It was actually nothing
2023
Diakonissenbunker Stuttgart
(solo exhibition)
Performance, sound piece, glass works
The bunker is an absurd place. Just like art. And the world. The exhibition took place in the Diakonissenbunker Stuttgart in April 2023. The work consisted of a performance, an audio piece and five glass works. They were shown in one of the three wings of the bunker, which served as a rescue center for people injured in air raids during the Second World War.
The performance was titled Abgelaufen (run down). As I walked along the so-called efficient routing of 1942 through the medical wing – I started at the entrance, where 70 years earlier people trampled themselves to death, a risk they took to get shelter for a moment, through the gateway, the room for undressing, the showers, the room for dressing with treatment clothes, into the treatment room and to the exit – I blew soap bubbles into the air, for which I had mixed Pustefix with lampblack in advance. I took the route that injured women took to get medical treatment while firebombs were falling around the square, knowing that they would have to go back upstairs after treatment. Who knew when the next injury was going to happen? I walked barefoot and felt the cold of the room creeping into me. I walked slowly and blew the shimmering black soap bubbles into the air, which floated to the floor and burst, leaving traces behind.
In a room that had served as a ward for women and children who were so badly injured that they could not be discharged immediately, I installed the audio work Maikäfer flieg (May bug fly) in the dark. The old children's song from wartime was sung by two girls (eight and ten years old). I made the recording with the two of them in this very room to capture the sound of the surroundings, which formed the dark background for the delicate (yet ghostly) children's voices.
Along my route, I had placed five glass works. They were created in relation to the space. Their titles are: Das Rauschen von Asche (The murmor of ashes), Es fehlt ja nicht an leerem Raum (Empty space is not missing), Ihr Torso glüht noch immer (Her torso is still burning), Solitär (Solitaire), Das Schreckliche ist gedacht zu haben (The horror is to have thought). I poured black ceramic enamel paint onto very different glass panes – different in format, glass color and haptics – it dried, and I fired them. Glass is a material that does not common in a bunker. The matt black spots stand out from the various transparent surfaces.
The opportunity to develop a solo exhibition for the Diakonissenbunker Stuttgart, which has been used for some time as a venue for concerts and art under the name Kulturbunker (Kultdiak Stuttgart e. V.), was giving to me in October 2022. A few months earlier, Russia had invaded Ukraine. It was a shock. Although far away in the safety of Germany, I was paralyzed by the fact that I had to think about issues that should not be of interest anymore. And now the fact that I was “allowed” to exhibit in a bunker from the Second World War. For me it was an absurd situation of using the site as an exhibition space, which was also a place of remembrance and, in my opinion, should continue to be that despite its use as a cultural site. Because these memories are unfortunately no longer just memories, but bombs are falling again in Europe and people are seeking refuge in bunkers. For me, the exhibition was about showing this perceived absurdity (black streaks in the soap bubbles, the children's war song Maikäfer flieg, the material glass in the bunker) and about showing and leaving traces (black burst soap bubbles on the floor and on my face, on my hands and feet, the song to be heard in the gloom of the room, whose sound and the associations linked to the sensory impressions burrow into the body, my pouring, which left black marks on the glasses). It was important to me that the viewer follows the path through the bunker along the efficient route. Visitors following my performance gave it the character of a procession. The silence was only disturbed by the Maikäfer flieg song, which happened every three minutes and which the visitors heard louder or quieter depending on their position in the bunker.
