'Seit wann kann man hier tanzen' presents a series of drawings and short stories
that reflect the surreal musings and quiet epiphanies I experienced while staying
in Rotterdam, working at a Museum and on my own exhibition in tandem.
'The rhythm makes it possible to continue (EN)
No way she could keep this up forever. While her neighbour is tenderly fighting his way through the smelly leaves, that had taken over the balcony with every root, she lights a cigarette and takes a bottomless breath. They stand there, oscillating words for a while, separated by a brick wall, only guessing what the other might think. Her thoughts scamper through the room at the end of the stairs. She had opened the rattling window just a bit and fixed it faithfully with five children's books, since the neighbourhood has a naughty cat that climbs into any enticing apartment. The cat sneaks through the window with her nifty paws and pees on every greasy or flawless pillow around. She might snatch his bedside lamp, although admitting that she left the only book, she brought with her, lying on the floor. It did not even move once. She exhausts her cigarette, without additives, like candy with fake sugar, while she imagines him bending hazed branches to chip off the dry leaves.
Until the apartment door opens with a vibrant approach. "Honey I’m home".
Der Rhythmus macht es möglich (DE)
Auf keinen Fall würde sie es für ewig standhalten. Während ihr Nachbar sich zärtlich seinen Weg durch die duftenden Blätter erkämpft, die den Balkon gänzlich durchwachsen haben, zündet sie sich eine Zigarette an und nimmt einen bodenlosen (Atem)Zug. Da stehen beide, baumeln für eine Weile mit Worten, getrennt von einer Backsteinwand, erwägend, was der andere wohl denkt. Ihre Gedanken huschen durch den Raum am Ende der Treppe. Sie hatte das klappernde Fenster nur einen Spalt geöffnet und es konsequent mit fünf Kinderbüchern verkeilt, um doch noch etwas frische Luft im Zimmer zu haben. Denn in der Nachbarschaft gibt es eine ungezogene Katze, die in jede noch so verführerische Wohnung einsteigt. Sie schleicht sich mit ihren flotten Pfoten durchs Fenster und pinkelt auf die schmierigen und makellosen Kopfkissen. Möglicherweise wird sie sich seine Nachttischlampe ergattern, obwohl sie zugeben musste, dass sie das einzige Buch, das sie mitgebracht hatte, an derselben Stelle auf dem Boden liegengelassen hatte. Es hat sich nicht ein einziges Mal bewegt. Sie erschöpft ihre Zigarette, die ohne Zusätze, wie Bonbons ohne Zucker, während sie sich vorstellt, wie er die pelzigen Äste biegt, um die trockenen Blätter abzureißen.
Bis die Wohnungstür sich mit einem lebendigen Anflug öffnet. „Honey I am home.“
A green wave doesn't make a day (EN)
By now the entire kitchen turned white, much the same as the living room and the hallway.
"The green vegetables and one apple is all we need". She switches the button on a polished mixing machine and my hands feel the urge to cover my ears. All for the good and nothing for the bad. Instead I choose to do the dishes, green mugs on top of grey plates, simple bowls between fried pans and cutlery in a pink plastic cup hanging from the wall. I make myself comfortable on the white repainted chair in the doorway with no door, which would otherwise belong in a grandmother’s dining room. We have so much to catch up on and for hours we alternately fill our cups, while the oven heats the kitchen, the stove boils the water and the rusty knifes are sharpened. I remember the traffic lights were all green, she revives the cards which had revealed that this guy was not doing her good and that she should move on, we both believed that we had enough time to reach the train. As we stroll through the past, the colourful room next door relentlessly persuades us to enter, all along loudly playing “Ignore the fix” and not even one wall causes the slightest resistance. I see the tiny leaves touching the confused clouds admitting, “everything is gonna be alright”.
Eine grüne Welle macht noch keinen Tag (DE)
Mittlerweile ist auch die Küche weiß, ebenso wie das Wohnzimmer und der Flur. „Das grüne Gemüse und ein Apfel sind alles was wir brauchen.“ Sie betätigt den Schalter der polierten Mix-Machine und meine Hände fühlen den Drang, meine Ohren zu verbergen. Alles nur für das Gute und nichts für das Schlechte. Stattdessen entscheide ich mich abzuwaschen, die grünen Tassen auf die grauen Teller, die schlichten Schalen zwischen die versifften Pfannen und das Besteck in den pinken Becher, der an der Wand hängt. Ich mache es mir gemütlich auf dem umgestrichenen weißen Stuhl im Türeingang ohne Tür, der andernfalls im Esszimmer der Oma stehen würde. Wir haben so viel nachzuholen, und für Stunden wechseln wir uns ab mit dem Füllen unserer Tassen, während der Ofen die Küche erhitzt, der Herd dampft und die Messer gewetzt werden. Ich erinnere mich an die Ampeln, die auf Grün standen. Sie entsinnt sich der Karten, die ihr offenbaren, dass der Typ nichts für sie ist und es besser ist, in neue Gefilde aufzubrechen. Wir glaubten beide, dass wir noch genügend Zeit hätten, den Zug zu erreichen. Derweil wir so durch die Vergangenheit schlendern, versucht das farbenfrohe Zimmer nebenan uns unermüdlich zu überreden, es zu betreten, indem es laut ‚Ignore the fix‘ spielt. Keine der Wände verursacht jeglichen Widerstand. Ich sehe, wie die kleinen Blätter die unübersichtlichen Wolken kitzeln und gestehe: Alles wird gut.
How many fit into one bath? (EN)
"Everyone sees chance as their own determination", she ponders.
"Just follow the stairs and you will get there", he insists and turns around. That would be the basement, she suspects. And comes to the full effect of realizing that she knows no one in this encapsulated building. "I should not smoke here", she turns the music loud and pushes the tables resolutely so they freewheel over the bulky concrete floor, ultimately spilling the tea into the thermos. She gingerly walks in circles brushing the paper squares, that are hanging by metal duck beaks, that make them flutter back and forth, like an exhibitionist opening and closing his slouchy ochre coat. The grubby windows are looking down at her. But, only the slow passing shoes would notice her, despite that fact, she still feels she is being watched and keeps her eyes on them. She decides to stay in and play with soap bubbles instead, while the others rake a Pétanque road especially for the garden party. This basement is her harbor.
Wie viele passen in eine Badewanne?(DE)
„Ein jeder sieht den Zufall als seine eigene Bestimmung“, sinniert sie.
„Folge einfach der Treppe und dann findest du es schon“, betont er nachdrücklich und dreht sich um.
Das müsste dann der Keller sein, vermutet sie. Und realisiert sich mit dem dazu gehörenden vollen Effekt, dass sie niemanden in diesem verschachtelten Gebäude kennt. „Ich sollte hier nicht rauchen“, dreht die Musik laut und schiebt die Tische entschlossen in die Mitte des Raumes, sodass sie über den sperrigen Betonboden gleiten, nachdem sie den Tee in die Thermoskanne überschüttet. Behutsam läuft sie im Kreis und streift die Papierquadrate, die mit metallischen Schnäbeln fixiert sind. Sie flattern hin und her wie das klägliche Öffnen und Schließen des ockerfarbenen Mantels eines Exhibitionisten. Die schmuddeligen Fenster schauen auf sie herunter. Allein nur die langsamen Schuhe würden sie bemerken, trotz dieser Tatsache fühlt sie sich beobachtet und hält die Augen offen. Sie entscheidet sich, mit Seifenblasen zu spielen, während die anderen eine Pétanque-Bahn speziell für die Gartenparty harken. Dieser Kellerraum ist ihr Hafen.
You do not wear flip flops to work (E)
He picked up that old orange phone he inherited from his parents, it still had that flawless smell of the hallway, like a couch that belonged to a bar for many years. From the other side of the phone a lovely voice asked him if he could come to work in the museum today, it didn't take much and he was entering the museum through an enormous door and all the lights were off. When his eyes got used to the darkness his friend appeared, standing with two other people on a squeaky chair. They were holding each other in their arms not to fall, and despite their noticeable difference of height, they were trying to screw in a light bulb, which didn't really help. He looked down his long legs, as his eyes reached his feet, he realized that he was wearing “glow in the dark” flip-flops, he purchased in Brazil a while ago. Flip-flops to work?!
A woman came rushing up to him, her curls jumped to the same regular interval as her necklace and said, with a slightly disappointed face: "Why didn't you bring me flowers?" He tried to move his head like a fluffy owl, wishing this had never happened and answered: "Because you are a flower!" and kissed her hand.
Man trägt keine Flip-Flops zur Arbeit (DE)
Er nahm den Hörer des betagten orangenen Telefons ab, das er von seinen Eltern geerbt hatte. Es hatte noch immer diesen unvollendeten Geruch des Flurs, wie das Sofa, das über Jahre hinweg in einer Kneipe stehen würde. Von der anderen Seite des Telefons fragte eine liebliche Stimme, ob er heute im Museum arbeiten könne. Es hat nicht viel gebraucht und er betrat das Museum durch eine gewaltige Tür, alle Lichter waren ausgeschaltet. Als seine Augen sich an die Dunkelheit gewöhnt hatten, bemerkte er seinen Freund, der mit zwei anderen eng beieinander auf einem quietschenden Stuhl stand. Sie hielten sich im Arm, um nicht zu fallen, trotz ihres Größenunterschieds. Sie versuchten, die Birne zu wechseln. Es half nichts. Er schaute an seinen hochgewachsenen Beine hinunter auf seine Füße und bemerkte, dass er fluoreszierende Flip-Flops trug, die er sich vor einiger Zeit in Brasilien gekauft hatte. Zur Arbeit?! Eine Frau kam auf ihn zu gerauscht, ihr lockiges Haar hüpfte mit regelmäßigem Intervall wie ihre Halskette, und mit enttäuschtem Gesicht fragte sie: „Warum hast Du mir keine Blumen mitgebracht?“ Er versuchte seinen Kopf wie eine flauschige Eule zu drehen, in der Hoffnung, das dies niemals passiert wäre, und antwortete: „Weil Du eine Blume bist!“ und küsste ihre Hand.
Stirred not shaken (EN)
A carnival of moments at its best. The stage is an infinite layer of blue carpet covered by sticky transparent plastic, which makes it impossible to approach your opponent by surprise, but instead creates a soundtrack to every step. Lousy boxes, that were pushed around the globe for six years before arriving here, form the setting. Some of the crates carry so much information it makes any of it useless – titles, numbers, stickers of all sorts, papers with unreadable words, tape and spray paint. “I know exactly what is in crate 8, this thing is definitely not in there”. His eyes smile while his mouth draws a shape like Paul Newman would, in some western movie. I strain through a mass of vicious glycerine up to my mouth, knowing every word not spoken would puzzle my head even more. A pallet is passing, carrying a body wearing a tight ski suit, fixed with kitchen wrap, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his toes pointing away from his hips. But now is not the right moment for the potential spectacle of the prince on the white horse and all should simply go ahead with what they were supposed to be doing. The Souffleur speculates that again the coffee is not ready in time for our break... tomorrow another day.
Gerührt nicht geschüttelt (DE)
Ein Karneval der Momente von seiner besten Seite. Die Bühne ist ein unendlich blauer Teppich, der mit durchsichtiger Plastikfolie überzogen ist, die es unmöglich macht, den Opponenten zu überraschen. Denn jeder Schritt wird von einem Soundtrack begleitet. Dürftige Kisten, die seit sechs Jahren bis hierher über den Globus geschoben wurden, formen die Einrichtung. Manche besitzen so viel Information, dass selbige unbrauchbar wird. Titel, Nummern, Aufkleber aller Art, Zettel mit unlesbaren Wörtern, Klebeband und Sprühfarbe. „Ich weiß genau, was sich in der Kiste Nummer acht befindet, und dieses Ding ist auf jeden Fall nicht drin.“ Seine Augen lächeln und sein Mund verzieht sich wie der von Paul Newman in einem dieser Western. Ich zwinge mich, durch eine Masse aus zähflüssigem Glyzerin, das mir bis zum Mund steht, und jedes Wort würde mich noch mehr in die Irre führen. Eine Palette rauscht vorbei, oben drauf ein Körper in einem engen Ski-Anzug, der mit Frischhaltefolie fixiert ist. Seine Arme sind vor seiner Brust verschränkt und seine Zehen gestreckt. Aber jetzt ist nicht der richtige Moment für ein mögliches Schauspiel des Prinzen auf dem weißen Pferd, und alle sollten mit dem weitermachen, was ihnen aufgetragen wurde. Der Souffleur spekuliert, dass der Kaffee mal wieder nicht rechtzeitig zur Pause durchgelaufen ist, … morgen wieder ein Tag.
'Seit wann kann man hier tanzen'
drawings
2014
felt pen and ink on paper
various sizes
series of five
book
2015
handmade, handwritten, silkscreen, japanese side stitch, digital print
book design and production: Dörte Fischer
editing: Fatima Camara (english), Bettina Henningsen (deutsch)
24 x 26,5 cm
limited edition of 40
'Seit wann kann man hier tanzen' presents a series of drawings and short stories that reflect the surreal musings and quiet epiphanies I experienced while staying in Rotterdam, working at a Museum and on
my own exhibition in tandem.
'The rhythm makes it possible to continue (EN)
No way she could keep this up forever. While her neighbour is tenderly fighting his way through the smelly leaves, that had taken over the balcony with every root, she lights a cigarette and takes a bottomless breath. They stand there, oscillating words for a while, separated by a brick wall, only guessing what the other might think. Her thoughts scamper through the room at the end of the stairs. She had opened the rattling window just a bit and fixed it faithfully with five children's books, since the neighbourhood has a naughty cat that climbs into any enticing apartment. The cat sneaks through the window with her nifty paws and pees on every greasy or flawless pillow around. She might snatch his bedside lamp, although admitting that she left the only book, she brought with her, lying on the floor. It did not even move once. She exhausts her cigarette, without additives, like candy with fake sugar, while she imagines him bending hazed branches to chip off the dry leaves.
Until the apartment door opens with a vibrant approach. "Honey I’m home".
A green wave doesn't make a day (EN)
By now the entire kitchen turned white, much the same as the living room and the hallway.
"The green vegetables and one apple is all we need". She switches the button on a polished mixing machine and my hands feel the urge to cover my ears. All for the good and nothing for the bad. Instead I choose to do the dishes, green mugs on top of grey plates, simple bowls between fried pans and cutlery in a pink plastic cup hanging from the wall. I make myself comfortable on the white repainted chair in the doorway with no door, which would otherwise belong in a grandmother’s dining room. We have so much to catch up on and for hours we alternately fill our cups, while the oven heats the kitchen, the stove boils the water and the rusty knifes are sharpened. I remember the traffic lights were all green, she revives the cards which had revealed that this guy was not doing her good and that she should move on, we both believed that we had enough time to reach the train. As we stroll through the past, the colourful room next door relentlessly persuades us to enter, all along loudly playing “Ignore the fix” and not even one wall causes the slightest resistance. I see the tiny leaves touching the confused clouds admitting, “everything is gonna be alright”.
How many fit into one bath? (EN)
"Everyone sees chance as their own determination", she ponders.
"Just follow the stairs and you will get there", he insists and turns around. That would be the basement, she suspects. And comes to the full effect of realizing that she knows no one in this encapsulated building. "I should not smoke here", she turns the music loud and pushes the tables resolutely so they freewheel over the bulky concrete floor, ultimately spilling the tea into the thermos. She gingerly walks in circles brushing the paper squares, that are hanging by metal duck beaks, that make them flutter back and forth, like an exhibitionist opening and closing his slouchy ochre coat. The grubby windows are looking down at her. But, only the slow passing shoes would notice her, despite that fact, she still feels she is being watched and keeps her eyes on them. She decides to stay in and play with soap bubbles instead, while the others rake a Pétanque road especially for the garden party. This basement is her harbor.
You do not wear flip flops to work (E)
He picked up that old orange phone he inherited from his parents, it still had that flawless smell of the hallway, like a couch that belonged to a bar for many years. From the other side of the phone a lovely voice asked him if he could come to work in the museum today, it didn't take much and he was entering the museum through an enormous door and all the lights were off. When his eyes got used to the darkness his friend appeared, standing with two other people on a squeaky chair. They were holding each other in their arms not to fall, and despite their noticeable difference of height, they were trying to screw in a light bulb, which didn't really help. He looked down his long legs, as his eyes reached his feet, he realized that he was wearing “glow in the dark” flip-flops, he purchased in Brazil a while ago. Flip-flops to work?!
A woman came rushing up to him, her curls jumped to the same regular interval as her necklace and said, with a slightly disappointed face: "Why didn't you bring me flowers?" He tried to move his head like a fluffy owl, wishing this had never happened and answered: "Because you are a flower!" and kissed her hand.
Stirred not shaken (EN)
A carnival of moments at its best. The stage is an infinite layer of blue carpet covered by sticky transparent plastic, which makes it impossible to approach your opponent by surprise, but instead creates a soundtrack to every step. Lousy boxes, that were pushed around the globe for six years before arriving here, form the setting. Some of the crates carry so much information it makes any of it useless – titles, numbers, stickers of all sorts, papers with unreadable words, tape and spray paint. “I know exactly what is in crate 8, this thing is definitely not in there”. His eyes smile while his mouth draws a shape like Paul Newman would, in some western movie. I strain through a mass of vicious glycerine up to my mouth, knowing every word not spoken would puzzle my head even more. A pallet is passing, carrying a body wearing a tight ski suit, fixed with kitchen wrap, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his toes pointing away from his hips. But now is not the right moment for the potential spectacle of the prince on the white horse and all should simply go ahead with what they were supposed to be doing. The Souffleur speculates that again the coffee is not ready in time for our break... tomorrow another day.
drawings
2014
felt pen and ink on paper
various sizes
series of five
book
2015
handmade, handwritten, silkscreen, japanese side stitch, digital print
book design and production: Dörte Fischer
editing: Fatima Camara (english), Bettina Henningsen (deutsch)
24 x 26,5 cm
limited edition of 40