlich »Trump Attachés« und wirken mit am Unmöglichen, an Exklusivität ohne Protz, Aufmerksamkeit ohne Indiskretion und insgesamt an einem Service ohne Limit. Die Pförtner-Attachés kümmern sich um alles, angefangen von der Einkaufstour durch Sohos beste Galerien bis zum fertig bestückten Kühlschrank – und zwar vor dem Einzug des neuen Bewohners. Kann ein Mensch mehr vom Leben verlangen? Er könnte zum Beispiel verlangen: Ein wenig mehr er selbst sein zu dürfen. Denn die vielen Annehmlichkeiten in der Trump-Version des Elfenbeinturms haben leider eine unangenehme Nebenwirkung. Sie infantilisieren den, der sich der Verwöhnmaschine ausgeliefert hat, machen ihn abhängig von den Service-Strukturen des Hauses. So kann es sein, daß ausgerechnet die Topleute einer Leistungsgesellschaft, gewohnt, vom 44. Stock hinab auf die gemeine, weniger glückliche Masse zu schauen, von allem isoliert sind, was eine echte Gesellschaft ausmacht. Sie sind tatsächlich aus der Welt und ohne bezahlte Diener, die ihnen die alltäglichsten Aufgaben abnehmen, völlig hilflos.

Lang / Baumann, Beautiful Steps #2, 2009. Zincked steel, anodized aluminium, 177 × 523 × 458 cm. Installation view »Utopics. 11th Swiss Sculpture Exhibition«, Biel / Bienne 2009.

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include »serene and sensuous space« and »unparalleled pampering«. The hyperbole extends to the condominium hotel’s concierge service, bestowed with the name »Trump Attaché«, which promises to »deliver sophistication without pretension, attention without intrusion, and service without boundaries«, handling everything from »arranging a tour of SoHo’s art galleries, to a custom-stocked refrigerator prior to your arrival.« What more could one possibly expect from life? For starters, perhaps a sense of empowered self hood. The »conveniences« afforded by life in Trump’s glass-and-steel variation on the ivory tower can also be seen as infantalizing amenities that foster in residents a dependence on the structure that houses them. They might be on top of the social heap, looking down on the less-fortunate from the vantage point of a 44th-storey balcony, but they’re also hermetically sealed off from an authentic sense of community, reliant on paid minions to handle the most basic of tasks, and presumably unable to fend for themselves. The wisdom of such a transposition has been questioned by academics schooled in urban studies and architectural theory, but well before such arguments became fashionable, author J.G. Ballard imagined its consequences in his 1975 novel High-Rise. Ballard paints a lurid picture in which the apotheosis of the American dream devolves into a dystopian urban nightmare, the kind only possible within the confines of the bubble provided by a skyscraper with ultra-luxurious aspirations. The residents are self-segregated into a mirror of society, with lower, middle and upper designations reflecting economic status and location within the building. They quickly descend into a nightmare of class warfare, claiming exclusive rights over the swimming pool and the high-speed elevators, and killing challengers. The bright and shiny future promised by modern urban life is revealed as a mirage, and the surfeit of conveniences end up accentuating the grim, covetous reality of human nature. Not to say that life on the ground is always depicted as some kind of picnic – Lord of the Flies put the lie to that fiction – but in our need to differentiate ourselves according to our access to capital, 96

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Architektursoziologen weisen längst auf die Problematik solch abgeschotteter Milieus hin. Doch schon bevor solcherart Lifestyle-Kritik üblich wurde, zeichnete der britische Science-Fiction-Autor J.G. Ballard in seinem Roman Hochhaus (High Rise) ein ähnlich desaströses Bild dieser exklusiven Wohnform. Der amerikanische Traum als Alptraum in einer Luxus-Blase. Ein Keinort, dessen Bewohner, eigenbrötlerische Millionäre, zwar der gewöhnlichen Gesellschaft enthoben, aber gleichzeitig dazu verurteilt sind, dieselbe Gesellschaft neu zu erschaffen, wieder mit jeweils einer Ober-, einer Mittel- und einer Unterschicht, alles abhängig von Vermögen und der Lage der jeweiligen Luxussuite innerhalb des Gebäudes. Bald entbrennen unter den Bewohnern regelrechte Klassenkämpfe, etwa um die Benutzung des Pools oder der Expressaufzüge, Konkurrenten werden brutal aus dem Weg geräumt. Der Traum vom modernen urbanen Leben entpuppt sich als Trugbild. Gerade der wahnwitzige Komfort in diesem Haus, wo eigentlich für jedes Bedürfnis gesorgt ist, bringt die nackte Gier des Menschen zum Vorschein. Womit nicht gesagt sein soll, daß ein Leben fernab jeglicher Zivilisation (siehe Herr der Fliegen) gleich viel besser sein muß. Doch unsere Neigung, uns in erster Linie durch den Zugang zu Kapital zu definieren und entsprechend abzugrenzen, bringt ein strikt vertikales Gesellschaftsmodell hervor, wo allein das Auf und Ab auf der Erfolgsleiter zählt, selbst dann noch, wenn es den gesellschaftlichen Frieden gefährdet. Dagegen sind horizontal sortierte Gesellschaften insgesamt demokratischer, sozialer und auf Solidarität und gegenseitigen Respekt bedacht. Wer seinem Mitmenschen auf Augenhöhe begegnet, kann dessen Lage nicht so einfach ignorieren, er müßte ihm schon vorsätzlich den Rücken zukehren. Ganz anders bei demjenigen, der sich – auch räumlich – über andere erhebt. Was unten kraucht, wird nicht einmal zur Kenntnis genommen, es existiert nicht. Hierarchien sind per definitionem Rangfolgen. Übersetzt in ökonomische Kategorien bedeutet das: Es entscheidet allein die zur Verfügung stehende Kapitalmenge, letztlich also die Zahl. Die Rangfolge ist eigentlich eine Zahlenfolge, ein permanentes Ranking. Dieser Gedanke findet seinen architektonischen Ausdruck in den Towers, die

Lang / Baumann, Beautiful Steps #5, 2010. Laminated wood, paint, width 70cm, diameter 8 m. Left: Detail: laminated wood, paint, width 70cm, diameter 8 m. Installation view »Regionale. Fabricators of the World. Scenarios of Self-will«, Trautenfels Castle, Trautenfels 2010.

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we’ve evolved ideas of status along a vertical axis, enshrining the act of »climbing the ladder« of success as an essential achievement, despite the social disharmony it can engender. The connections enabled by a horizontal model of community, by contrast, are more democratic and susceptible of sustaining values such as mutual respect and compassion. It’s easier to feel someone’s pain and to understand their plight when they’re facing you – in order to escape, you have to make a deliberate decision to turn your back, whereas when you’re above someone it’s natural, from a spatial perspective, to avoid paying attention to what lies beneath. Hierarchies, by definition, arrange elements in order of superiority, which in economic terms translates into access to capital, a schema that finds its architectural reflection in the luxury towers that dominate the contemporary urban skyline. But as the current financial and social turmoil in Europe and the United States demonstrates, this vertical system is threatening to buckle under its own weight, threatening to bring down the world economy, and its gleaming glass condos as well. It’s an appropriate moment to revisit the belief systems we choose to inhabit, and the ways in which we construct physical reality to mirror our worldview. And in doing so, hopefully we can come back down to earth from the lofty dreams of aggressive and perpetual economic growth around which we’ve built our lives, placing both our literal and metaphoric feet on the ground. One manifestation of this process could be to surrender some of our ideas about status-based achievement and instead celebrate more immediate pleasures, the kind that are easier to find when the street is right outside your window rather than 300 feet below. Instead of coveting the promise of a refrigerator stocked full of expensive sodas by a uniformed attendant, it could mean patronizing an organic food co-op, or simply having a conversation with a next-door neighbor. These are the kinds of values that have come to define Brooklyn’s appeal to ex-Manhattanites seeking to flee the city’s grueling demands. And while Brooklyn’s hipsterish take on progressive living is easily mocked as trite and trendy, it represents an authentic shift in the city’s consciousness towards a distinctly low-rise way of life. That was the reason why I left my apartment in Chelsea to move to East Williamsburg this past summer, after returning from 4 years living abroad. Ironically, I now live on the top floor of my building, but as a result of Williamsburg’s strict zoning laws, this only translates into being 4 storeys above the ground. I can look down on my closest neighbors, but only from a distance of a few feet. My building lacks a high-speed elevator, but I’m in better shape because I have to climb the stairs - still, I’m not so high up that I pass out from overexerting myself returning home. And while I no longer have a multitude of enormous brand-name stores within walking distance, catering to my every whim, I can easily access the essentials via small, local businesses: a grocer, a butcher, a teahouse, a wine shop. My workspace faces a wall of windows that extends almost all the way from floor-to-ceiling, the kind of feature that has become a staple of the city’s luxury condos. In my case, they bear some unseemly scratches, and they tend to leak when it rains, but they still offer a breathtaking view. The island of Manhattan looms on the horizon, and through a trick of perspective, its skyscrapers seem to be smaller than my modestly-sized building, their lights shimmering through the curtain of heat generated by the city. It’s only from this distance that I can fully perceive the beauty of its ambitious skyline and, unlike the commanding view offered from the Empire State Building, my perception is that of an equal. There are less lyrical advantages as well. New York recently felt the effects of an earthquake and a hurricane, raising the strange specter of the city’s potential mortality. Who knows what other disasters, manmade or natural, the future has in store, but in case of emergency I think it’s a safe bet that the well grounded have better chances of survival.

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heute die urbane Skyline dominieren. In Krisenzeiten jedoch droht eine solche Zurschaustellung von Vertikalität unter ihrer eigenen Last zusammenzubrechen und die globale Wirtschaft gleich mit in den Abgrund zu reißen. So gesehen ein guter Moment, das Gedankengebäude, in dem wir uns eingerichtet haben, ebenso wie daraus abgeleitete Konstruktion unserer Städte einer nüchternen Prüfung zu unterziehen. Vielleicht kommen wir bei dieser Gelegenheit ja auch herunter von unserer aggressiven Wachstumsphilosophie, die immer noch höher hinaus will. Wer weiß, vielleicht gelingt es uns sogar, wieder alle jene Dinge schätzen zu lernen, die – wörtlich – direkt vor unserer Haustür liegen statt in einhundert Metern Höhe. Was bedeutet schon ein von beflissenen Attachés mit Designerwasser gefüllter Kühlschrank gegenüber dem Bioladen an der Ecke oder gar einem Plausch mit dem eigenen Nachbarn? Es sind genau diese kleinen Dinge, die ehedem überzeugte Manhattan-Fans inzwischen veranlassen, sich nach Brooklyn zu orientieren, denn eine leistungsbesessene Stadt, die niemals schläft, hält auf Dauer kein Mensch aus. Man kann diesen Trend als Teil der Macchiato-Kultur verspotten, als ökoverkitscht oder rückwärtsgewandt, und doch markiert er für mich die Wende zu einem, sagen wir mal, Low-Rise Way of Life, einem Dasein mit Bodenkontakt. Ich selbst jedenfalls wollte nach vier Jahren im Ausland nicht wieder zurück nach Chelsea, sondern entschied mich für das ruhigere East Williamsburg. Ironie der Geschichte: Endlich wohne ich ganz oben. Doch ganz oben bedeutet hier, dank eines strikten Bebauungsplans: dritter Stock. Höher hinaus geht es in diesem Viertel nirgendwo. Ja, ich kann auf meine Nachbarn hinabsehen, aber es sind nur wenige Meter. Nein, und wir haben auch keinen Expresslift, doch das bringt den Kreislauf in Schwung, ohne daß ich gleich einen Herzkasper riskiere. Auch die Einkaufssituation hat sich entspannt. Zwar sind die schicken Läden, die selbst die ausgefallensten Kundenwünsche bedienten, nicht mehr fußläufig erreichbar, für die Dinge des täglichen Bedarfs reicht es aber allemal. Es gibt einen kleinen Supermarkt, einen Metzger, ein Teehaus und einen Weinladen. Von meinem Schreibtisch aus schaue ich durch bodentiefe Fenster (derselben Art, wie sie auch in den Luxus-Condominiums von Manhattan zu finden sind), doch diese Fenster sind gewissermaßen fest in der Realität verankert. Denn sie weisen bereits die ersten häßlichen Kratzer auf, und es regnet sogar durch. Nur der Blick auf die Halbinsel Manhattan ist immer noch atemberaubend. Seltsam, aber durch irgendeinen optischen Effekt wirken die Wolkenkratzer viel kleiner als mein eigenes Haus. Und es ist wunderschön anzusehen, wenn nachts die Lichter dieses Raumschiffs in den Abluftströmen funkeln. Nur so, denke ich, aus der Distanz, läßt sich die wahre Schönheit dieser grandiosen Kulisse wirklich genießen. Anders als bei der berühmten Aussicht von der Besucherplattform des Empire State Building ist es allerdings ein Blick von gleich zu gleich. Darüber hinaus bietet mein neues Viertel noch weitere, eher praktische Vorteile, wie man vor einiger Zeit gesehen hat. Bei Wirbelstürmen und Erdbeben nämlich verwandelt sich Manhattan leicht in eine Todesfalle, keine schöne Vorstellung. Und da niemand weiß, was die Natur noch alles an natürlichen oder menschengemachten Katastrophen im Programm hat, würde ich fürs Erste sagen: Mit Bodenhaftung ist man in jedem Fall besser dran.

Lang / Baumann, Comfort #6, 2008. Polyester fabric, ventilator, approx. 14 × 36 × 5 m. Installation view »La noche en blanco«, Fundacion Telefónica, Madrid 2008.

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Low-down

Photographer Thomas Lohr Fashion editor Julian Ganio Art director Hanna Putz Hair Joshua Gibson for Sassoon Salon Make up Ken Nakano using M.A.C Models Charlie and Jack at D1, Jake at AMCK, Matt at Next, Sid at Select, and Danny By Thomas Lohr

Photographer’s assistant Theo De Gueltzl Fashion editor’s assistant Luci Ellis Hair assistant Daniel McCourt Make up assistant Yuko Murakami Shirts and trousers all by Nigel Cabourn, and shoes by Dr. Martens.

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Striped blue shirt by Norse Projects. Right page: Checked blue shirt by Woolrich Woolen Mills, and trousers by Margaret Howell MHL. Paisley yellow shirt by Topman Design.

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Shirts by Topman Design.

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Shirts and trousers all by Nigel Cabourn, and shoes by Dr. Martens. Right page: Shirts by Woolrich Woolen Mills.

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Trousers by Nigel Cabourn. Right page: Shirt by Norse Projects.

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Right page: Shirt by Polo Ralph Lauren, and trousers by Margaret Howell MHL.

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Left: shirt by Carhartt, right: shirt by Margaret Howell MHL. Right page: Shirt by Adam Kimmel.

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Pyjamas by Derek Rose. Right page: Shirt by Forgotten Future.

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Left page: Trousers by Carhartt.

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haute volée

By Morgan roudaut

Photographer Morgan Roudaut

Fashion editor Darryl Rodrigues Hair Yann Damour Fleury

Make up Hugo Villard

Models Bianca O’Brien at IMG Models,

Kadri at Oui Management

Oversized collarette mini dress in frayed white organza with a black velvet floor-length collar by Alexis Mabille.

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Crystal embroidered dress, and cape of ecru silk flowers hemmed with jade feathers by Valentino. Left: nude mini dress in Chantilly lace embroidered with sequins, pearls and flowers, with butterfly sleeves and velvet belt by Elie Saab.

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haute volée

Gathered dress in silk organza embroidered with Swarovski Elements by Yiqing Yin. Right: dry wool dress with embroidered vampire teeth motif and a wrinkled organza train of purple titanium decorated with blue lagoon hanging crystals by Maxime Simoens.

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haute volée

Black silk tulle embroidered dress with black sequins, pearls and jewel-like buttons, with a bondage effect accentuated by transparency and jewel-like buttons by Chanel. Left: extra-large zipped and fringed »Rhodid« coat in black crepe and nude coloured mousseline by Julien Fournie.

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haute volée

Handmade black lacquered polyamide 3D dress by Iris van Herpen.

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haute volée

Studded Victorian high-collared tight suit in cork, and thigh-high hoof cork boots by Jan Taminiau. Right: White suede bolero jacket with Mongolian fur collar, worn with white suede quilted skirt with Mongolian fur insets by Azzedine Alaïa.

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haute The volée Trip

Translucid male moulded trench coat made of tape by Maison Martin Margiela.

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Vertigo

By Markus Pritzi

Photographer Markus Pritzi Fashion editor Isabelle Thiry Hair / Make up Gregor Makris at Bigoudi using Aveda Model Ilva Hetmann at Place Models Photographer’s assistant Pascal Gambarte Fashion editor’s assistant Uli Semmler Production JaCqueline Pusch at JPPS Black shirt with blue collar, grey felt trousers and base cap by Miu Miu, and shoes by Comme des Garçons Shirt.

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Vertigo

Checked organza dress and green python coat by Prada.

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Jacket with fur sleeves by Vanessa Bruno, navy blue top by COS, navy blue trousers by Jil Sander, base cap by Miu Miu, and shoes by Burberry Prorsum.

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Vertigo

Salt and pepper wool coat by A.P.C., base cap by Miu Miu, and shoes by Burberry Prorsum.

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Vertigo

Knitted sweater with hood and skirt by Jil Sander, and shoes by Burberry Prorsum.

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Black wool blouse with lacquered collar by Louis Vuitton.

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Vertigo

Black sweater with white sleeves and black trousers by Céline. Left: Green wool coat by Burberry Prorsum, pink silk blouse by COS, beige mohair sweater by Lala Berlin, and base cap by Miu Miu.

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Vertigo

Jacket with fur sleeves by Vanessa Bruno, navy blue top by COS, navy blue trousers by Jil Sander, base cap by Miu Miu, and shoes by Burberry Prorsum. Right: Black sweater with white sleeves by Céline.

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Vertigo

Salt and pepper wool coat by A.P.C., base cap by Miu Miu, and shoes by Burberry Prorsum.

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White blouse by Weekday, and navy blue knitted dress by Vanessa Bruno.

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The Trip

Photographer Leon Mark Fashion editor Ruben Moreira Models Idina at Select, and Timothy Kelleher at D1 Models Hair Takeshi Katoh using Bumble and bumble Make up Shama at CLM London Photographer’s assistant Pietro Pravettoni Fashion editor’s assistants Maria Bastos, Andrea Fonseca Hair assistant Saori Sugimoto

By Leon Mark

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Striped trousers by Dries van Noten, and black leather shoes with chain by Raf Simons. Left page: White vest by Sunspel.

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The Trip

Knitted jumper by Dries Van Noten.

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Jumper by Burberry Prorsum, knitted black dress by Craig Lawrence, and black suede platform boots by Damir Doma.

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Leather top by Damir Doma.

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White vest by Sunspel.

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Dress by Dries Van Noten.

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High Tea

By Zelinda Zanichelli

Photographer Zelinda Zanichelli Fashion editor Lorena Maza Hair / Make up Sandra Kern at Tune Artists Models Albe Hamiti, Tory at Tune Models Photographer’s assistant Fernanda Vilela Fashion editor’s assistant Luna

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Cardigan by Bottega Veneta, car MINI Inspired by Goodwood.

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High Tea

Coat by Burberry London, cardigan by Pringle of Scotland, and hat by Fiona Bennett. Right: Shirt, jacket, breeches, riding boots and crop by Hermès. Right: Duffle coat by Burberry Brit, trousers by Lala Berlin, scarf by Barbour and rubber boots by Burberry. In the boot: saddle by Hermès, and bag by Burberry London. Car MINI Inspired by Goodwood.

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Left: dress, cape and boots by Hermès. Right: coat, hat and shoes by Burberry Prorsum, and tights by Wolford. Car MINI Inspired by Goodwood.

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Sweater by Lala Berlin. Right: cardigan by Bottega Veneta.

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The Tide Is High

By Kira Lillie

Photographer Kira Lillie Fashion editor Rossana Passalacqua at Artlist Paris Model Bianca O’Brien at IMG Models Hair Franco Argento at Filo Meno Make up Hugo Villard Photographer’s assistant Romane Schirm Fashion editor’s assistant Maia Hawad Set design Nini Gollong Set design assistant Sylvain Cabouat, David Myron Top and trousers by Visbøl de Arce.

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The Tide The Is High Trip

Jacket, trousers and shoes by Damir Doma.

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The Tide The Is High Trip

Shoulder piece by Visbøl de Arce, and dress by Acne.

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Top and trousers by Damir Doma.

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Dress by Acne.

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Das Betreten eines Gotteshauses verlangt das zeitweise Ablegen unserer persönlichen Geschichte zugunsten einer allumfassenden Metaerzählung. Die Kirche ist eine Bühne, auf der die kolossale Tragikomik des alltäglichen Daseins von einem jämmerlichen Einakter zu einer Art ehrfurchtgebietenden Theaterspektakel erhoben werden soll. Aber die Pracht des Theaters ändert nichts daran, daß wir nur einfache Statisten sind, die um eine feste Rolle wetteifern, die per definitionem unerreichbar bleiben wird. Wir lesen unsere vorgeschriebenen Texte, warten auf unseren Einsatz im Chor und spielen einem allmächtigen, unsichtbaren Regisseur einstudierte Szenen vor. Natürlich nur diejenigen unter uns, die überhaupt zur Kirche gehen. Der Rest von uns findet in diesen heiligen Häusern eine andere Art von Inspiration als den Trost gemeinsamer, ritueller Anbetung. Der institutionelle Reiz der Kirche reicht von schwer faßbar bis geradezu irritierend, und doch kann niemand die Macht ihrer Ästhetik leugnen, insbesondere, wenn ihre Bänke verlassen sind. Kirchen sind offizielle plastische Denkmäler, Kunstwerke, die, wenn nicht von der Existenz Gottes per se, von der Existenz eines abstrakten Glaubens daran zeugen, daß es jenseits unserer Körperlichkeit etwas gibt, das Betrachtung und architektonische Vergöttlichung verdient. Betrachtet man diese Ansammlungen von Beton, Steinen und buntem Glas unabhängig von ihrem indoktrinierten Kontext, so bleiben eifrigen Ungläubigen herrliche Fertigbauten als Ersatz für die traditionelle Ikonographie. »Die Kunst ist die reine Verwirklichung der Religiosität, der Glaubensfähigkeit, Sehnsucht nach ›Gott‹«, so Gerhard Richter, dessen aus Farbquadraten zusammengesetzte Buntglasfenster paradoxerweise den berühmten Kölner Dom schmücken. »Die Fähigkeit zu glauben ist unsere erhabenste Eigenschaft, und sie wird nur durch die Kunst angemessen ausgedrückt.« Die Ironie daran ist, daß beide Sichtweisen letztlich zur selben Schlußfolgerung kommen müssen. Die vielbefahrene Straße der konfessionellen Anbetung und die Nebenstraße des ästhetischen Agnostizismus treffen sich irgendwann an der unübersichtlichen Kreuzung aus Religion und Kunst, wo das Sakrale und das Weltliche, zum ewigen Ärger beider, eine unheilige Allianz eingehen.

Christoph Morlinghaus, First Presbyterian Church, 2006. Analogue C-print, 127 × 160 cm.

Deutsch

To enter a house of worship mandates a temporary suspension of our personal history of an all-encompassing meta-narrative. The church is a stage, erected to elevate the colossal tragicomedy of everyday existence from a pitiful one-act play to some sublime theatrical mini-series. Regardless of the theatre’s splendour in which we choose communion, we remain involuntary extras, vying for a recurring role that is, by definition, unattainable. We read our scripted lines, harmonize on cue and perform quotidian choreographed scenes for an omnipotent, invisible director. That is, of course, if you are one of the people who go to church. For the rest of us, these houses of the holy provide a different kind of inspiration from the comforts of collective, ritual worship. Their institutional appeal ranges from elusive to downright confounding, yet the force of their aesthetic is undeniable, especially when the seats are deserted. These are certified sculptural monuments, artworks that attest not to the existence of God per se, but to the existence of an abstract belief that something beyond our physicality is worthy of contemplation and architectural deification. Remove these concrete, stone and stained glass assemblages from their indoctrinated context and the results are magnificent ready-mades, avidly substituted by non-believers in place of traditional iconography. »Art is the pure realization of religious feeling, capacity for faith, longing for God«, stated Gerhard Richter, whose pixelated stained glass window paradoxically adorns Cologne’s famous cathedral. »The ability to believe is our outstanding quality, and only art adequately translates it into reality.« The irony, of course, is that both perceptions ultimately arrive at the same conclusion. The high road of denominational worship and the low road of aesthete agnosticism will eventually meet at the muddied intersection of religion and art, where the sacred and profane cohabit, much to the other’s eternal chagrin.

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Text by Emilie Trice German translation by Susanne Merx

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Christoph Morlinghaus, Beth El 2, 2006. Analogue C-print, 127 × 155 cm.

Christoph Morlinghaus, St. Mary Chapel, 2005. Analogue C-print, 127 × 180.3 cm.

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Christoph Morlinghaus, Mariendom, 2007. Analogue C-print, 127 × 157.5 cm. Top: M.I.T. Chapel, 2006. Analogue C-print, 127 × 152.4 cm.

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Christoph Morlinghaus, Portsmouth Abbey, 2006. Analogue C-print, 127 × 182.9 cm. Top: Kramer Chapel, 2005. Analogue C-print, 127 × 160 cm.

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Charlotte Olympia Carmen, AW 2011

Manolo Blahnik SS 2012

Text by Alice Pfeiffer German translation by Marcus Ingendaay

Acne Lily, SS 2012

Thanks to technical innovation high heels have reached towering heights, but the latest trend in shoe design proposes flat soles. Is this some sort of socioeconomic commentary? Dank verbesserter Fertigungstechniken sind High Heels heute so hoch, daß man Nasenbluten bekommen könnte. Neuerdings aber halten Schuhdesigner die Sohle wieder flach. Steckt vielleicht eine Botschaft dahinter?

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Rupert Sanderson Kibo, SS 2012

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A bizarre fact about the history of shoemaking is that the »discovery« of the left and right foot only occurred in the 18th century. Until then people uncomfortably wore two identical objects – which didn’t matter, because developments in the industry were visual rather than practical. Shoes, for those who could afford them, were bejewelled statements which aristocracy stumbled in, on heels which brought you closer to God. Yet the arrival of the bourgeoisie – a class in motion – led to the creation of shoes both functional and stylish, to walk in by day and dance in by night. Today this ancient dichotomy between mobility and visibility is still present in women’s fashion, oscillating between flats and heels, between equality of movement and a longing for classical femininity arguably empowered by mastering an object forbidden to men. It seems the split has become more radical than ever: women seem torn between wearing men’s timeless classics and circus-high stilettos. This approach, in both cases iconoclastic, hints at confused gender roles in an impoverished society, where people find themselves equal under the reign of recession. »Chopping heels off is always a politically-charged gesture«, says Alice Litscher, a professor in fashion history at the Paris Institut Français de la Mode, »it systematically goes hand in hand with social change.« Throughout history women needing to work, run or resist have switched from eye-catching, sexualizing pieces to ones not only practical, but referencing the able-legged other – men. During World War II, women swapped heels for flatter cork soles (the ancestor of plat-

Es erscheint heute fast unglaublich, aber bis ins 18. Jahrhundert hinein machte man bei Schuhen keinerlei Unterschied zwischen Rechts und Links. Das heißt, die Menschen hatten zwei identische Klumpen an den Füßen, Bequemlichkeit spielte keine Rolle. Sogar in der Folgezeit zielte jede Neuerung im Schuhbau eher auf die optischen denn auf orthopädische Eigenschaften. Schuhe waren edelsteinstarrende Statussymbole, in denen der Adel einherstolzierte – mit hochhackigen Absätzen, auf denen er sich Gott näher wähnen durfte. Erst der Aufstieg des Bürgertums, einer in jeder Hinsicht mobilen Klasse, brachte die Verschmelzung von Form und Funktion: Schuhe, in denen man tagsüber gehen und abends tanzen konnte. Vor allem bei Damenschuhen hat sich dieser Gegensatz zwischen Funktionalität und optischem Erscheinungsbild bis heute erhalten. Flats und Heels, flacher Absatz und hoher Absatz heißen die Pole. Steht der Flachschuh für Gleichberechtigung in der Fortbewegung, reizen Pfennigabsätze die ganze »klassische Weiblichkeit« aus. Diese ist eigentlich sogar eine Superiorität, denn nur Frauen beherrschen den Umgang mit jenem Teil, das ihnen zu schweben erlaubt und das Männern verboten ist. Die Kluft zwischen beidem scheint sich inzwischen sogar noch vertieft zu haben, und alle sind hin und her gerissen zwischen den ewigen Widersachern. Hier der klassische Herrenhalbschuh, dort verwegene Killer-Stilettos, die aus einer Burlesque-Show stammen könnten. An Frauenfüßen besitzen übrigens beide Modelle eine ikonoklastische Qualität, sind Ausdruck für brüchig gewordene Geschlechterrollen in Zeiten der Krise. Unter 181

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Damir Doma Fosty, AW 2011

dem großen Gleichmacher Rezession ist komischerweise alles möglich. »Absätze abzusäbeln, ist eine eminent politische Geste«, sagt Alice Litscher, Professorin für Modegeschichte am Französischen Modeinstitut. »Und immer geht sie Hand in Hand mit tiefgreifenden sozialen Veränderungen.« Ein Blick in die Geschichte zeigt, daß Frauen, die sich in der Arbeitswelt durchsetzen mußten, die sexualierenden Hingucker gegen Schuhwerk tauschten, das nicht bloß praktischer war, sondern auch sonst das Referenzmodell imitierte, nämlich den Mann, der bereits im Normalzustand gut zu Fuß war. Während des Zweiten Weltkriegs zum Beispiel verschwanden Stöckelschuhe aus dem Straßenbild, Korksohlen kamen auf, Vorläufer unserer heutigen Plateauschuhe. Nur in ihnen konnte man tüchtig in Fahrradpedale treten. Zwei Jahrzehnte später wiederum, in den wilden Sechzigern, flogen nicht nur BHs auf den Scheiterhaufen, sondern auch die Hollywood-Pumps der Fünfziger. Audrey Hepburn, Françoise Hardy und die vielen kleinen Annie Halls schlüpften viel lieber in Collegeschuhe, Stiefeletten und Schnürschuhe. Natürlich schlug sich auch das Disko-Fieber der Achtziger sofort in der Schuhmode nieder. Wer auf der Tanzfläche bestehen wollte, brauchte die geeignete Ausrüstung. Ballerinas und Turnschuhe, ursprünglich Sachen aus der Sportabteilung, waren plötzlich ausgehtauglich. Trotzdem verschwanden die High Heels nie, im Gegenteil. In den Boomjahren der Neunziger schossen nicht nur die Börsenkurse in die Höhe, sondern auch die Absätze. Die luftigen Riemchen-Modelle von Manolo Blahnik, Christian Louboutin und Jimmy Choo waren eine Verbeugung vor dem guten alten Fünfziger-Glamour, als Absätze derart spitz waren, daß sie in Flugzeugen verboten wurden, weil sie sonst Löcher in den Kabinenboden gestanzt hätten. Die neuen Stilettos demonstrierten eine postfeministische Weiblichkeit à la Sex and the City, und getragen wurden sie von Frauen, deren Karriere stets nachhaltiger war als die aktuelle Ehe. Diese Frauen kombinierten das alte Emanzipationsideal von der finanziellen Unabhängigkeit mit dem Verlangen, sich als Sex-Ikone zu inszenieren: Eindeutig ein Schmuckstück für jeden Mann, aber definitiv mit eigenem Traumjob und never ever Heimchen am Herd. Schuhe wurden zu Botschaftern dieser Haltung, die immer alles beanspruchte: Sex und Erfolg, Reichtum und unsaturierte Aggressivität. »Männer tragen ihren Erfolg vor sich her, in Form von teuren Autos und attraktiven Freundinnen. Frauen hingegen tragen ihren Erfolg auf der Haut, sie lassen ihre Kleidung sprechen«, schreibt der französische Soziologe Gilles Lipovetsky in seinem 1994 erschienenen Buch L’Empire de l’éphémère. Erst der Börsencrash von 2008 brachte die Schuhmode wieder auf den Boden der Tatsachen. Halbschuhe, Segelschuhe, Reitstiefel unterstrichen nun den funktionalen, androgynen Stil. »In jeder Rezession orientieren sich Kleidung und Schuhe wieder an traditionellen Werten. Schluß mit überdrehten Albernheiten, keine Angeberei mehr«, sagt der Kulturanthropologe Carol Mann. Die aktuelle Kollektion von Haider Ackermann ist ein gutes Beispiel. Sie besteht zum großen Teil aus adaptierten Herrenklassikern, vor allem Oxfords oder Slipper. Er habe sich, sagt Ackermann, einfach nach einer »Down-to-earth-Silhouette« gesehnt, nach einem seriösen Look, »der nicht zuletzt mit Flats punktet.« Damit steht er nicht allein. Die Stiefeletten von Philip Lim, die Brogues von Trussardi oder die Derby-Boots von Repetto haben den Trend aufgenommen. Sie alle verleihen einer neuen Sehnsucht nach Zeitlosigkeit und stabilen Verhältnissen Ausdruck. »Die Frauen denken praktischer als früher und wollen nicht auf Tragekomfort verzichten«, meint Philippe Zorzetto, ein Pariser Schuhdesigner, der sich auf schmale Halbschuhe im Sechziger-Stil spezialisiert hat und auch Herrenschuhe entwirft, selbstverständlich alle handgenäht. »Sie achten jetzt auf Qualität. Sie wünschen sich dieselbe Art Unverwüstlichkeit, auf die normalerweise nur Männer Wert legen. Lieber ein paar richtig gute Schuhe im Schrank als den ganzen Fashion Victim-Kram.«

Louboutin Rolling, AW 2011

Phillipe Zorzetto SS 2012

Gucci Cruise Collection 2012

Prada SS 2012

Acne Azalea, SS 2012

Phillipe Zorzetto SS 2012

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forms) as it enabled them to ride bikes; in the bra-burning 60s, Audrey Hepburn, Françoise Hardy and – later – legions of mini-Annie Halls ignored the stilettos of 1950s Hollywood and opted for loafers, ankle boots, brogues. Similarly, the recession-hit, dance-crazy 80s brought in self-expression via the body in movement, all facilitated by ballet pumps and tennis shoes. Yet heels never disappeared, on the contrary, they became higher and spikier in times of affluence. The 90s boom was paralleled by Manolo Blahnik, Christian Louboutin, Jimmy Choo: strappy, skinny numbers winking at 1950s glamour, a time when sharp stilettos were forbidden on planes as they perforated the floor. The new stiletto reflected a novel femininity, a post-feminism à la Sex and the City. It was worn by women with careers more lasting than their marriages, who juxtaposed feminist values of financial emancipation with a desire to be a bombshell – trophy non-wives with a job. Shoes suddenly came to reflect both sex and success, affluence and aggression. »A man wears his success externally: the car, the girlfriend mirror his situation. A women wears it on herself: her body, her clothes mirror her success«, writes French sociologist Gilles Lipovetsky in his 1994 book Empire of Fashion. The arrival of the 2008 crash introduced a more grounded attitude in shoe fashion. Loafers, boat shoes, riding boots and other classics complement a functional, androgynous silhouette. »In a recession, clothes and shoes become more sensible. They reflect the values you long for. No more silliness, no more ostentation«, says social anthropologist Carol Mann. Take Haider Ackermann: his collection, mainly composed of readapted men’s pieces, is worn with Oxfords and loafers. He says he longed for a more »down-to-earth silhouette« and that »the looks would have more impact if worn with flats.« He is not alone: Philip Lim’s ankle boots, Trussardi’s brogues, and Repetto’s Derby boots all suggest that women today long for timelessness and stability. »Women seem to be after a new practicality and aren’t willing to sacrifice their comfort«, observes Philippe Zorzetto, a unisex shoe designer in Paris who makes elongated, 60s inspired flat shoes from size 36 to 45, all with classical artisan stitching techniques. »And they also seem to be after the quality that men tend to go for when they shop. A few sturdy items rather than frenetic shopping.« Yet while more women are investing in trend-surpassing pieces, we are also seeing a vivid return to acrobatic heels: what Alexander McQueen designed for Lady Gaga, or Antonio Berardi for Victoria Beckham, injects an element of theatricality and humour into heels –

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Trussardi SS 2012

Bally Berenys, AW 2011

Swedish Hasbeens SS 2012

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Jeffrey Campbell Benched, AW 2011

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Überraschungen sind dennoch nicht ausgeschlossen. Während sich Frauen einerseits auf langlebige, trendübergreifende Modelle verlegen, erleben wir auf der Promi-Bühne die Rückkehr geradezu halsbrecherischer Heels. Die Objekte, die etwa Alexander McQueen für Lady Gaga oder Antonio Berardi für Victoria Beckham kreiert hat, sind spektakuläres Statement und ironischer Kommentar in einem. Sogar höhere Wissenschaft soll in ihre Konstruktion eingeflossen sein. »Denn eigentlich beruht alles auf einer optischen Täuschung«, beschreibt Daphne Guiness ihre stelzenartigen Absatzlosen. »Vor allem sind sie viel bequemer als sie aussehen.« Und weiter: »Tatsächlich wurde die Idee zu meinen Absatzlosen im Dschungel geboren. Ich war zum Shooting bei David LaChapelle, und er brach mir einfach die Absätze ab, damit ich im Schlamm besser laufen konnte. Da erkannte ich: Es ist alles nur eine Frage der Physik.« Andere folgen ihr auf dem quasiwissenschaftlichen Weg, beispielsweise Charlotte Olympia, kleine Schwester von Alice Dellal, deren nostalgische Modelle den Glanz von Old Hollywood beschwören und mitunter bis ins Cartoonhafte überziehen. Ihre Geheimformel: die Mini-Plateausohle unter dem Fußballen. Keine Frage, so etwas hätte auch einer Sexbombe wie Jessica Rabbit gut gefallen. Der große Stolperstein indes bleibt die Tragbarkeit. Auf Versaces transparenten Tabledance-Platforms geraten selbst trittsichere Models ins Taumeln, in Krizia-Sandalen gar gingen die Mädchen auf dem Runway gleich dutzendweise zu Boden (am Ende mußte selbst Krizia-Chefin Mariuccia Mandelli einräumen, daß heil ankommen die eigentliche Herausforderung der Show war). Es führt also nichts um die Erkenntnis herum, daß sich manche High Heels selbst für Trainierte nicht zum Laufen eignen. Erfahrene Yves Saint Laurent-Trägerinnen sprechen in diesem Zusammenhang von »Taxi-Schuhen« und verweisen darauf, daß in YSL-Läden offen von jedem Alltagstest abgeraten wird. Spätestens hier hat die Entwicklung einen Punkt erreicht, an dem es ausschließlich in eine Richtung nicht weitergeht und Kompromisse unumgänglich werden. Anders ausgedrückt: Wäre es nicht möglich, Form und Funktion besser zu verbinden? Die Voraussetzungen dafür sind günstig. Man weiß heute viel mehr über gesundes Gehen, und die Wellnessfraktion schwört eh auf Geox oder Paraboot. Überhaupt sind Schuhe heute viel bequemer als noch vor einigen Jahrzehnten. Könnte ihnen jetzt noch jemand einen Hauch von Klasse verleihen, wäre die Idealform womöglich gefunden. Erste Modelle existieren bereits, etwa die 15-Zentimeter-Platforms von Rick Owen, Barbarella-Schick mit Bequemgarantie – angeblich. Auch die diesjährige Sommerkollektion von Swedish Hasbeens präsentierte breite Absätze in Korkfarben, was auf eine Fusion von Sex in the City und Granny-Chic hindeutet. Mächtige Symbole dieses Umschwungs hin zum Flachschuh liefert nicht zuletzt Prada mit einem Hybrid aus dicksohligem Creeper und feinem Oxford. Bei den Wedge-Stiefeln von Surface2Air äußert sich das schlichte Prinzip noch klarer: Man nehme einen flachen Schuh und versehe ihn mit einer fetten 10-Zentimeter-Sohle. Vor zwanzig Jahren ist Buffalo damit berühmt geworden. Selbst ein oberflächlicher Blick in die Schaufenster der internationalen Läden läßt vermuten: Diese Treter werden in den nächsten Jahren das Rennen machen. Aber was verrät das nun über die Käuferin? Wer will sie in diesen Schuhen sein? Carrie Bradshaw in der gereinigten Version? Wandelnde Verführung, aber bitte ohne Blut im Schuh? Und geht das überhaupt? Kann man diesen Traum von Weiblichkeit leben, ohne gleichzeitig Geld fürs Taxi zu haben? Vielleicht läßt sich der Widerspruch zwischen Schmerz und seiner Vermeidung, zwischen wunden und gesunden Füßen endgültig gar nicht lösen. In einer Zeit, in der die Emanzipation dem Börsenbarometer folgt und heute angesagt ist, morgen wieder abgesagt wird, kommt jedes Paar Schuhe einem Manifest gleich.

Viktor & Rolf SS 2012

Gianmarco Lorenzi AW 2011

demokratie ist lustig

and a bit of science too. »It’s an optical illusion more than anything«, says Daphne Guinness about her own designs of stilt-like heel-less shoes. »They’re more comfortable than they seem«, she assures. »My heel-less pieces were in fact born in the jungle: I was in stilettos with David LaChapelle, and he simply ripped the heel off so I could walk in the mud – and I found out it’s entirely a matter of physics.« A quasi-scientific approach is borrowed by other modern makers such as Charlotte Olympia, Alice Dellal’s petite, platform-footed sister, who makes shoes she says are »nostalgic for the allure of Old Hollywood glamour«, and sometimes exude a cartoonish, Jessica Rabbit touch, all with her own secret formula of »island-style sole platform«. The comfort is often a moot point of course: runway models stumbling in Versace’s latest stripper-inspired, see-through plastic platforms, and tripping by the dozen in Krizia’s sandals (designer Mariuccia Mandelli acknowledged they were »the biggest challenge of the show«) – some heels remain a practice and daily exercise, and are often simply not designed for walking. Any Yves Saint Laurent heel wearer will assure you that these are in fact »taxi shoes« and that salesmen tell you off for actually testing them on the street. Beyond this split between high and low – a maximized model of what we have already seen in history – a more puzzling aspect, perhaps, is the desire to merge the two. Now that technological advancement has brought ultra comfort to those who want it (Geox, Paraboot) modern shoes are altogether far more comfortable than their ancestors, and the desire for grandeur and comfort is merged in several contemporary pieces: this includes Rick Owens’ 15 cm platforms, (supposedly) comfortable and creating an alien version of femininity, or last summer’s trend for Swedish Hasbeens’ heeled orthopaedic shoes, a hybrid between sexy bohemia and granny-chic. The most potent example of this tendency is the current flatform trend: Prada’s thick-soled creepers, or Surface2Air’s neo-riding booties offer their own version of one simple concept: take a flat shoe and make its sole 10 cm thick – what you get is essentially what Buffalo became famous for 20 years ago. One glimpse at boutiques worldwide, and these seem to be the rage for the year to come. Does this reflect a desire for women, like a rather vintage Carrie Bradshaw, to be shamelessly girly yet run around town band-aid free? Living out fantasies of femininity, yet not being able to afford a taxi ride home? The correlation between pain and practicality continues to be an endless debate; in an era where emancipation goes in an out of fashion as often as the economy plunges and peaks, each pair of shoes inevitably becomes a manifesto.

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Grey Mer Venus, AW 2011

Versace AW 2011

LaRare Virgo, AW 2011

Blahnik for Berardi Antosli, SS 2012

BalEnciaga AW 2011 Alexander McQueen AW 2011

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Well you can’t see electricity, a-movin’ on the line, How in the world can you doubt it when you can see it shine? When you get salvation, the current you can feel, You won’t have to have nobody, to tell you that it’s real… Jimmy Murphy, Electricity, 1951

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All images Andreas Gefeller, from »The Japan Series«, 2010. Pigment print, 100 × 100 cm each. In order of appearance: Poles 08, 19, 44, 30, 38, and 39. Courtesy Thomas Rehbein Galerie, Cologne, and Hasted Kraeutler, New York. For more information see the book Andreas Gefeller, The Japan Series, Hatje Cantz, Ostfildern 2011.

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Text by David Ottosson German translation by Susanne Merx English

deutsch

Jimmy Murphy’s song lyrics, quoted on the first page, propose a deceptively clever premise: instead of positing technology as an argument against God, technology introduces a magical way of thinking. God is a black box, and so is the electrical wire. We can use and replace them, but the things wires do cannot be visualized. In Murphy’s time this was unusual – machinery was naked, much to the arousal of the modernists, but today we’re back to interacting with a world of things whose inner workings we can’t tell from magic. Today machinery tends to be concealed, lethal lines of electricity crawl below the city’s streets, and when they appear as overhead transmission lines, they exude a menacing aura. When Benjamin Franklin invented the lightning rod, it was decried as blasphemy. Lightning was God’s way to touch the sinner, and didn’t the lightning rod mean stealing electricity from God? Wasn’t this an act that would make man immortal, or at any rate more than human? I remember, as a child, touching an electric fence. The anticipation was great precisely because it seemed anything could happen. Electrical wiring has the impassivity of a god and there’s nothing that can prepare you for the shock. And when the next wave hits, you have adjusted your footing, as if playing in the surf, but it doesn’t help. It’s a stimulating power, and so is the question of how to relate to it. In the Futurist Manifesto, Marinetti claimed he and his friends had souls »illuminated by the internal glow of electric hearts«, a condition that apparently leads one to »exalt aggression« and »feverish sleeplessness«. Sleep deprivation, clearly, is a hell of a drug. A gentler variant of electric faith was introduced in 1997 by the comedian George Carlin at the end of a stand-up routine: »I think we’re part of a greater wisdom than we’ll ever understand. A higher order, call it what you want... You know what I call it? The big electron! Wooohm. Woohmm. Woohmm. It doesn’t punish, it doesn’t reward, it doesn’t judge at all. It just is. And so are we. For a little while.« The universe, nature, technology and us, all humming together. Entire religions have emerged around such »ohming« sounds. Some theorize that the hum recalls prenatal memories of blood surging around us. Carlin, brilliantly, tied the humming to corona discharges. Be it blood or electricity, the illusion of chiming with something greater than us is soothing. Ultimately, the thing that makes high voltage sound so appealing might simply be that it seems to suggest the delicious idea of getting high on voltage.

Der auf der ersten Seite zitierte Songtext von Jimmy Murphy schlägt eine vermeintlich clevere Prämisse vor: Statt die Technik als Argument gegen Gott einzusetzen, kann sie auch eine magische Denkweise stimulieren. Gott als unergründliche Blackbox, genau wie das Stromkabel. Wir können es verwenden und ersetzen, doch gelingt es nicht, zu visualisieren, wie Kabel tatsächlich funktionieren. Zu Murphys Zeiten war das ungewöhnlich – Maschinen waren unverhüllt, sehr zur Erregung der Modernisten. Doch heute interagieren wir wieder mit einer Welt von Dingen, deren innere Funktionsweise sich uns ebenso wenig erschließt wie Zauberei. Die Maschinen von heute sind eher versteckt oder verkleidet: Tödliche Stromkabel verlaufen unter den Straßen unserer Städte, und wenn sie in Form von Oberleitungen doch sichtbar sind, wirken sie bedrohlich. Als Benjamin Franklin den Blitzableiter erfand, wurde dieser noch als blasphemisch verurteilt, denn der Blitz war Gottes Werkzeug, die Sünder zu bestrafen. War der Blitzableiter nicht ein Weg, Gott die Elektrizität zu stehlen? Machte so etwas den Menschen nicht unsterblich, oder zumindest übermenschlich? Ich kann mich erinnern, wie ich als Kind einmal einen Elektrozaun angefaßt habe. Die Erwartung war groß, gerade weil mir schien, daß einfach alles passieren konnte. Elektrische Leitungen sind so ungerührt wie ein Gott. Nichts kann einen auf den Schock vorbereiten. Wenn die nächste Welle kommt, hat man besseren Halt gesucht, wie beim Spielen in der Brandung, doch vergeblich. Elektrizität ist eine stimulierende Kraft, genau wie die Frage danach, wie wir uns zu ihr in Beziehung setzen. In seinem futuristischen Manifest schrieb Marinetti sich und seinen Freunden Seelen zu, »erleuchtet durch das innere Glühen elektrischer Herzen«, ein Zustand, der offenbar zur »Verherrlichung von Aggression« und »fiebriger Schlaflosigkeit« führt. Schlafentzug ist eindeutig eine Droge, die mit Vorsicht zu genießen ist. Eine gemäßigtere Variante des Glaubens an die Elektrizität brachte 1997 der Komiker George Carlin am Ende seines Stand-up-Programms vor: »Ich glaube, wir sind Teil einer größeren Weisheit, als wir jemals werden verstehen können. Eine höhere Ordnung, oder wie immer Sie es auch nennen wollen... Wissen Sie, wie ich es nenne? Das große Elektron! Wumm. Wummm. Wummmm. Es bestraft nicht, es belohnt nicht, es urteilt überhaupt nicht. Es ist einfach. Genau wie wir. Für einen kurzen Moment.« Universum, Natur, Technik und wir, alle vereint in einem allumfassenden Gesumme. Ganze Religionen wurden um das Summen herum (»Ohmmm«...) aufgebaut. Einer Theorie zufolge ruft Summen in uns Erinnerungen aus dem Mutterleib an das uns umströmende Blut wach. Carlin hat das Summen auf geniale Weise mit Koronaentladungen in Verbindung gebracht. Aber ob nun Blut oder Elektrizität, die Illusion, im Einklang mit etwas Größerem als uns selbst zu stehen, ist tröstlich. Letzten Endes ist die Idee der Hochspannung vielleicht einfach nur deshalb so ansprechend, weil sie uns ein spannungsinduziertes »Hoch« verspricht.

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Berlin People .....................................................................................................196 Berlin Places ....................................................................................................202 Highway Flagship ..........................................................................................206 Studio Visit ..........................................................................................................210 The collector – A Serialized Novel .................................................214 The Further CHronicles of Anthony Haden-Guest .............218 Further Reading ...........................................................................................220

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Berlin People

Berlin People sleek’s quarterly shortlist of the individuals whose influence on the German capital’s art and fashion scenes is helping to make it an international hotspot.

Photography by Belaid le Mharchi

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Ryan Mendoza

Somehow Ryan Mendoza just doesn’t fit in. Intentionally so, and in a way that does no harm to his social life, if a dinner we were invited to at his studio recently – along with about 100 other guests – is anything to go by. He shares that space, a former billiard saloon, with his clothing designer wife Fabia and admits: »Her creations look at times as if they had fallen out of my paintings.« As does the studio, with its grand piano, upholstered furniture and candleholders, and as does Ryan himself, with his frock coat and silk neck bow. There’s an aura of fin de siècle berlinois about him that sticks out a mile in ohso-contemporary Berlin, but that stands in contrast to the presence of

his canvases. The fact that he has yet to show at a Berlin gallery says nothing about the quality of his paintings which are remarkable (did we just say that? – regular sleek readers must know how little love we have for contemporary painting). It’s probably more down an inability to bite his tongue: talking back at a gallerist’s daughter is certainly not the best way to get a gallerist to give you a show. Mendoza says he would have left Berlin had it not been for Hans Ulrich Obrist: »He told me to keep a studio in Berlin as it would be easier for him to make visits and check up on me.« You should continue checking up on his work too. 197

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Ayzit Bostan

Ten years ago designer Ayzit Bostan tried living in Berlin. At that time there was no fashion week and no hype pushing (read, distorting) the image of the local fashion scene. But Bostan, who is of Turkish origin, didn’t need any of that anyway. »I’m a designer«, she says. »What I depend on is not my nationality or where I’m based, but my creativity.« She left Berlin after a year, and has been happily based in Munich ever since. Still, she graces the capital with regular guest appearances that leave lasting impressions. The official bags she designed for fashion week three years running have become cult. She tends to create Bostan classics that people wear until they fall to pieces: the self-referential 198

»I heart« shirts, or »Ayzit 3«, a bag which has become her most successful item. Bostan’s image as designer for the happy few is certainly helped by dipping her toes into the art world every now and then: she designed tote bags for the last edition of the abc art berlin contemporary, and will follow this up with an edition for Munich Kunstverein. Bostan enjoys spotting people wearing her designs. »I consider myself pretty lucky. My clientele seems to be composed of interesting, attractive and intelligent people.« Well, what a coincidence, because that’s just how we would describe our readers. You know what you have to do – wear, that is.

Steve Schapiro

Steve Schapiro is responsible for some of the world’s best-known images, photos that have shaped the collective memory of an entire era. And this is not only because of the subjects they depict – although these are quite impressive, as his exhibition at Camera Work including stills from the film sets of Taxi Driver and The Godfather reveals. Schapiro started to photograph Hollywood at a time when the media dealt very differently with image making. »You used to have long photo essays in magazines where you could build a narrative«, Schapiro recalls. »Today a magazine will run one photo and you have to pack all the information into that one shot.« And what does he mean by

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»all the information«? »The key things that make an image good are emotion, information, and charisma.« His subjects have always been charismatic people by definition – actors, politicians, celebrities and pop culture heroes – but the emotion is something that requires time, says Schapiro, who has photographed so many big names that he has become one himself, although he seems remarkably down to earth. He would spend weeks on set with the crew, often a lot longer than planned, and special connections just developed. »Only when you have a connection to the subject can you make a good photo, because most of the time the good photos are the ones taken spontaneously.« 199

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Antoine de Galbert

One day prior to the opening of his show, »My Paris«, at collector Thomas Olbricht’s space, Antoine de Galbert is overseeing the installation of works from his collection he has chosen to present in Berlin. »The show is not really about Paris«, the French collector says, but the concept is not really thematic anyway. »When I started to collect, it was about learning. I had to retrieve knowledge from other sources, which meant looking at art from different perspectives. This is something I continue to do, and in a way it has become a Maison Rouge speciality.« La Maison Rouge being his private exhibition space in Paris where he regularly invites other collectors to present their collections in the spirit 200

of promoting exchange. »But it has become so difficult to find new collectors«, de Galbert laments. »They all collect the same art all over the world.« Thomas Olbricht is an exception. »Thomas is an original. His collection might receive mixed reviews but it is highly original. He expresses a personal attitude, and this is what a collection should be, a self-portrait, and not just an accumulation of things money can buy.« While de Galbert’s was long the only private collector initiative in Paris, there is now a renewed activism in the local scene. But that won’t keep him from seeking exchange – in any case, his latest acquisition is a work by Kent Monkman, bought from a French gallerist based in Berlin.

Denise Julia Reytan

Denise Julia Reytan’s conceptual jewellery has a young and carefree air about it at first. Made of materials that seem to oscillate between objet trouvé and trash, it would seem to be inspired by the surroundings of Reytan’s studio in Neukölln. But the throwaway appearances of her creations belie the philosophical motives for making them. Indeed, they express artistic concerns about contemporary culture’s f lippant relationship to f leeting moments and fragile memories. Reytan’s »Timepeace« collection, for example, consists of two archetypal watchforms, one analogue Rolex and one digital, recreated as lightweight plated-nickel bracelets. These striking watch skeletons function as

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minimalist reminders of how we are shackled to the clock. And her »colliers« combine hand-carved stones, sentimental fabrics and everyday materials with unified plastic casts of her own heirlooms and beloved keepsakes. Reytan’s heightened awareness of time’s preciousness appears incongruous in Berlin’s Peter Pan café latte culture but Reytan asserts that »even here in Berlin, time is running faster now and people are having burnouts. I’m also stressed. It’s especially hard if you don’t have friends or family to tell you to ›slow down, take your time, take care of yourself‹.« If you need time for yourself, you can find it at www.reytan.de. 201

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Building education

Berlin is still full of architecturally and historically impressive buildings which, due to the city’s eventful history, have been empty for decades, and it is the art scene which deserves most credit for discovering and filling them with life again. The latest space to continue this tradition is the former Jewish girls school, which is currently under renovation by Grüntuch Ernst architects. The building’s new landlord, gallerist Michael Fuchs is set to move in there, together with a string of other artworld tenants, among them a Judy Lübke spinoff called »Eigen+Art LAB«, as well as a pastrami deli run by nightlife impresario Oskar Melzer. The former gym will offer a different form of workout, a restaurant conceived by the Grill Royal team that will breathe new life into the motto »eating is sharing«.

Berlin Places

Mädchenschule, Auguststr. 11 - 13. An educational experience, available from mid January 2012.

Suits you

Not many people know this, but Berlin once boasted a tailoring tradition that would put any Savile Row establishment to shame. The latest addition to Berlin’s fashion circuit could be said to be reviving this forgotten world. Founded by Martin Purwin, who brings in years of fashion consulting experience, and Boris Radczun, known not only as restaurateur but also for his sartorial perfectionism, Purwin & Radczun offer both sexes a range of bespoke shirts in the discreet atmosphere of their showroom, and a full ready-to-wear collection distributed in select international stores is to follow next season.

Berlin has become a state of mind that is not confined to a geographic location. Acknowledging the globalisation of this phenomenon, we present Berlin places in Berlin and elsewhere.

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Purwin & Radczun, Tempelhofer Ufer 32. Open by appointment. For contact details see www.purwin-radczun.com

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Crowned winner

Eat for 100 days

Hats off

Here today, gone tomorrow? The uber-active Henrik Vibskov trots the globe at a dizzying speed, so what better way to reflect his universe than with a temporary concept boutique that moves around the world? Sojourning in each city for 100 days per season, the travelling store’s design changes to reflect each collection’s theme. Now here for its second cycle in Berlin, the boutique, themed »The Eat«, boasts a table set for diners as a centrepiece. The most delicious things, however, are hung around the table, on racks. Don’t let them get cold!

Located in a secretive, appointment-only studio salon in the middle of Berlin’s most bustling shopping district, it would be easy to miss this treasure trove of heady extravagance. But once you’ve entered this grotto of feathers, sequins and diamantés galore, you will not want to leave. Being of British origin, hatter Fiona Bennett knows a thing or two about eccentric headgear, but her outrageous one-off pieces are serious couture fashion based on the highest technical skills. If you want to opt for something more immediately Berlin, try her ready-to-wear knitted line.

Henrik Vibskov’s The Eat, 100 Days Berlin Boutique, Rochstr. 3, Mon - S at 12 - 8 pm.

Fiona Bennett Salon, Alte Schönhauser Str. 35, by appointment only: 030-280 96 33.

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OUKAN 71 Concept Store & Tea Bar Restaurant, Kronenstr. 71, Open Mon - S at 12 - 8 pm www.oukan71.com

Whether or not you believe in fate, the fact that the Japanese word oukan means »crown« and that the Oukan 71 store is located on Kronenstraße (meaning »Crown St.« in German) is not simply a matter of chance. A vast spiral staircase winds its way up through the two storey space, leading you to some of the most exclusive international designers, many of them not available anywhere else in Berlin, such as Norwegian Rain, Mabuya Mabuya and Ayzit Bostan, to name but a few. The upstairs offers delicious teas and an authentic sushi restaurant to top off your zen shopping spree.

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All projects are winners of the »U10« art contest initiated by NGBK Berlin, and supported by the Mayor of Berlin and the Culture Senate Berlin.

Going underground

Berlin’s culture has always been heavily influenced by »underground« currents, in music, street and club culture alike. But never has this been taken quite as literally as in the »U10« art contest and exhibition project in metro stations across the city, both functional and derelict. The two-year project, which draws to a close at the end of this year, focuses on works that deal with mobility and communication and interact with the public. Berlin’s subway system functions as a mirror of the city’s history and the entire project reads like a time map.

»U10. Von hier aus ins Imaginäre und wieder zurück«, various locations on the U10 underground line. www.u10-berlin.de

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Highway flagship

Photography by Maxime Ballesteros Berlin based pop artist Freddy Reitz unveiled her dynamic design for the electric smart fortwo at her newly opened studio in early November. Reitz, a fan of the electric smart car, hand painted a smart fortwo coupé with an acrylic design inspired by her piece, US Flag. Invoking freedom and mobility, the Freddy Reitz flag design will be available as a limited edition of the environmentally friendly car, and comes complete with a red leather interior by Brabus. In keeping with the 206

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American pop theme, the evening was all about life’s fast and accessible luxuries, as epitomized by the smart fortwo electric drive. On sale from spring 2012, the zero emission third generation electric drive will be available for the modest price of 16,000 euros. And seriously, with peak oil fast approaching, the only thing that will get you on the highway is the electric drive way! www.smart.de

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Berlin-Istanbul Express In recent years, more and more Berliners have put Istanbul on their radar, and a lively exchange of all things creative has evolved. One example is the »Linist« project by stylist Gülriz Egilmez, which aims to bring Berlin-based fashion designers to Istanbul and vice versa. During Istanbul fashion week in September, eight Berlin designers, among them Hien Le, Vladimir Karaleev and Issever Bahri were presented at Istanbul’s leading concept store, Midnight Express, along with eyewear by Mykita, nailwear by Uslu Airlines, and rounded off by an instant T-shirt design workshop by Starstyling. The return visit by Istanbul designers will take place in January 2012 during the Berlin fashion week. www.linist.eu

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Studio Visit You want to discover new artists? Then this one’s for you. We at sleek take you where no external market hype will confuse you: directly to the artists’ studios. In each issue we present three artists we think stand out with consistent quality and content. It’s up to you to make a studio visit – but with this section, you’ll never have a reason to complain that you should have bought XY’s art before XY became so famous and expensive…

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Clockwise from top left: Zentralflughafen, 2011. Digital photo, several dimensions / Still from SOS Morse code-Fernsehturm, 2010. HD video, 4’42 min / Shingo Yoshida at his studio. Photo © Maxime Ballesteros / E st-Nord-Est, 2007. Analogue photo, several print sizes.

Shingo Yoshida Japanese artist Shingo Yoshida investigates the relationship of individuals to their immediate reality in his photos, films and installations. Geographic as well as mental distances form the basis of the difficulties he portrays, often with a performative quality borrowed from the theatre of the absurd. In an environment that is constantly evolving, and a global reality that fuses cultures and identities to become less and less related to any specific place, Yoshida returns to

folkloristic myths and legends to construct a micro universe in his art. In the video SOS Morse code-Fernsehturm (2010), the artist documents himself at the top of the Berlin TV tower, sending out a Morse code SOS to no recipient in particular in a city that could be anywhere in the world. While generally considered a negative feeling, to Yoshida loneliness is something so beautiful and so forceful it becomes almost tangible. postman@shingoyoshida.com 211

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Clockwise from top left: Excerpt from In der Wohnung des f lexiblen Angestellten, 2011. Mixed media on paper, 70 × 100 cm / H eute gibt es kein Fleisch Vati hat die Hand im Gips, 2011. Mixed media on paper, 100 × 7 0 cm / C hristian Hans Albert Hoosen at his studio. Photo © Maxime Ballesteros / D er junge Manfred Krug hat den Verstromungskasper im Nacken, 2010. Oil on canvas, 142 × 1 13 cm.

Clockwise from top left: Untitled (SB07), 2011. Nylon, wood, 45 × 45cm / O st (East), 2009. Aluminium, 98 × 50 × 42 cm / A rise is a rise is a rise is, 2009. Mixed media, dimensions variable / Juliane Solmsdorf portrayed with 4D Eingeborene (4D Native), 2011. Photo © Maxime Ballesteros / S üd (South), 2009. Mixed media, dimensions variable / Nichtstun (Doing nothing), 2008. Mixed media, 350 × 200 × 180cm. © VG Bild-Kunst.

Christian Hans Albert Hoosen

Juliane Solmsdorf

Christian Hoosen’s paintings look vaguely familiar, as if they were not copied so much as based on a medley of painting styles and image sources spanning from the 19th century to the present, from Cubism to digital painting software. The artist himself, however, has no other references in mind than the impressions he collects from observing his surroundings and processing them into something immediate. There’s a carefree attitude about his paintings, something 212

that assures the viewer the painter is not afraid to make mistakes and never doubts his natural ability to find the right spacing and balance of forms. This carefree attitude, by the way, is extended to his biography as well: don’t ask him about his upbringing or anything CV-related as he’ll tell you something different each time you ask – just like his paintings look different each time you look at them. hoosen@gmail.com

Juliane Solmsdorf ’s art-world endeavours reach far beyond art making. As a young art student, Solmsdorf would turn empty spaces – still abundant in Berlin – into pop-up exhibition spaces, dabbling in the role of manager and gallerist. Her most recent temporary space, which she ran together with Matti Bergmann, was called 4D and occupied an empty shopping passage behind Berlin’s signature tourist attraction, the TV Tower. Often working with ready-mades,

Solmsdorf ’s body of work is as varied as the objects and materials she reworks into her installations, sculptures and performances. She dissociates found objects from their materiality, making the processes of motion and transformation intrinsic to the work. A young woman artist, she doesn’t shun the difficult territory of feminine art, and the body, its absence and its eroticism are recurrent motifs. jules54@gmx.de 213

The Collector A Serialized novel by April Lamm

Part VIII: Max is high on something Mackenzie has slipped him while at the fair. As a comfort-zone junkie, he’s left the fair with Ruth, who is suspiciously quiet and seemingly nonplussed by his absence for the past few days. When will she blow her top? Meanwhile, he’s left Nico and her mother doing the fair rounds and their relationship is still up in the air: he still doesn’t know if she’s sleeping with the lion or not, as Louise has hinted. And God forbid, though he might have slept with Sheena, she’s offered him up a chance at a group show at Gogo’s.

- Pyromax! The word arose out of the crowd like a text message receipt in a darkened theater in between acts. It’s recipient, our Max, stood there with less than zero in his head. Ruth nudged him out of his reverie. - Max, I know you didn’t do this, but other people will think you did… They were standing just beyond the fair entrance, looking onto the backs of people whose heads were crowned by raging flames. Charcoal smoke shifted with the wind. They moved closer. Was it a public art performance? It was certainly a spectacle worth watching, art or not art. - The weird thing is that unless someone fesses up to this, everyone’s going to think that you’ve done it. - Why? No one outside of our friends in Berlin knows about it. The burning of a BMW parked in front of the fair suddenly got more spectacular, cinematic even. The paint began to bubble like dewdrops on a windowpane. The car looked downright wet. It crackled, it popped. The tires were now on fire, and, one-by-one, they popped loudly, creating a few startled chortles from the crowd. They were transfixed. It was the perfect moment, one of the very few moments when art that might not be art, might be art. And the even more interesting thing was that this burning car created distinct categories of viewers: 1) those who perceived the burning car as a burning car, and 2) those who perceived the burning car as art, and then 3) those who saw those who saw the burning car as a burning car as a part of the art and, even more complicated 4) those who saw those who saw the burning car as art and those who were watching it as art viewers as a part of the art. The hierarchy made visible was all too perfect, and the fourth perspective neared that of the first so much so that the art nearly disappeared altogether. The police arrived, the firemen right behind them. The noise was terrible. - Clear the way! But the crowd refused to move. - People, I said, move back! Even the arrival of the police and fire truck looked scripted. It was all too neat, too clean. It had to be art. The Swiss policeman looked too much like Tom Selleck. Ruth started to back out of the crowd and grabbed Max’s shirttail pulling him back with her. - Max, we’ve got to get out of here. Someone here knows your past. Who was it that said that? It was at that moment that they both spotted Louise in the crowd. Her nose was buried in her phone, her thumb thumbing furiously. Max was truly beginning to regret having taken up Mackenzie’s mood booster, which was quickly turning into a mood buster. This was not the time to be on drugs. - I don’t like the look of this at all. Max, do you have an alibi, where were you all day? - At the fair, of course, but I was pretty much alone. - Think fast, Max, this is not funny. You don’t remember which galleries you visited? Who could account for you? He chuckled. - Larry? - I’m not kidding. Max, we’ve got to get out of here fast. She pulled at his jeans pockets, so hard that he stumbled backwards. But the more she pulled, the more resistant he became. He was hypnotized and envious that he hadn’t come up with the concept himself. - The funny thing is, Ruth, is that my immaterial art lives on in the heads of those who recognize it even though I never considered it one of my “works.” I’ve done that in Berlin but why not in Basel too?

She couldn’t believe her ears. She began to rant and in a tone that made people turn and stare. Ruth and Max became spectacle number two. A good portion of the crowd had now turned their attention to them. It was all so contemporary. - Again? You only think in series. I give up! Another green neon, go ahead… - Maybe I did do it. - Max! It’s not the kind of artwork that exactly lends itself to seriality. And ok, so you served your parole, but do you really think a Swiss judge would be as kind? He turned his head left and right and noticed that they were being noticed. He grabbed Ruth by the arm and led her in the direction of a large group of sculptures that could only be described as a child’s play-dough interpretation of the heads of Easter Island. - I don’t know why you think that I cannot claim authorship here. - Uh, well, maybe because this time you’re going to go to jail? - Would Louise do that? Would she really wish me jail time? - I think she’d do anything to boost your career. You’d be in the papers, you’d be the talk of the town. The rest of their argument was lost in the sounds of the nowhissing waterlogged car. People were applauding, whistling, cheering on the firemen. The “performance” was nearly over. A policeman had started taking notes, asking questions, but no one would give them a straight answer. They all believed it was art. When a policeman approached Ruth and Max from behind, it was Ruth who did all the fast-talking. Some minutes later, they were alone on the banks of the river Rhine. Max broached the subject, knowing that Ruth must be angry with him, and she was, but she didn’t want him to elaborate on the details. She told him that she was by no means perfectly innocent either and asked if they could just drop it and get on with things. - What do you mean by that? - Everyone apparently liked the work I did on your behalf, so let’s just call it constructive anger and forget about the rest. At least for now. We’re already late. When Max and Ruth arrived at the dinner, they found themselves amid a vertigo of interpretation. There was a group gathered at the bar, and the restaurant was much fuller than Max could have hoped. Too full even. Who were these people? And the friends that had previous engagements? Why were they suddenly here? Sheena, the expert crasher, and Larry, her tag along. Or rather the reverse: Sheena was Larry’s symbiotic sharksucker. It was Sheena who knew how to find Max’s dinner, not Larry, and certainly Larry didn’t crash dinner parties given by other gallerists? Nico was there too, but aside from a handful of artist friends, Max recognized only a few faces. He felt as if he’d arrived at a dinner for someone else. His own party crash equation was coming back to haunt him: If you knew host x and were not invited, you were unlikely to attend. If you didn’t know host x and had not been invited, you were more likely to attend. Two negatives yielded a probable positive. - Pyromax, his gallerist whispered, pulling him to the side. - That was a close call. Do you think you can tell me about your next stunt before it happens? I could have sent a few collectors out there to see it. Max could see Nico approaching, and he wasn’t really listening. - See what? - You know what I’m talking about and now we’ve missed the opportunity. I could have sold that work at least five times by now. The gallerist broke off to greet Nico with kisses in the air. She then took her place next to Max. - I’ve sat you next to one of our better art critics. I hope you can teach him a thing or two.

demokratie ist lustig

The Collector is a novel set in the 21st century heyday of the art world. Max Decker is an artist living in Berlin who never touches the brush or the chisel. He likes to think that his work is about resistance, but can he resist the charms of a young American collector, Nico von Stroheim? Ruth, his girlfriend, and Louise, a former fling, stand in-between, pulling all the strings in this cautionary tale about the disastrous results of being too connected. In hindsight, this novel may make you second-guess everyone you know – especially the bad apples. Published for the first time in serialized form in sleek magazine, The Collector is, by far, the best guide yet to the undercurrents of the contemporary art world.

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Chinese collector, and it seemed that she was about to lose her audience. Pointing towards Nico, she said: - She’s a neoliberal conceptualist. Nico, in turn, gave Ruth a look which looked like she was filling out a form while standing in line at customs: Boring. Check. Next. She then swiftly turned her back to Ruth and said to Max: - Your girlfriend is making out as if you’re part of the Brigado Rosso. The guns were drawn, the duel was in low gear, straining uphill. Ruth carried on, caught up in her own panic-stricken production, taken aback by having been thrust in the defense: - But at the time, Miss Penthouse wasn’t living in Berlin. That was when Berlin was still cool, when a penthouse connoted the notion of life in a magazine, when in all of the apartments behind the scaffolding were … were… laminate floors. - New, she stressed, laminate floors. It was a weak argument, but somehow, it got her the attention she wanted. - But whose car was it then? Larry leaned forward, intrigued. Max’s gallerist unintentionally put an end to the crescendoing cat fight, summoning everyone to their seats, clapping his hands together: dinner is served! Just as Ruth was about to return to her story, she was interrupted again by the arrival of the lion. He walked in like he owned the place, and made a beeline for Ruth, kissing her on the cheek and taking her by the hand. No one noticed this sly gesture of affection. Except Max. Max was seated next to Nico who was seated next to an art critic who jumped off the conversation with: - So today while I was going through the fair, I started making a list comparing philosophers with products. He twisted and turned in his seat, finally pulling out of his back pocket a folded piece of paper with a million tiny notes scribbled all over it. He turned the page this way and that before he happened upon what he was looking for. - Ah, there we have it. Derrida is Samsung. Deleuze is Lexus. I’m thinking Habermas is a Trabant. And I have yet to figure out who Apple is. Max, what do you think? - Apple is a Mini-Cooper. The drugs, apparently, had yet to wear off. He introduced Nico to Ralph, and though Ralph recognized her for the young star collector rarity that she was, his next words were direct, blunt, to the point, feigning ignorance: What do you do? Nico looked uncomfortable. She pretended not to hear him and took a sip of wine. She didn’t answer him and nor did Max. Instead he offered up Ralph’s profession to Nico, hoping to bridge the uneasy silence. - Ralph here also lives in Berlin. He’s a writer, an art critic. She seemed distracted, but managed to come out of her rut by commenting politely, “How interesting,” and then managed to generate an apparent real interest in continuing the conversation. - Who do you write for? - Oh the usual. About every magazine you can think of and some you’d never heard of. - Like what? - Like Paper Monument and Butt. - That’s funny. A magazine named after a preposition. - “But” is a conjunction, technically. But no, it’s got two t’s. Again there was an awkward silence filling the gap between classes. In the art world, if the collector is king, the writer is the serf. While one spends days panicking about the ebb and flow of numbers in the bank, the other spends days wondering how and if they will have enough potatoes on the plate. In other “worlds,”

rarely would the two meet. But in the art world, it’s not such a rare thing to have a collector sitting next to a critic at a post-opening dinner. One hand washes the other. - Butt is actually quite a good magazine. So what do you do, sorry, I missed it…. - Nico is a collector. - Oh, of what? This is every collector’s wet dream question, or so one would think. But asking a collector what they collect is akin to asking them to show you their underwear. Nico, however, responded irreverently and only partly in truth. - I collect cars. They all three took a sip of wine. Ralph picked up his philosopher product thread again, asking both her and Max which philosopher might be a Porsche. - That’s easy. - So who? - Tobi will tell you. Tobi was passing behind them, heading towards the toilet. Max clued Tobi into their little parlor game and they all sat there awaiting his reply while he massaged his beard, looking every day a little more like Friedrich Engels. - A Porsche, eh? No question about it. Zizek. - Ah, come on, said Max. - You can do better than that. Zizek’s a Porsche with a flat tire. - Or a Porsche on fire? - That’s a more interesting question. Who’s that? Now, apparently, any burning car was seen as being a Max Decker trouvé. And while it may seem that up until now our Max is Humpty Dumpty, stumbling, fumbling, ever about to fall, he had a heroic reputation among a small group of friends for having committed one single radical act: burning the car of someone who was not just someone. His good friends Christophe and April had dabbled in makebelieve anarchism. They’d hatched a plot to blow up the MoMA show in Berlin at the Neue National Galerie so that the paintings would be destroyed and Mies’s architecture left in tact. But the plot was called to a sudden halt when Christophe was arrested for careening through the city streets wearing a ski mask over his head. Ever since, both of their telephone lines were tapped, and they’d been frightened back into a corner of cowardice. But Max was regarded as a true anarchist. He had invited them to come and watch while he shoved a few articles of gasolinesoaked clothes under the car, lit a cigarette and then watched the thing go up in flames. They had all stood their ground in front of it as if they’d simply happened upon this burning car. It was the first of May and all of the police were lined-up for duty in Kreuzberg, leaving Mitte a fertile ground for Max’s homegrown activism. Louise had even taken pictures of the whole process when the police arrived some 20 minutes later, and had asked them if they’d seen the instigator. Later on at a bar his friend Bernie, a really good artist who was simply far behind his time, began to tell a story about how he’d taken a welding torch to the busts he’d been working on, but that he’d never thought about filming it or considering it an “action” like what Max had done to the car that night. Max objected to the sentiment. - Bernie, you’ve got it all wrong. Don’t you get it? It’s not art, he said. It’s a means of protest, point blank, no further discussion. That Max had been unhappy with the way his career was going was no secret to his friends. But to a greater public he’d always have to put on a smiley face as if everything was ok.

He wore that same face tonight at his dinner, ignoring the fact that his gallerist wanted to commodify the dissent that was not even his. But Ruth’s take on it was not unlike that of the rest of the crowd that had been chatting about the rebel with an undefined cause, even though her reasoning was slightly more complicated. She was talking now with her ex-beau Tobi, the lion: - The only thing that interests me anymore is not art. - Yes, I know, you told me last night, bad art. - No, not bad art. Not art. - Readymades, yeah, ok, I see. So what? - No. You don’t see. I mean Not Art. Ruthie was on to something and was on nothing but a lot of the bubbly. She stamped her fist on the table: - I hereby claim authorship to the Not Art movement. I’ve made a bunch of Not Art objects. - Ruth, where are you going with this? She ignored him and carried on: - And they are not going to be for sale! No, the irony of the whole concept is its complete non-salability. It’s gonna make me rich. Rich and famous! - Uh, huh. And who’s going to feed you while you go about making Not Art that is not for sale? - Did you see the vacuum cleaner tied up with a bike chain to the lamppost outside? I did that. The kid’s bike with the missing front tire? I did that. Mackenzie skirted past them, giggling, while staring into her phone: - I tube. Do you tube? The mystery man following her said: - No, you pad, man. Man, are you stoned. Sorry. I’m mentally diminished myself. What kind of wine is this anyway? - I burn. Firestarter. That shit is crazy. They were all in the comfort zone. Countless glasses of champagne followed by a heavy load of red wine and all of this before the second course. Everyone was slurring, many had red heads but the candlelight dimmed the rouge of overindulgence. The after-effects of a happy evening were far from being felt. They were in the middle of the buzz. - The question is, Max, did you start the fire yourself or did one of your assistants do it? - I did it, said Ruth. - No you didn’t, said Louise, I did it! Soon the whole table was proclaiming their guilt. Even Larry said he’d done it too. It was a sympathetic moment, but one that irked Max. Everyone’s joking about it was taking the fire out of his fire. The burning car was not to be viewed in terms of the work of Max’s “applied fantastic”. It made light of the situation. The reason Max had been so unhappy with his career before burning the car was quite simple, and it wasn’t for a lack of exhibitions or for a lack of work sold. Every time a work would sell, his former gallerist would present him with a bill for last year’s dinner, the costs of printing the invitations, the cost of storage, or the cost of shipping work to a fair. The art world was full of handshakes and gentleman’s agreements. The notion of having a written contract was viewed as plebeian. And belonging to a gallery meant having a brand name stand behind you, and Max was too young to stand alone. But at some point, he’d had enough. It wasn’t just any car. It was his former gallerist’s car.

demokratie ist lustig

He winked and then turned his attention to Max. - Listen, why not sell it as a certificate? We’ll call it Repetition and Difference? - And what? Get the collector to agree to having their own car burned? Max hoped to involve Nico in the conversation, namely, so that she would change the subject. The last thing he wanted to talk about now was claiming authorship to burning cars. But she seemed alltoo-keen to talk more about it. - A certificate! Sign me up. I want a new car anyway. Being German, both Max and the gallerist seemed to have missed her joke altogether. - That can be arranged, I’m sure. What kind of car did you have in mind? - No. I only meant… she paused. Pressing her finger to her lips, she then said capriciously: - Oh hell, why not. A Lotus Elite. - Isn’t that a yoga position? - It was thanks to your assistant, by the way, that I found out about our Max’s latest work. - Louise? Oh God, what’d she do now? Nico rolled her eyes. Her tone was that of feigned boredom, but you could tell she was on the edge of her seat. - It’s probably thanks to her that all of Basel is talking about it. I mean, she sms’d me while the car was burning. It was weird. How’d she get a hold of my number? - No doubt, from Nico’s roladex. She works for Nico now, remember? Though Max was at his own dinner, he remained glued to the spot at the bar closest to the door. It was only by default that he had ended up talking to Nico and his gallerist. And it was only because of neglect that he neglected to see that he was ignoring Ruth. The band-aide over the rough spot was coming loose. Meanwhile, Ruth had downed two glasses of champagne quickly while greeting as many people as possible, even the complete strangers. Alas, a soul arrived who didn’t know anyone else in the room, and Ruth jumped at the chance to talk with him again: the Chinese collector, who had acquired the work at the fair. She asked him about how his further tour in search of “bad” art went and he in turn asked her how she knew Max. She explained that they had been together for the last 10 years, and that as he became more and more successful, she had become his head assistant, directing his studio. He asked her then what she knew about some of his early works. - Max is well known, you see, for having burned a BMW 1 parked on the corner of Tucholsky- and Torstrasse. He nodded but seemed only vaguely interested at what she was saying, barely listening to her now as his attention skated across the crowd. He turned to the waitress who was carrying a full tray of full flutes. Ruth continued, incredulous that he seemed so blasé, repeating herself slowly, loudly: - I said, HE BURNED A CAR. Still no reaction. He took another sip of the bubbly, but remained flat. - And it was not far away from her house. She pointed to Nico who was still holding her place next to Max. She stopped the waitress who was passing by again with one last flute on her tray which Ruth gulped down. - Indeed, she swallowed, it might have been her car. His eyes lifted. He began to look interested. - Her car what? - That he burned it! It was clear at this point that Ruth was more than a little tipsy. Her speech had become even louder. Larry had approached the

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The Yin and the Yang of the Art World English

deutsch

Larry Gagosian and Jeffrey Deitch both cut quite a figure although emphatically different figures. Gagosian, sleekly besuited, with smooth features and a pelt of silver-grey hair, is as visible on an auction house floor as a seal cutting through a swell or a cougar in grassland. And such metaphors come easily to those trying to convey the dealer’s appearance, his energy and his appetite. Not for nothing is he universally called Gogo. Charles Saatchi has observed that whenever Gagosian approaches he hears the theme music from Jaws. At one time he was would-be-ready for a chat but has become increasingly remote, letting information out through two of Cultureworld’s more formidable publicists, Nadine Johnson and Sara Fitzmaurice. This only feeds the myth, of course, painting him as a Man of Mystery whereas he is, I think, just a man with a visceral horror of gossip and the rumor mills. Though he could, of course, be both. Jeffrey Deitch plays in a different sandpit. Physically a bantamweight where Gagosian is a middleweight, he is trim, bespectacled and long seemed permanently welded into suits that exhaled darkness. But where Gagosian’s modish suits suggest a cutting-edge product of the William Morris Agency mail-room – where he was, along with a future client, David Geffen – Deitch’s wardrobe is that of a banker, which indeed he was. It was a look he acquired early. »He was very instrumental in my learning about the new hot music scene«, says Marcia Resnick, who would become a leading Punk photographer, and who met Deitch in the early 80s soon after he arrived in New York. »He was fascinated by the underworld. And sexual freedoms. Like sexual movements in the gay world. He would take me to places like the Toilet. Anything underground, anything behind the scenes. But he stuck out like a sore thumb. He was dressing very formally. He was so straight. He was always so unusual.« They might as well have been picked by Central Casting. Larry Gagosian and Jeffrey Deitch are the Yin and the Yang of the art world. Gagosian had no childhood museum-going experience whatsoever, but he showed what would become an acute sense of positioning when he opened his own space on Melrose beneath one restaurant, Trump’s, and opposite the wildly fashionable eatery, Morton’s, in 1975. It did well. In 1980 he insouciantly told the writer Peter Scheldjahl: »If I wasn’t doing this I’d probably be in real estate.« His timing was spot on. The art world was exploding in New York, so he set up there too, allying with dealer Annina Nosei, playing cards with other gallerists and keeping his ears open. The New York art world was his

So unterschiedlich sie auch sind, Eindruck hinterlassen Larry Gagosian und Jeffrey Deitch gleichermaßen. Gagosian, der Mann mit dem glatten Gesicht und den graumelierten Haaren, fällt trotz seiner schicken Anzüge auf wie ein Puma in der Savanne. Das Bild ist nicht einmal übertrieben. Gagosian ist der Inbegriff des Jägers, mit einer Energie, die nur noch von seinem Hunger übertroffen wird. Nicht umsonst heißt er überall »Gogo«. Charles Saatchi sagt, er habe unwillkürlich die Musik vom Weißen Hai im Ohr, sobald Gagosian den Raum betritt. Nur etwas schweigsam ist er mit den Jahren geworden. Was er der Welt mitzuteilen hat, läßt er über große Agenturen wie Nadine Johnson oder Sara Fitzmaurice verlautbaren. Natürlich verstärkt diese strikte Informationspolitik den Mythos vom großen Geheimnisvollen nur noch. Ich persönlich glaube, er mag einfach die Gerüchteküche nicht. Er könnte sich am Dauergeschwätz der Branche beteiligen, aber es widerstrebt ihm, Punkt. Ganz anders Jeffrey Deitch. Äußerlich schmaler als Gagosian, sind gruftdunkle Anzüge und die runde Elton-John-Brille sein Markenzeichen. Im Grunde sieht er aus wie der Banker, der er von Haus aus auch ist. Gagosian demonstriert durch sein schniekes Äußeres, wie weit er es seit seinen Anfängen in der Poststelle der William Morris Agency gebracht hat (komischerweise hat auch sein späterer Kunde David Geffen einst dort gearbeitet). Der spezielle Deitch-Look allerdings stand von Anfang an fest. »Er hat mich damals in die neue Musikszene eingeführt«, erinnert sich die bekannte Punk-Dokumentaristin Marcia Resnick. »Er war fasziniert von dieser Subkultur mit ihren sexuellen Verheißungen und ganz besonders von der Schwulenbewegung. Berüchtigte Schwulentreffs wie das Toilet kenne ich nur durch ihn. Alles, was nach Underground roch und sich hinter den Kulissen abspielte, war sein Ding. Doch innerhalb dieser Szene fiel er auf wie ein grauer Hund inmitten von lauter bunten. Er war immer so furchtbar förmlich gekleidet, so straight. Vielleicht war dies das Ungewöhnlichste an ihm.« Hätten die Talentscouts von Central Casting die Rollen der ungleichen Galeristen zu besetzen, wären sie um Larry Gagosian und Jeffrey Deitch nicht herumgekommen. Sie verkörpern Yin und Yang der Kunstwelt. Larry Gagosian stammt nicht einmal aus einer kunstsinnigen Familie, doch er wußte sich gleich zu positionieren, als er 1975 auf der Melrose Avenue von L.A. seine erste Galerie eröffnete, im Souterrain unter dem Trump’s und gleich gegenüber dem legendären Morton’s. Unbekümmert bekannte er dem Kritiker Peter Scheldjahl: »Hätte ich nicht in Kunst gemacht, wären es Immobilien geworden.« Er wußte die Gunst der Stunde zu nutzen. Als die Kunstwelt in New York ex-

project. Castelli had a roster of blue chip Pop artists and Minimalists but younger dealers were on the prowl and Arne Glimcher of Pace had wooed away Julian Schnabel. The wily Castelli partnered with Gagosian on projects and introduced him to such clients as S.I. Newhouse. Gagosian was on his way. Today he has eleven galleries worldwide. It is, as he jubilantly told the Wall Street Journal, an empire »upon which the sun never sets.« The Journal estimated his annual turnover at a billion dollars a year, rather more than Sotheby’s, and in January 2011 he showed his billion dollar private collection at the new museum complex in Abu Dhabi. Leo Castelli, as befitted his art world, was a cult. Larry Gagosian, equally appropriately, is a brand. Jeffrey Deitch, whose father was in the heating oil business in Stamford, Connecticut, came to New York and went to work for John Weber, a gallerist specializing in radical art. And hit the scene. In 1980 he joined Citibank’s art advisory section, became vice president, and left after eight years to set up a private art consultancy. His timing wasn’t the greatest, with the art world heading into the slump of 1990. »But I’m a conservative, cautious person«, he told me. »When I left Citibank a number of people said we’ll give you money to buy! Just tell us and we’ll transfer the money. Somehow I had this instinct that it was not the right thing to do.« Deitch’s self-description as a »conservative cautious person« would explain his survival, and dress code, but it could hardly have been more at odds with his program. In 1986 Deitch Projects opened in Downtown Manhattan with the Italian performance artist, Vanessa Beecroft. »It was twenty girls in bras and panties. A masterpiece. One of her greatest works«, he says. He showed Oleg Kulik, the Russian performance artist, who prowled the space, naked, on all fours, growling like a dog. He showed street art long before Banksy came to auction. He showed the excesses of Dash Snow and Dan Colen. He let his staffers and art spotters know that he wanted to be »transported and delighted« and encouraged them to live as he had lived. »Jeffrey never fired me for showing up late at work, because I did for eight years«, says Kathy Grayson, who became his gallery director. »He was enabling. He encouraged us to live this excessive lifestyle! Wake up on Dash’s floor! And then he’d walk away. It was fine!« Many of these shows didn’t cover costs. Much of the work was unsellable. Deitch supported his program the old-fashioned way. By dealing. He shuttered the gallery to become the director of MOCA Los Angeles in 2010, and his first show – of street art – became the most successful in the museum’s history, clobbering Andy Warhol. Larry Gagosian is one of the principal motors of a specific art world, one in which the historic process of winnowing out durable greatness has been streamlined – and sometimes temporarily deformed – by the market. It is an art world supported at its uppermost levels by a few hundred individuals, including uber-artists. Jeffrey Deitch is the prophet of a more pluralistic art world, one which overlaps with media and the entertainment Industry. So Larry Gagosian and Jeffrey Deitch are the Yin and the Yang of the art world, but which is which? That’s quite another story.

www.anthonyhadenguest.com German translation by Marcus Ingendaay

plodierte, war er dort gleich mit einer Dependance zur Stelle. Er tat sich mit der Kunsthändlerin Annina Nosei zusammen, bewegte sich in den richtigen Kreisen und machte die New Yorker Szene zu seinem Arbeitsgebiet. Seinerzeit herrschte Leo Castelli über die erste Garde von Pop-Malern und Minimalisten, aber jüngere, hungrige Händler kreisten bereits um die Beute. Julian Schnabel war schon weg, fortgelockt durch Arne Glimcher von Pace. Der gewiefte Castelli tat damals das einzig Richtige, er verbündete sich mit Gagosian und brachte ihn mit Kunden wie S.I. Newhouse zusammen. Gagosian war im Geschäft. Heute besitzt er elf Galerien weltweit, ein Imperium, wie er das Wall Street Journal wissen ließ, »in dem die Sonne niemals untergeht.« Die Zeitung schätzt seinen Jahresumsatz auf eine Milliarde Dollar, das ist mehr als der von Sotheby’s. Noch im Januar 2011 zeigte er seine vermutlich ebenfalls milliardenteure Privatsammlung im neuen Wüsten-Louvre von Abu Dhabi. War Leo Castelli, gemäß den Gepflogenheiten seiner Zeit, noch Kult, ist Larry Gagosian eindeutig eine Marke. Jeffrey Deitch kommt aus Stamford, Connecticut, sein Vater betrieb einen Heizölhandel. In New York arbeitete er zunächst für John Weber, einen Galeristen, der sich auf radical art spezialisiert hatte. Er blieb nicht lange unbemerkt. 1980 trat er dem Kunstberatungsteam der Citibank bei, wurde dessen stellvertretender Vorsitzender und machte sich acht Jahre später als privater Berater selbständig. Der Zeitpunkt war schlecht gewählt, Anfang der Neunziger ging es mit dem Kunstmarkt bergab. »Eigentlich bin ich ja ein eher konservativer, vorsichtiger Mensch«, verriet er mir. »Daher hatte ich bei meinem Weggang aus der Citibank natürlich vorgesorgt und besaß schon so etwas wie einen Kundenstamm. Leute, die mir sagten: Sag’ uns bescheid, wenn Du etwas Rentables gefunden hast, und wir überweisen das Geld noch heute. Dennoch hatte ich damals so ein ungutes Gefühl im Magen.« Seine Selbsteinschätzung als vorsichtiger Mensch dürfte sein Überleben erklären ebenso wie seinen persönlichen Dresscode, doch sie stand in krassem Gegensatz zum künstlerischen Programm seiner Galerie. Deitch Projects eröffnete 1986 mit Vanessa Beecroft. »Zwanzig Mädchen in Unterwäsche – ein Meisterwerk! Eine der besten Sachen, die sie je gemacht hat.« Er bot auch Oleg Kulik eine Bühne, dem russischen Performance-Künstler, der nackt auf allen Vieren durch die Galerie krabbelte und wie ein Hund die Leute anknurrte. Deitch zeigte Street Art, lange bevor Banksy so hoch gehandelt wurde. Er präsentierte die extreme Kunst von Dash Snow und Dan Colen, und Mitarbeitern und Besuchern gegenüber meinte er, Kunst solle »erheben und Freude bereiten«. Übersetzt in die Deitch-Philosophie heißt das: Lebt so maßlos wie ich, dann ist schon viel erreicht. »Ich bin acht Jahre lang zu spät zur Arbeit gekommen«, sagt seine Galerieleiterin Kathy Grayson, »aber er hat mich deswegen nie gefeuert. Er erkennt das Potential von Menschen. Und er wollte, daß sie – wie er – aus sich herausgehen. Unangepaßten Lifestyle nennt man das wohl. ›Wacht doch mal morgens auf Dashs Fußboden auf‹, sagte er. Als wäre es das Normalste der Welt.« So manche Ausstellung hat die Kosten nicht eingespielt, viele Werke waren schlicht unverkäuflich. Aber das war ihm egal, er hat diese Projekte auf ganz altmodische Weise mit Handel finanziert. Dann, 2010, machte er seine Galerie dicht, um die Leitung des MOCA in Los Angeles zu übernehmen. Schon seine erste Ausstellung (Street Art) brach alle Rekorde und ließ sogar Andy Warhol alt aussehen. Larry Gagosian zählt zu den Motoren eines Kunstuniversums, in welchem die langwierigen, quasi historischen Qualifikationsprozesse in der Kunst durch eine weitgehend planbare Reifung moderner »Klassiker« ersetzt wurden. Es verwundert nicht, daß dieses Universum nur aus wenigen hundert Topsellern besteht – uber-artists. Jeffrey Deitch dagegen versteht sich als Prophet einer pluralistischen Szene, die auch keine Berührungsängste mit den Medien oder der Unterhaltungsindustrie kennt. Gagosian und Deitch, Yin und Yang der Kunstwelt. Aber wer davon Yin ist und wer Yang, ist für mich derzeit noch offen.

demokratie ist lustig

The Further Chronicles of Anthony Haden-Guest

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JOSEPH BEUYS

The Further Chronicles of Anthony Haden-Guest

sleek N°32 High / Low

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JOSEPH BEUYS

Further Reading You know how important education is when it comes to climbing the social ladder. If you think we sound like your parents, don’t worry, there’s plenty of lowbrow content on this issue’s reading list.

From the book: Bruce Davidson, Subway, Steidl Publishers, Göttingen 2011.

Photographer Attila Hartwig

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demokratie ist lustig