Stefan Hablützel
25 Jun - 31 Jul 2010
STEFAN HABLÜTZEL
"Past, Cool Things, Posthole Digger"
June 25 - July 31, 2010
Opening: June 25, 19.00 - 21.00 h
The bridge is part of the Rhine trail. Andcrosses the river just past Dьsseldorf. Butonly if you look closer can you see thatthere’s a hole approximately in the middlebetween the car lanes where steel beamsof about 3 or 4 meters descend into thewater. In order to get into it he wouldhave had to cross two lanes of traffic andthen jump...
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It took years until someone discovered thethree small rooms. Probably some friendshad spread the word – it wasn’t a secret.Someone was there in the bridge, workingthere, maybe even living there. Later theydidn’t just remove furniture, but wholecrates full of paper, an entire archive.
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For years they were able to work thereundisturbed under the traffic lanes in theinterior of the bridge. It was an actualsmall apartment, three rooms, each maybetwo or three meters long and somewhatwider than the street. The wood for thewalls came from a construction site, along power cable tapped electricity froma street lamp. They were even able to getrunning water through the steel beams ofthe bridge. They weren’t there all the time.It was cramped, the ceiling was less thantwo meters tall, the windows were small.But there was space for the books thatthey picked up at flea markets, a small,specialized library: art journals, music andfashion magazines. Everything was sortedby year, complete, clearly arranged, readyto hand. The rubber straps fastening theshelves to the wall made a professional,sporty impression. They were necessary,as were the straps that secured the stereosystem, the crate of cassette tapes andthe record bin.
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“It was a feeling like on a carnival ride,but slower, much slower. We always hadto laugh at some point and then it waslowered again. It was just great. Onepaints assiduously, even if that soundsdumb. You have to finish before it startsback up again. And then you had to makesure that no lint or scraps of paper fellonto the wet canvas. But when you sawthe painting and the source material andhow the light fell across it and how thewhole room collapsed around it like ahuge trap, then you knew for sure if itwas working or not. It was like a stupidtest. Now that the rooms in the bridgeare empty and sealed-off, I don’t missthem. I have an apartment and a studio. Insummer the bridge was too hot to workin, anyway. In the winter, in spite of theradiator, it was too cold. When I think ofhow it ended, it seems to me as if theground opened up and my entire archiveslid through this hatch out into the wideriver below, like through a trap door.”They had made themselves at home in anold drawbridge – a drawbridge that wasraised and lowered many times a day. “Itwas pretty frightening, at least at first,” hesaid, “a bit like an earthquake but withoutthe shaking and just in one direction, aone-sided earthquake that turned thewhole room on top of itself. It was as if thefloor had begun to rise. And if you werelying in bed, afterward you were standing.What had been the floor became the walland the wall became the floor. Sometimes,I was just barely able to gather the loosemagazines, drawing pads and paint beforeit started. Fortunately there was a bell,sometimes you could also hear the shipscoming or that the motors of the carswere turned off. Then I just got ready forthe ride: I slid against the wall, I stoodstretched out there, completely straightand didn’t move at all.”
"Past, Cool Things, Posthole Digger"
June 25 - July 31, 2010
Opening: June 25, 19.00 - 21.00 h
The bridge is part of the Rhine trail. Andcrosses the river just past Dьsseldorf. Butonly if you look closer can you see thatthere’s a hole approximately in the middlebetween the car lanes where steel beamsof about 3 or 4 meters descend into thewater. In order to get into it he wouldhave had to cross two lanes of traffic andthen jump...
-
It took years until someone discovered thethree small rooms. Probably some friendshad spread the word – it wasn’t a secret.Someone was there in the bridge, workingthere, maybe even living there. Later theydidn’t just remove furniture, but wholecrates full of paper, an entire archive.
-
For years they were able to work thereundisturbed under the traffic lanes in theinterior of the bridge. It was an actualsmall apartment, three rooms, each maybetwo or three meters long and somewhatwider than the street. The wood for thewalls came from a construction site, along power cable tapped electricity froma street lamp. They were even able to getrunning water through the steel beams ofthe bridge. They weren’t there all the time.It was cramped, the ceiling was less thantwo meters tall, the windows were small.But there was space for the books thatthey picked up at flea markets, a small,specialized library: art journals, music andfashion magazines. Everything was sortedby year, complete, clearly arranged, readyto hand. The rubber straps fastening theshelves to the wall made a professional,sporty impression. They were necessary,as were the straps that secured the stereosystem, the crate of cassette tapes andthe record bin.
-
“It was a feeling like on a carnival ride,but slower, much slower. We always hadto laugh at some point and then it waslowered again. It was just great. Onepaints assiduously, even if that soundsdumb. You have to finish before it startsback up again. And then you had to makesure that no lint or scraps of paper fellonto the wet canvas. But when you sawthe painting and the source material andhow the light fell across it and how thewhole room collapsed around it like ahuge trap, then you knew for sure if itwas working or not. It was like a stupidtest. Now that the rooms in the bridgeare empty and sealed-off, I don’t missthem. I have an apartment and a studio. Insummer the bridge was too hot to workin, anyway. In the winter, in spite of theradiator, it was too cold. When I think ofhow it ended, it seems to me as if theground opened up and my entire archiveslid through this hatch out into the wideriver below, like through a trap door.”They had made themselves at home in anold drawbridge – a drawbridge that wasraised and lowered many times a day. “Itwas pretty frightening, at least at first,” hesaid, “a bit like an earthquake but withoutthe shaking and just in one direction, aone-sided earthquake that turned thewhole room on top of itself. It was as if thefloor had begun to rise. And if you werelying in bed, afterward you were standing.What had been the floor became the walland the wall became the floor. Sometimes,I was just barely able to gather the loosemagazines, drawing pads and paint beforeit started. Fortunately there was a bell,sometimes you could also hear the shipscoming or that the motors of the carswere turned off. Then I just got ready forthe ride: I slid against the wall, I stoodstretched out there, completely straightand didn’t move at all.”