Laura Hinrichsmeyer, Luisa Kasalicky, Andrea Zabric
15.05 – 04.07.2026
together with The Tiger Room at Heßstr. 48 b, 80798 Munich
Powidok slonca; Strzeminski, Wladyslaw (1893-1952); 1948-1949 (1948-00-00 – 1948-00-00); Pobrano z systemu MUZA Muzeum Narodowego w Warszawie; malarskie / farba / olej; wyroby z wlókien / tkanina / p?ótno; wys. 73 cm, szer. 61 cm; MPW 1121 MNW; Wszystkie prawa zastrzezone.
We are told it is a mistake to think that the painter begins with a white surface. There is no empty canvas to be filled with life, for there is too much life already, too much clutter, too much stuff. “The painter has many things in his head, or around him, or in his studio.” And everything the painter has in his head is there on the canvas before him, before he begins his work. So many images! Thus before he begins, the painter has to empty the canvas, to remove what is there already. And to this argument I want to say, hmm. Perhaps. Or rather not.
Perhaps this is true of the painter, who is sure of himself and his place in the world, which is organised around him. But there are others who paint, better defined through a counter-subjectivity, which is non-unitary, not fixed. This subjectivity is not set against the clutter of life, but at home within it. For VO 2026, GiG Munich would like to introduce three painters, Laura Hinrichsmeyer, Luisa Kasalicky and Andrea Zabric.
Uns wird gesagt, es sei ein Irrtum zu glauben, ein Maler beginne mit einer weißen Fläche. Es gibt keine leere Leinwand, die mit Leben gefüllt werden müsste, denn bereits ist zu viel Überfluss, zu viel Material vorhanden. „Der Maler hat viele Dinge in seinem Kopf, um sich herum oder in seinem Atelier.“ Alles, was er im Kopf hat, ist bereits auf der Leinwand, noch bevor er zu malen beginnt. So viele Bilder! Bevor er anfängt, muss er die Leinwand leeren, das Entfernen dessen, was bereits da ist. Dazu möchte ich sagen: hm. Vielleicht. Oder doch nicht.
Dies mag auf den Maler zutreffen, der sich seiner selbst und seines Platzes in der um ihn herum geordneten Welt sicher ist. Es gibt jedoch andere, die malen, die sich durch eine Gegen-Subjektivität zeigen, die nicht einheitlich und nicht festgelegt ist. Sie steht der Überfülle des Lebens nicht gegenüber, sondern ist in ihr zu Hause. Für VO 2026 möchte GiG drei Malerinnen vorstellen: Laura Hinrichsmeyer, Lisa Kasalicky und Andrea Zabric.
Jakob Gilg, Anka Helfertova, Julia Klemm and Jonathan Penca
9.10. – 7.11.2025
with Pracownia Portretu, Łódź, Poland
Animal Elegance, installation view (Jonathan Penca, Colonna Sonora, 2025, acrylic and gouache paint, acrylic resin, biro, pencil, gesso and ink on wood. 31 x 24 x 5 cm; Julia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 2, 2025, steel, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 44 x 38 x 74 cm, )Animal Elegance, installation view (Jonathan Penca, Colonna Sonora, 2025, acrylic and gouache paint, acrylic resin, biro, pencil, gesso and ink on wood. 31 x 24 x 5 cm, ; Julia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 2, 2025, steel, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 44 x 38 x 74 cm,; Julia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 3 , 2025, steel, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 46 x 34 x 42 cm) Julia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 2,2025, steel, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 44 x 38 x 74 cm, Animal Elegance, installation view (Jonathan Penca, Colonna Sonora, 2025, acrylic and gouache paint, acrylic resin, biro, pencil, gesso and ink on wood. 31 x 24 x 5 cm; Julia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 2,2025, steel, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 44 x 38 x 74 cm,; Julia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 3 , 2025, steel, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 46 x 34 x 42 cm)Jonathan Penca, Colonna Sonora, 2025, acrylic and gouache paint, acrylic resin, biro, pencil, gesso and ink on wood. 31 x 24 x 5 cm,Animal Elegance, installation view , 2025Jonathan Penca, inglers Groove, 2025, gouache, acrylic, watercolour, acrylic resin, pencil, gesso, ink and paper on wood, 52 x 30 x 5 cm; Jonathan Penca, Tufty Sequence, 2025, gouache, acrylic, acrylic resin, biro, gesso, ink and paper on wood, 40 x 19 x 5 cm)Animal Elegance, 2025, installation viewJulia Klemm, Transcending territories, 2024, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 32 x 30 x 48 cmAnimal Elegance, 2025, installation viewJakob Gilg, Alignment, 2025, pigment and acrylic medium on canvas, 180 x 110 cm; Jakob Gilg, Virgo, 2025, pigment and acrylic medium on canvas, 140 x 120 cm)Jonathan Penca, Clogmia, 2025, gouache, acrylic resin, gesso, ink, makeup powder and paper on wood, 44 x 30 x 5 cmJonathan Penca, Clogmia, 2025, gouache, acrylic resin, gesso, ink, makeup powder and paper on wood, 44 x 30 x 5 cmJakob Gilg, I’m sorry, 2024, pigment and acrylic medium on canvas, 25o x 200 cm; Jakob Gilg, Kindling, 2025, pigment and acrylic medium on canvas, 70 x 50 cm Jakob Gilg, I’m sorry, 2024, pigment and acrylic medium on canvas, 25o x 200 cm; Jakob Gilg, Kindling, 2025, pigment and acrylic medium on canvas, 70 x 50 cm Jakob Gilg, Kindling, 2025, pigment and acrylic medium on canvas, 70 x 50 cm Animal Elegance, 2025, installation viewAnka Helfertova, To be in a time of war ( I keep changing my address but war never loses my scent) 2025, bricks, stone, MDF board, silicon, pigment, ceramic, 55 x 120 x 77 cm and 40 x 30 x 30 cmAnka Helfertova, To be in a time of war ( I keep changing my address but war never loses my scent) 2025, bricks, stone, MDF board, silicon, pigment, ceramic, 55 x 120 x 77 cm and 40 x 30 x 30 cmAnka Helfertova, To be in a time of war ( I keep changing my address but war never loses my scent) 2025, bricks, stone, MDF board, silicon, pigment, ceramic, 55 x 120 x 77 cm and 40 x 30 x 30 cmAnimal Elegance, 2025, installation view
There is a fascist, who lives in my head, and he has been there for a while. I speak to him almost everyday about different things, mainly things I see in the news or read about online, but sometimes also about art. Recently I was telling him about the fish, Kluzinger’s wrasse, which reminded me of a passage I read in “A Thousand Plateaus” by Deleuze and Guattari. They ascribe to a tropical fish an animal elegance, because of the way it uses its colourful design to blend in with its surroundings. The lines of the design are abstract and yet have the capacity to construct an entire underwater world.
Look, I tell him, we think we know what a fish is, the way you think you know what a dog or horse or lion is, an animal, a species, a type. Certainly your lot has made enough statues and animal monuments – porcelain shepherd dog figurines graced your tables. A fish lives in water and like all other fish has scales, fins and gills. We can compare this fish to another and note down the similarities of their characteristics, in order to classify them, genus: Thalassoma, family: Labridae. You think we know what kind of an animal a fish is. There it is. Put it in an aquarium.
Ah, I say, but can we see the animal Deleuze and Guattari describe as possessing an English kind of elegance? With a refinement that does not seek attention, but that remains quietly unobtrusive? This involves the appreciation of the small and the detailed, like those drain moths found in Jonathan Penca’s paintings, charming us with their fuzzy faces and furry wings. More than that, unobtrusiveness requires an effort. To go through life unnoticed is not easy and drain moths have a life cycle with four stages, larvae feeding on toilet sludge before developing into pupae.
There are animals we see and animals we do not. The animals we do see, we organise and use, tame and breed. We control them as meticulously as Eadweard Muybridge did, when he set up multiple cameras to capture the image of the horse in motion or a lion in a cage, the starting point of Jakob Gilg’s paintings. We assign animals different roles: you there, you look soft and cuddly, you will be a pet. And you, you over there, so powerful and strong, you we will make into a symbol. Kitsch ceramic cats and scaled-down digital scans of lion monuments tumble, shatter and recombine in Julia Klemm’s work.
But this animal you don’t see, is something other than a molar entity, a different “affair” as Deleuze and Guattari would say, involving “becoming” not “being.” And it might seem we are meant to think this becoming morphologically, as the becoming of something else, a change from one permanent state to another, equally permanent one. A human could become a cat perhaps – or a cat, a human – as in the work of Anka Helfertova. Violence swirls around and we try to find our peace, not to lose ourselves within. To think becoming is to think loss, the elimination of all of our complaints, demands, unsatisfied desires, “everything that roots us in ourselves,” so that at the end, we are left with nothing, which is also everything. Becoming-animal is always a becoming-imperceptible, a shrinking best found in science fiction novels, the shrinking man becoming smaller and smaller without ever disappearing. Because when animals are thought in their becoming, the molecular comes into play, those invisible abstract forces that in their millions of interactions are actually responsible for constituting a world. To think an animal in its becoming is to engage with these molecular forces at work.
This is the demand elegance places on us: to think less of ourselves and more of the other. It is to be more attuned to our surroundings by paying attention to what continues to constitute us, which is always small and inorganic, indiscernible and impersonal. Elegance is a kind of molecular attention, but with a focus that opens out onto the world. To think things in their becoming molecularly is also to think in terms of the cosmos in its entirety. And then we might indeed stop seeing fish, but we will begin to see everything else.
Jakob Gilg, Anka Helfertova, Julia Klemm and Jonathan Penca
9.10. – 7.11.2025
with Pracownia Portretu, Łódź, Poland
Screenshot
In the imaginary conversation with a fascist that I seem to almost daily conduct in my head, I like to present him (my fascist is always a man) the example of an animal, this time of a fish. Deleuze and Guattari describe this fish as being “criss-crossed by abstract lines” – I like to think of the Klunzinger’s Wrasse I saw on a recent trip to Egypt, criss-crossed by a rainbow of colour.
Here it is, I would say, look at this fish, look how beautiful it is, the colours, the design. The pattern doesn’t seem to follow the shape of the fish. There is an orange line across, stripes above, more pink wavy lines around its chubby face. Very bright. But in a certain trick of the light, the fish merges almost completely with its underwater environment. What is abstract, a matter of shape, line and colour, allows the fish to become rock, sand or a bit of coral. As Deleuze and Guattari write “this fish is criss-crossed by abstract lines that resemble nothing, that do not even follow its organic divisions; but thus disorganized, disarticulated, it worlds with the lines of a rock, sand, and plants, becoming imperceptible.”
The fish worlds and when it worlds it becomes imperceptible. It loses itself in the most vibrant way to become unnoticed and thus more firmly part of the world it belongs to. In losing itself it can become everything else.
W wyimaginowanej rozmowie z faszystą, którą — zdaje się — prowadzę w głowie niemal każdego dnia, lubię podawać mu (mój faszysta jest zawsze mężczyzną) przykład zwierzęcia. Tym razem — ryby. Deleuze i Guattari opisują tę rybę jako „poprzecinaną liniami abstrakcyjnymi”. Ja zaś wolę myśleć o rybie Klunzingera, którą widziałam niedawno w Egipcie, przeciętej jakby tęczową siatką barw.
„Oto ona” — powiedziałbym — „spójrz na tę rybę. Jakże piękna: kolory, rysunek! Wzór zdaje się wcale nie podążać za kształtem ciała. Pomarańczowa kreska w poprzek, nad nią pasy, różowe, falujące linie wokół pyzatego pyska. Wszystko jaskrawe. A jednak — przy pewnym układzie światła — ryba stapia się prawie zupełnie z podwodnym otoczeniem. To, co wydaje się czystą abstrakcją: kształt, linia i barwa — pozwala rybie stać się skałą, piaskiem albo odłamkiem koralu. Jak piszą Deleuze i Guattari: »ta ryba przecięta jest liniami abstrakcyjnymi, które niczego nie przypominają, nie podążają nawet za organicznymi podziałami jej ciała; lecz właśnie tak rozczłonkowana stapia się z liniami skały, piasku i roślin, stając się niedostrzegalną«.
Rybka tedy „światotworzy” — a kiedy „światotworzy”, staje się niewidoczna. Traci siebie w najżywszy ze sposobów, by nie być zauważoną, a tym samym jeszcze mocniej przynależeć do świata, w którym pływa. W owym zatraceniu może stać się wszystkim innym.”
together with The Tiger Room at Heßstr. 48 b, 80798 Munich
Julia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet, 2025, installation viewJulia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet, 2025, installation viewJulia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet, 2025, installation viewJulia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 3, 2025, steel, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 46 × 34 × 42 cm Julia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 3, 2025, steel, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 46 × 34 × 42 cmJulia Klemm, Evasion, 2025, steel, glaze, ceramic, pigment, cloth, 23 × 23 × 65 cm Julia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet, 2025, installation viewJulia Klemm, Transcending territories, 2024, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 32 × 30 × 48 cm Julia Klemm, Julia Klemm, Transcending territories, 2024, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 32 × 30 × 48 cm (detail)Julia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 4, 2025, secondhand ceramic figures, steel, glaze, ceramic, screws, 27 × 46 × 260 cmJulia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 4, 2025, secondhand ceramic figures, steel, glaze, ceramic, screws, 27 × 46 × 260 cm (detail)Julia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 4, 2025, secondhand ceramic figures, steel, glaze, ceramic, screws, 27 × 46 × 260 cm (detail)Julia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 4, 2025, secondhand ceramic figures, steel, glaze, ceramic, screws, 27 × 46 × 260 cm (detail)Julia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet, 2025, installation viewJulia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 2, 2025, steel, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 44 × 38 × 74 cmJulia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 2, 2025, steel, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 44 × 38 × 74 cmJulia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 2, 2025, steel, glaze, ceramic, pigment, 44 × 38 × 74 cmJulia Klemm, Untitled, 2025, secondhand ceramic figures, glaze, ceramic, fired soft toy, chandelier, 12 × 14 × 11 cmJulia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet, 2025, installation viewJulia Klemm, Double trouble, 2025, ceramic, steel, pigment, glaze, 24 × 34× 60 cmJulia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 1, 2025, secondhand ceramic figures, glaze, ceramic, steel, fired soft toy, 15 × 25 × 14,5 cmJulia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet 1, 2025, secondhand ceramic figures, glaze, ceramic, steel, fired soft toy, 15 × 25 × 14,5 cmJulia Klemm, A chimera is not a pet, 2025, installation viewJulia Klemm, Mimicry, 2025, second ceramic figures, steel, chandelier, glaze, ceramic, 12 × 14 × 8 cmJulia Klemm, Gryphon, 2025, secondhand ceramic figures, glaze, ceramic, steel, fired soft toy, 18 × 22 × 17cmJulia Klemm, Gryphon, 2025, secondhand ceramic figures, glaze, ceramic, steel, fired soft toy, 18 × 22 × 17cmJulia Klemm, Gryphon, 2025, secondhand ceramic figures, glaze, ceramic, steel, fired soft toy, 18 × 22 × 17cm
The problem I think, is that too often a chimera is seen as a pet. We visualise chimeras as these mythical fire breathing monsters, maybe with a lion’s head, a body of a goat, and a serpent for a tail. Three distinct animals are combined into one, their individual characteristics clearly visible for us to see. In contrast, biologically,a genetic chimera is often invisible, a nightmarish combination of two different sets of DNA, a result of one or more zygotes fusing together during the early stages of prenatal development. How this alien DNA might manifest is not altogether clear, but you hear stories of mothers having different DNA than their children, and the DNA from semen and saliva not matching in rape tests. To look for distinctions in chimeras would be the first step towards their domestication, treating the hybrid animal as another family member, a pet. But you cannot cuddle the long lost twin you might be carrying with you, inside.
Julia Klemm’s ceramic work often involves a combination of several smaller ceramic pieces, each with their own specific animal DNA. Sometimes these are readymade figurines of cats, lions or horses, glossy and kitsch, inhabitants of Flohmärkte and Omas’ living rooms. At other times, these are recreations of existing public art, of lion statues such as those found on Odeonsplatz, scanned, scaled down and then modelled with a 3D-printed negative mould. Rarely, an animal-type structure is moulded in clay by Julia on the spot, traces of fur scratched with a serrated scraper onto its surface. These smaller animal ceramics are first broken, smashed into almost unrecognisable fragments before they are combined, their intertwining made permanent by the heat of the ceramic oven. I look for these fragments as I walk around the work and try to classify them: look, here are some lion’s legs, and here, a cat’s head, but upside down and half-broken, so that I can see the form inside and outside. Focussing on the surface helps, as I detect the glossy spots of a panther or the layer lines of the 3D printer.
In doing so, I am looking for a pet, with fur strokable like a pastel-coloured soft toy. I try to make the strange shapes of Julia Klemm’s work once again familiar to me. But their outward appearance is a result of a logic that remains hidden. The work demands I see it as a multiplicity, which means in animal terms, as a population. And science teaches us that a population is not a fixed set of individuals of the same species, but an always evolving, interacting mass that changes in relation to its location and environment. The alliances made in a population are not just of the filial kind between individual members of the group, but those made with other groups, other animals, with plants, and with geography. To see the inner workings of the animal in Julia Klemm’s ceramics, I need to step away from the animal and take a more expansive view, one that acknowledges population change forged by mutation. It is very alien to see the world in this way, as foreign and as violent as the shards of steel that interpenetrate the work, both holding it together and ripping it apart.
Dominika Olszowy, Klaudia Figura, Julia Woronowicz, Czaro Malinkiewicz, Paweł Marcinek, Przemysław Piniak, Zuza Piekoszewska, Maryna Sakowska, Karolina Szwed
curated by Przemek Sowiński (Łęctwo, Poznań) and hosted by The Tiger Room
9.05 – 14.06.2025
together with The Tiger Room at Heßstr. 48 b, 80798 Munich
Roztopy, 2025, installation view. Photo: Przemek SowinskiRoztopy, 2025, installation view. Photo: Przemek SowinskiDominika Olszowy, Suń in the Sheer Curtains, 2024, sheer curtains, epoxy resin. Photo: Przemek Sowinski Paweł Marcinek, Sick House, 2024, 67 x 58 cm, furniture, acrylic, spray paint. Courtesy of the artist and Lectwo Gallery. Paweł Marcinek, Complex Problem (Zlozony Problem) . 100 x 74 cm. Furniture, acrylic. Photo: Przemek Sowiński.Czaro Malinkiewicz, Behind the Barrack, 2024, 70 x 50 cm silicon, bandage, acrylic, prints, ink, dust. Photo: Przemek SowinskiCzaro Malinkiewicz, The Sadness that Comes at the End of the Day, 2024, 38 x 20 cm, silicone, bandage, acrylic. Photo: Przemek SowinskiCzaro Malinkiewicz, The Sadness that Comes at the End of the Day, 2024, 38 x 20 cm, silicone, bandage, acrylic. Photo: Przemek SowinskiKarolina Szwed, I Skipped the Test and Passed, 150 x 120 cm, oil on canvas. Photo: Przemek SowinskiKarolina Szwed, Spring, 40 x 50 cm, oil on canvas. Photo: Przemek SowinskiPrzemysław Piniak, Wróblok, Video, 1’36. Photo: Przemek SowińskiDominika Olszowy, Suń Clown, 2023, concrete, nappies, epoxy resin. Photo: Przemek SowińskiJulia Woronowicz, Rise and Fall of the Pandcity Universe, 2024, oil on canvas. Photo: Przemek SowinskiKlaudia Figura, Negative Sentiment, 164 x 90 cm, oil on canvas, crayon, pastel. Photo: Przemek SowinskiZuza Piekoszweska, Base for Little Ones, 100 x 80 cm, wool, plaster on canvas, acrylic, crayons, corn, raffia. Pawel Marcinek. Inner Observer with Duck, 4 x 5 x 7 cm, wood, varnish. Photo: Przemek SowinskiPawel Marcinek. Inner Observer with Duck, 4 x 5 x 7 cm, wood, varnish. Photo: Przemek SowinskiRoztopy, 2025, installation view. Photo: Przemek Sowinski. Maryna Sakoszewska, Roulette. 180 x 120 cm, bleach, oil and domestic in jeans and kitchen cloth. Photo: Przemek SowinskiDominika Olszowy, House of Little Coffee. 140 x 70 x 2 cm, stained glass, gravel, epoxy resin. Photo: Przemek SowinskiMaryna Sakoszewska, Post Mortem, 21 x 29 cm, pencil on paper. Photo: Przemek SowinskiPawel Marcinek, Unititled, 21 x 29 cm, pencil on paper. Photo: Przemek Sowinski
Jestem już na to za stara – I am too old for this. I still remember when everything changed. It was the little things that I noticed at first. At the beginning there was only one or two vegetable stands close to the tram stop across the street. They were soon joined by others selling second hand clothes from the west. Advent calendars followed with real chocolate inside (!) – then a baker – then a stand with underwear and nylon stockings and slippers with elastic bands. Dynasty was on TVP after the news each Sunday at a quarter past eight and a chewing gum cost 1.000 zloty. The next week it was 1.500 zloty. 100.000 zloty was a Christmas gift from my grandmother and I was told to spend this quickly. When I visit Poland, which is not at all often, these are the memories I carry with me and their images of the past always shape how I see the place where my parents live now.
Most of the artists in the exhibition “Roztopy” curated by Przemek Sowinski and hosted by the Tiger Room were born much later, in the late 90s, and they are not burdened with these particular recollections. When Przemek writes of the “thaw” this is what he means. I admit that initially I misunderstood. I assumed the period of transition that the exhibition refers to was the historical transition from one political system to the next. I guess I really am too old for this – I am too late. In 1990, as a ten year old child I only witnessed the beginnings of a transition. But it is this transition time, which is now perhaps coming to an end, melting away as it were, like old winter’s snow. And in the green-tinted light we can see the dirt that has been left behind. Spring is here at last – a sun is rising in Dominika Olszowy’s work! It is also there in the small drawing by Paweł Marcinek, outside his block of flats, on an advertising banner. Yet in the painting by Karolina Szwed, spring is a girl’s short skirt, a drop of liquid like a tear, tricking down her bare thigh. In the work by Klaudia Figura another girl stomps on her schoolwork with clumpy shoes. So vomit spews from the second sun by Olszowy setting in the corner of the gallery space – and from the wooden sick house by Paweł Marcinek hanging in the other corner. Two arms embrace it from behind, whether to comfort it in its distress or to stop it from choking, we cannot tell. In a small drawing by Maryna Sakowska, a gothic, multi-story dwelling is being disinfected by men in biohazard suits, after a grandmother was found lying dead behind the stained sofa. Whereas, the dwelling in Zuza Piekoszewska’s piece is one made for insects to crawl in.
There are other memories present here as well, but these refer to a past I do not share because it was an impossible future for me, the turn of the century when everything was supposed to get better, cooler somehow. Czaro Malinkiewicz’s heavily textured reliefs of silicon and paste and dirt, refer to splatter film gore and manga comics and more references to manga are also present in Sakowska’s work. Whereas we in the early 90s would try to find old copies of Lucky Luke. Przemysław Piniak celebrates this time to come in his video, dancing wildly in front of his grey block of flats while dressed in his most shiny and colourful sports clothes. Julia Woronowicz, who often reinterprets local histories and myths, has also seen the future in her painting, and it looks like Piaseczno! Presiding over this detritus of change is s small kneeling figure, shiny and black holding a duck in its arms. Like Benjamin’s angel, it looks towards us as it is blown to the future.
Dominika Olszowy, Klaudia Figura, Julia Woronowicz, Czaro Malinkiewicz, Paweł Marcinek, Przemysław Piniak, Zuza Piekoszewska, Maryna Sakowska, Karolina Szwed
curated by Przemek Sowiński (Łęctwo, Poznań) and hosted by The Tiger Room
9.05 – 14.06.2025
Opening: 9.05.2025, 5pm
Heßstr. 48 b, 80798 Munich
Julia Woronowicz, Sphinx and Foal, 2024, courtesy of the artist
The exhibition “Roztopy” explores the relationship between a characteristic Polish landscape of melting snow, folklore, and tradition, and what remains following the political, social, and economic upheavals of the 1990s. “Roztopy” translates as snowmelt, a transitional period in which one condition changes into another. It refers to a specific moment in time that captures the tension between what has passed and what is to come. The show features recent work of young Polish artists, approaching the theme from an economic perspective, the shifting locations and the resurfacing of emotions that are becoming more obvious after a period of stagnation. Just like any transformation, melting snow reveals what lies beneath. Cracks, debris, and everything else that went unseen is forced into a confrontation, just like we face buried memories. The works are connected by the notions of transgression and experimentation. This is a story about the mud we bring from the streets into our own homes.
Roztopy widmet sich der Verbindung zwischen der schmelzenden Schneelandschaft Polens, ihrer Folklore und Tradition sowie den Spuren, die die politischen, sozialen und wirtschaftlichen Umbrüche der 1990er Jahre hinterlassen haben. Roztopy bedeutet Schneeschmelze – eine Übergangsphase, in der ein Zustand in einen anderen übergeht. Der Begriff beschreibt einen Moment der Spannung zwischen Vergangenem und Zukünftigem. Gezeigt werden aktuelle Arbeiten junger polnischer Künstler*innen, die sich dem Thema aus einer wirtschaftlichen Perspektive nähern und die Veränderungen sichtbar machen, die nach einer Zeit der Stagnation einsetzen. Wie die Schneeschmelze verborgene Risse und Trümmer freilegt, zwingen uns die Werke, sich mit verschütteten Erinnerungen auseinanderzusetzen. Was die Arbeiten vereint, ist die Bereitschaft zum Experiment und das Spiel mit Grenzen. Die Ausstellung erzählt die Geschichte des Schlamms, den wir unweigerlich von draußen mit nach Hause bringen.
Anna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, installation view (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, installation view (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, installation view (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, installation view (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, detail (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, installation view (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, installation view (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, detail (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, installation view (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, detail (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, detail (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, detail (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, installation view (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, detail (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, detail (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, detail (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, installation view (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, installation view (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, detail (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas SplettAnna Łuczak, Sophie Schmidt, “Brutality of Spring,” 2024, detail (porcelain plates, white paint, wood ribbon, metal plate holders, cutlery, make up). Photo: Thomas Splett
A person has died.
Andrea Éva Győri is dead.
These two statements are not the same, though they might seem very similar. When I say, E. is dead, I think of her and how she was, someone I never met but heard so much about: the tone of her voice, her laugh, her enthusiasm and strong personality. She is someone with a consciousness, a memory, a personal identity. But when I say, a person has died, I mean something different. The logic is different because it is impersonal. It has nothing to do with E. and yet everything to do with her. A person is singular – the one – yet not particular. I cannot say anything specific about a person. A person is dead is an indefinite statement, because a person is a life, and life is indefinite, singular, impersonal.
How can I describe a life? Without talking about E. who lived? Deleuze was right, this requires an empiricism, an empirical kind of thinking, an almost scientific kind of rigour. I keep making lists:
There is the Marzanna, an effigy out of twigs and straw that Polish children drown in a nearby river as spring approaches.
There is the life cycle of the salmon, swimming upstream and spawning, then dying and their bodies fertilising the river.
Did you know that skeletal muscle stem cells continue living up to 17 days after all other cells have died?
That scene in Dicken’s novel, “Our Mutual Friend,” when the Rogue lays dying in Miss Abbey’s first-floor bedroom. While he barely breaths everyone tries to help, but as soon as his eyelid trembles, his nose twitches, the doctor and the four men grow distant and caution returns.
Anna Łuczak and Sophie Schmidt made a series of porcelain plates together, as individual responses to E.’s passing. Anna made the plates and wrote the texts, Sophie painted images:
There is the day of E.’s diagnosis. The breast cancer.
There is the day at the crematorium.
And the time just after, laying on the floor.
There is salmon spawning, seeds germinating.
The plates refer to the domestic language of the vanitas. We eat on them with fork and knife, we wash them and we put them away. The colourful ribbons belong to the “kapliczka,” the wayside shrine found on nearly every road in Poland, equally catholic and pagan. Sophie Schmidt’s wooden structures hold everything together ever so precariously, extensions of the body, with the body’s fragility, strength and breakability.
Eine Person ist gestorben. Andrea Éva Győri ist tot. Diese beiden Aussagen sind nicht identisch, obwohl sie sehr ähnlich erscheinen mögen. Wenn ich sage: „E. ist tot“, denke ich an sie und an die Person, die sie war, obwohl ich sie nie persönlich kennengelernt, dafür aber viel über sie gehört habe: vom Klang ihrer Stimme, ihrem Lachen, ihrer Begeisterung und starken Persönlichkeit. Sie ist jemand mit Bewusstsein, Erinnerung und einer persönlichen Identität. Aber wenn ich sage, „eine Person ist gestorben“, meine ich etwas anderes. Die Logik ist eine andere, weil sie unpersönlich ist. Es hat nichts und alles mit ihr zu tun. Eine Person ist einzigartig – genau die eine – und doch nicht besonders. Ich kann nichts Spezifisches über eine Person sagen. „Eine Person ist tot“ ist eine unbestimmte Aussage, denn eine Person ist ein Leben, und Leben ist unbestimmt, singulär, unpersönlich.
Wie kann ich ein Leben beschreiben? Ohne über E. zu sprechen, die gelebt hat? Deleuze hatte Recht, dies erfordert Empirie, eine empirische Art des Denkens, eine nahezu wissenschaftliche Gründlichkeit. Ich mache immer weitere Listen:
Da ist die Marzanna, eine Puppe aus Zweigen und Stroh, die von polnischen Kindern in einem nahegelegenen Fluss ertränkt wird, wenn der Frühling naht.
Da ist der Lebenszyklus der Lachse, die stromaufwärts schwimmen und laichen, dann sterben und mit ihren Körpern den Fluss befruchten.
Wussten Sie schon, dass die Stammzellen der Skelettmuskeln bis zu siebzehn Tage weiterleben, nachdem alle anderen Zellen bereits abgestorben sind?
Diese Szene in Dickens’ Roman „Unser gemeinsamer Freund“, als der Schurke sterbend im Schlafzimmer von Miss Abbey im ersten Stock liegt. Während er kaum noch atmet, versuchen alle zu helfen, aber sobald sein Augenlid zittert, seine Nase zuckt, werden der Arzt und die vier Männer misstrauisch und zurückhaltend.
Anna Łuczak und Sophie Schmidt haben als individuelle Reaktionen auf E.s Tod gemeinsam eine Serie von Porzellantellern entworfen. Anna schrieb Texte, Sophie malte Bilder:
Da ist der Tag von E’s Diagnose. Der Brustkrebs.
Da ist der Tag im Krematorium.
Und kurz danach, als wir auf dem Boden lagen. Der Lachs laicht, die Samen keimen.
Die Teller verweisen auf die häusliche Sprache der Vanitas. Wir essen auf ihnen mit Gabel und Messer, wir waschen sie ab und wir räumen sie weg. Die bunten Bänder gehören zu den „kapliczka“, den Bildstöcken, die man in Polen an fast jeder Straße findet, gleichermaßen katholisch wie heidnisch. Sophie Schmidts Holzkonstruktionen halten alles auf äußerst fragile Weise zusammen, sie sind Verlängerungen des Körpers, mit seiner Zerbrechlichkeit, Stärke und Brüchigkeit.
In Poland every year in spring, school children gather together at the banks of frozen rivers to drown the Marzanna. I remember throwing stones at the doll to make her sink faster. We then walked home without looking back.
Salmon swim upstream to lay their eggs in their home river. They die and their decomposing bodies help fertilise the water.
Everyone helps the rogue in the Dicken’s novel as he lays dying in Miss Abbey’s first-floor bedroom. But as he grows warm – “Did that eyelid tremble? Did that nostril twitch?” – the doctor and the four men cool and “their faces and their hearts harden to him.”
These occasions recognise what for Deleuze is not reducible to experience, but which nevertheless can be confronted: a life. Not the lived, individual life, so full of things that need to be done, but a life, singular and impersonal, indefinite; a life with no moments, but only the in-between, a passage, a becoming, of events yet to come that have already happened. “Pure power and bliss” Deleuze writes. Just life, only life, a life.
In “The Brutality of Spring” Anna Łuczak and Sophia Schmidt collaborate together in homage to a recently deceased mutual friend to produce a multimedia installation, a vanitas-type project, founded equally in the transience of domestic sphere and the fragility of the human body.
Hêlîn Alas,Pierre-Yves Delannoy, Lukas Hoffmann, Veronika Hilger, Ju Young Kim, Anna McCarthy, Jonathan Penca, Curtis Talwst Santiago, Valio Tchenkov, Ayaka Terajima, Gülbin Ünlü, Paul Valentin, Max Weisthoff
7.09 -28.09.2024
Temporary venue at Schillerstr. 38, Munich
Hêlîn Alas, Carrying the Earth to the Sky, 2024, installation view with “Up and Up and Up and Up,” 2024, trampolines, cable ties, speakers, sound, cables, 490 x 165 cm and “Still Faced,” 2024 framed photo print (part of a series) 100 x 70 cm. Photo: Produktion PitzHêlîn Alas, “Traumhaus junior,” 2024, caramel, 118 x 90 x 8 cm. Photo: Produktion PitzHêlîn Alas, “Traumhaus junior,” 2024, caramel, 118 x 90 x 8 cm. Photo: Produktion PitzPierre-Yves Delannoy, “embroideries on cashier’s ticket,” 2019-24, cotton yarns, thermo paper, dimensions variable (8 x 16 cm (X10)). Photo: Thomas SplettVeronika Hilger, Carrying the Earth to the Sky, 2024, installation view. Photo: Thomas SplettVeronika Hilger, Untitled, 2024, ceramic, 27 × 24 × 3 cm. Photo: Thomas SplettLukas Hoffmann, “Figure,” 2020, MDF, oak, aluminum, acrylic glass, 50 x 45 x 8 cm. Photo: Lukas HoffmannLukas Hoffmann, “Castle,” 2024, Spraypaint, plywood, screws, MDF dyed through, 100 x 100 x 200 cm. Photo: Lukas HoffmannJu Young Kim, “Almost like Whale Watching,” 2024, a pair of aircraft fairings, stained glass, rivets, LED, 240 x 38 x 46 cm (X2). Photo: Younsik KimJu Young Kim, “Almost like Whale Watching,” 2024, a pair of aircraft fairings, stained glass, rivets, LED, 240 x 38 x 46 cm (X2). Photo: Younsik KimAnna McCarthy, Carrying the Earth to the Sky, 2024, installation view with “Car Crash b/w,” 2001, analogue photograph 230 x 160. Photo: Thomas Splett Anna McCarthy, “Car crash installation,” 2024, mixed media, dimensions variable. Photo: Thomas SplettJonathan Penca, “Synanthropop,” 2024, paper-maché, plaster, polymer clay, resin, cardboard, acrylic paint, wood, glass, digital print on paper, plinth, 120 x 60 x 60 cm. Photo: Thomas SplettJonathan Penca, “Mitten Crack,” 2024, paper-maché, plaster, polymer clay, resin, wooden bird whistle, lipstick, cardboard, acrylic paint, digital print on paper, plinth 120 x 60 x 60 cm. Photo: Thomas SplettCurtis Talwst Santiago, “History of Touch” 2024, installation view detail. Photo: Thomas SplettCurtis Talwst Santiago, “History of Touch” 2024, installation view. Photo: Thomas SplettValio Tchenkov, Carrying the Earth to the Sky, 2024, installation view. Photo: Thomas SplettValio Tchenkov, Carrying the Earth to the Sky, 2024, installation view. Photo: Thomas SplettAyaka Terajima, Carrying the Earth to the Sky, 2024, installation view. Photo: Thomas SplettAyaka Terajima, “Long legs doki,” 2023, Unglazed fired ceramic by recycled clay, 60 x 100 x 130 cm. Photo: Thomas SplettGülbin Ünlü, “Karanlik isik,” 2024, wood, printed fabric, dimensions variable (site specific installation). Photo: Thomas SplettGülbin Ünlü, “Karanlik isik,” 2024, wood, printed fabric, dimensions variable (site specific installation) detail. Photo: Thomas SplettPaul Valentin, “Kasside,” 2024, site specific video installation. Photo: Thomas SplettPaul Valentin, “Kasside,” 2024, site specific video installation. Photo: Thomas SplettMax Weisthoff, “perpetuator,” 2024, sculptural sound installation, 5 objects, cable, dimensions variable (site specific installation). Photo: Thomas SplettMax Weisthoff, “out of flesh,” 2024, mixed media installation, 2 channel video, x objects, dimensions variable (site specific installation). Photo: Thomas Splett
“Carrying the Earth to the Sky” will present works by 13 artists who are currently active in the contemporary art scene in Munich. The artists were selected in a two-stage process. First each of the 37 participants of VARIOUS OTHERS nominated one artist currently living in Munich. From this group, an international jury consisting of four institutional curators selected 13 artists who will show their work as part of the VARIOUS OTHERS program in September. The jury acknowledged that the quality of the applications received made their task both exciting and challenging. The final selection of multi-generational artists reflects the desire to see art beyond fixed categories and clichés and to honour distinctive works.
The exhibition’s curator, Magdalena Wisniowska, has meticulously chosen the works in collaboration with the artists. These will be presented together in an overarching curatorial concept at Schillerstraße 38 under the title “Carrying the Earth to the Sky”.
“The earth is something human, something we keep under our feet. The sky high above is without air, where no living thing can breathe. Moving away from one to the other means letting go of the earth and constructions that belong to it – actions, bodies, objects, sensations and desires – until only the elements, disconnected molecules, remain.”
We would like to express our gratitude to all supporters of the exhibition, particularly the owners of the property at Schillerstraße 38, the Cultural Department of the City of Munich, the Edith-Haberland-Wagner Foundation and Serviceplan Group for their generous support.
Jury: Rosa Ferré (TBA21, Madrid) Luis Silva (Kunsthalle Lissabon) Nicola Trezzi (CCA, Tel Aviv) Vivien Trommer (K21, Düsseldorf)
Lothringer 13 Studio, Lothringer Str. 13, 81667 München
Sophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, installation view Sophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, installation view Sophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, installation view Sophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, installation view Sophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, installation view Sophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, installation view Sophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, installation view Sophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, installation view Sophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, installation view Sophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, installation view Sophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, detail Sophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, detailSophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, detailSophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, detailSophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, detailSophia Mainka, Notes on roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal), 2024, installation view
Photos: Thomas Spelt
In the summer of 2022, a Beluga whale strayed into the river Seine and began swimming towards Paris. It was stopped by a lock, refused to eat and was subsequently euthanised. Nobody knows when parrots entered Parisian airspace, but they have been observed in the French capital since the 1970s. They can now be seen in most of Paris’s public parks, from the Bois de Boulogne in the west to the Bois de Vincennes in the east. And dogs – well, dogs have been roaming Parisian streets since forever. Terriers, Dachshunds, Spaniels, and of course, the French Bulldog.
These stories of animals adapting to urban environments lay at the heart of Sophia Mainka’s video and sculpture installation, “Notes on Roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal)” produced and first shown during her residency at Fondation Fiminco in Paris. Amid the organic playful forms of the metal sculptures there are three videos, all filmed from the animal perspective. In the first two, Mainka paints her arms and hands to resemble a dog’s paws, and we see these on screen as the fictional dog walks, stops and occasionally runs around the cobblestones and concrete pavements, once even jumping from a wooden bench. In the third, she takes on the perspective of the whale, the camera capturing what the whale would have seen, providing it swam further, into the city canals. The image rises and dips to the rhythm of the whale’s breathing. Surrounding us are the sounds of birds singing, except this too is staged: these are not parrots, but a toy, a bird whistle device.
Her work then, could be described as ethological in spirit. Sophia Mainka does not imitate animals, but rather behaves like them. She scratches, she sniffs, she swims, she trills and peeps. She acts the way an animal would act, if she were a animal in this situation and in this sense, we can think of her work in terms of what the French philosopher Gilles Deleuze would call becoming.
For Deleuze and Guattari, the process of becoming-animal is best described by Vladimir Slepian in his short text, “Fils de Chien.” Written in the first person, Slepian confesses how, despite being a man, his hunger leads him to behave like a dog, putting shoes on his hands and tying them using his mouth. It is a reversal of the evolutionary process described by anthropologist André Leroi-Gourhan, in which humans, through their adoption of an upright posture, free their mouths from the task of grasping and develop speech. Slepian recomposes himself, so that his mouth instead of speaking, grasps like a dog’s. And it is irrelevant how this dog looks like, whether this is the short snout of a bulldog or longer nose of a dachshund.
Similarly, Mainka makes us rethink our relation to nature, which is redrawn along affective lines as a participatory process. Animals are not considered as distinct molar entities, standing alongside the human. All entities are defined by their capacity to act, which changes depending on how they affect and how they are affected by others. There is a sensing of utopia in the environs of the Canal Saint-Martin that Mainka would walk along so happily – a secluded, sheltered place of inter-species co-existence. Or rather, it is a place where different populations, human, mammal and bird, continually compose and re-compose together.
Im Sommer 2022 verirrte sich ein Belugawal in die Seine und begann, in Richtung Paris zu schwimmen. Er geriet in eine Schleuse, fraß nicht mehr und wurde daraufhin eingeschläfert. Seit wann genau Papageien sich im Pariser Luftraum angesiedelt haben, ist unklar, aber sie werden seit den 1970ern in der französischen Hauptstadt beobachtet. Heute kann man sie in den meisten öffentlichen Parks der Stadt entdecken, vom Bois de Boulogne im Westen bis zum Bois de Vincennes im Osten. Und Hunde – nun ja, Hunde streifen seit jeher durch die Pariser Straßen, ob Terrier, Dackel, Spaniel und natürlich die französische Bulldogge.
Diese Erzählungen von Tieren, welche sich an urbane Lebensräume anpassen, stehen im Zentrum von Sophia Mainkas Installation “Notes on Roommates (a dog, a parrot, a whale and a canal)“ aus Videos und Skulpturen, die während ihres Residenzaufenthalts in der Fondation Fiminco in Paris produziert und dort auch zum ersten Mal gezeigt wurde. In die organischen und spielerischen Formen der Metallskulpturen sind drei Videos integriert, alle aufgenommen aus der Tierperspektive. Im ersten und zweiten Video sind Mainkas Arme und Hände wie Hundepfoten bemalt. Wir nehmen den Blickwinkel jenes fiktiven Hundes ein, laufen mit ihm über Kopfsteinpflaster und Bürgersteige, halten plötzlich an, rennen hin und her und springen einmal sogar von einer Holzbank. Im dritten Video nimmt Mainka die Perspektive des Wals ein, wobei die Kamera das wiedergibt, was jener wohl gesehen hätte, wenn er weiter in die Stadt hinein geschwommen wäre. Das Bild bewegt sich im Rhythmus der Atmung des Wals. Um uns herum erklingt Vogelgezwitscher, aber auch das ist eine Inszenierung: Es sind keine Papageien, sondern ein Spielzeug, eine Vogelpfeife.
Man könnte Sophia Mainkas Arbeit durchaus als ethologisch bezeichnen. Die Künstlerin imitiert keine Tiere, sondern verhält sich wie sie. Sie kratzt, schnüffelt, schwimmt, trällert und piepst. Sie verhält sich so, wie ein Tier sich verhalten würde, wenn sie ein Tier in dieser Situation wäre, und wir können ihre Arbeit im Sinne dessen betrachten, was der französische Philosoph Gilles Deleuze als Werden bezeichnen würde. Am besten wird der Prozess der Tierwerdung für Deleuze und Guattari von Vladimir Slepian in seinem kurzen Text “Fils de Chien“ beschrieben. In der ersten Person verfasst, bekennt Slepian, dass er sich, obwohl er ein Mann sei, aus Hunger wie ein Hund benehme, indem er sich Schuhe an die Hände binde und sie mit dem Maul zubinde. Dies ist eine Umkehrung des vom Anthropologen André Leroi-Gourhan beschriebenen evolutionären Prozesses, bei dem der Mensch durch die Entwicklung einer aufrechten Körperhaltung seinen Mund von der Aufgabe des Greifens befreit und Sprache entwickelt. Slepian setzt sich neu zusammen, so dass sein Mund nicht mehr spricht, sondern wie der eines Hundes zupackt. Dabei ist es unerheblich, wie dieser Hund aussieht, ob er die kurze Schnauze einer Bulldogge oder die längere Nase eines Dackels hat.
In ähnlicher Weise regt Mainka uns dazu an, unsere Beziehung zur Natur zu überdenken, wobei dieses Verhältnis entlang affektiver Linien zu einem partizipatorischen Prozess umgestaltet wird. Tiere werden nicht als getrennte molare Einheiten neben dem Menschen betrachtet, sondern alle Lebewesen werden durch ihre Handlungsfähigkeit definiert, die sich verändert, je nachdem, wie sie auf andere einwirken und wie sie von anderen beeinflusst werden. In der Umgebung des Canal Saint-Martin, an dem Mainka so gerne spazieren geht, ist ein Hauch von Utopie zu spüren – ein beschützter, ruhiger Ort, an dem verschiedene Arten koexistieren. Oder genauer gesagt: Es ist ein Ort, an dem sich verschiedene Spezien, ob Menschen, Säugetiere oder Vögel, immer wieder neu zusammensetzen.