Laura Hinrichsmeyer, Luisa Kasalicky, Andrea Zabric
15.05 – 04.07.2026
together with The Tiger Room at Heßstr. 48 b, 80798 Munich
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, Luisa Kasalicky und Andrea Zabric.
* Gilles Deleuze, Francis Bacon: Logik der Sensation (1981). S. 55. Beim Philosoph ist der Maler eine männlich gedachte Figur — der vorliegende Text nimmt diese Figur auf, um ihr eine andere Subjektivität entgegenzustellen.
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.
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.”
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.
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
Susanne Kühn, Lady’s Slipper, 2023, 240 x 190 cm, acrylics on canvas Photo credit: Bernhard StraussSusanne Kühn, Lady’s Slipper, 2023, 240 x 190 cm, acrylics on canvas, installation viewSusanne Kühn, Lady’s Slipper, 2023, 240 x 190 cm, acrylics on canvas, installation viewSusanne Kühn, ROBOTA CeLLs, 2023, installation viewSusanne Kühn, ROBOTA I, 2018, acrylics on canvas, glazed bricks, 250 x 380 cm (two parts) Photo: Bernhard StraussSusanne Kühn, ROBOTA I, 2018, acrylics on canvas, glazed bricks, 250 x 380 cm (two parts) installation viewSusanne Kühn, ROBOTA CeLLs, 2023, installation viewSusanne Kühn, ROBOTA CeLLs, 2023, installation viewSusanne Kühn, AUGINELLA from the series Her name is Amygadala Vertigo, 2022, acrylics on canvas, glazed bricks, 250 x 200 cm Photo: Bernhard StraussSusanne Kühn, AUGINELLA from the series Her name is Amygadala Vertigo, 2022, acrylics on canvas, glazed bricks, 250 x 200 cm (detail)Susanne Kühn, ROBOTA CeLLS, 2023, installation view. Susanne Kühn, Auturio, 2023, acrylics on board, 50 x 40 cm and Nierchen, 2023, acrylics on board, 50 x 40 cmSusanne Kühn, Auturio, 2023, acrylics on board, 50 x 40 cm Photo: Bernhard StraussSusanne Kühn, Nierchen, 2023, acrylics on board, 50 x 40 cm Photo: Bernhard Strauss
It begins with the amoeba, like the one we drew at school: flower-like, dotted with vacuoles, a circular nucleus in the middle. An amoeba, despite not having a brain, a nervous system or indeed any kind of sensory cells, can react. It moves around the murky pond water that makes up its environment, finding food, avoiding predators, anticipating, reacting. It has no need for organs. Organs developed later, in the course of evolution, as a means fulfilling functions to a higher degree. An organism with a brain, can think better than an organism without one.
French philosopher Raymond Ruyer considers all organs to be technical artefacts, technologies developed by the organism as it evolved. By having a brain and a nervous system, we have access to technologies an amoeba doesn’t have and this makes us feel sophisticated. We can make complex decisions, solve problems and form concepts, leaving murky pond water behind.
Like in Susanne Kühn’s paintings, there is no line between the artificial and the nature. If the organ is a technical artefact, it does not differ from the other artefacts, those tools and machines that we surround ourselves with. The organ belongs to an internal proto-technicity, while the machine is the externalised projection of the organ. Each also has its own evolutionary trajectory, one internal, the other external, an exo-darwinism.
In the painting “Robota I” we see the artist in three different guises: as St. Barbara reading, as a young woman in East Germany working, and as a mother tending the fireplace. Three technologies are depicted here, all extensions of the body. There is the book, the pool of knowledge, acting as an extension of the brain. Tools and machines such as found in a factory are extensions of the human hand. Fire, to keep us warm and to heat up food, is the most primitive of technologies, an extension of our thermoregulation and digestive system. Working with these technologies makes up the life of the artist.
Similarly, the biological has a technological aspect in “Her name is Amygdala Vertigo.” The reference is to the amygdalae, two bean-shaped clusters of deep within the cerebrum of the brain, which we learn are responsible for memory, decision making and emotional response. Diagrammatically, they look like the EarPods which seem to sprout out of the picture frame, softly-curved and convex. They are surrounded by the sharp, multicoloured concave curves of the hand ax, one of the first man-made tools. The portrait is of an extended body, spread over various technologies depicted on the canvas.Foremost, Susanne Kühn is interested in those moments in which the forward pushing trajectory of evolution and technological development foams up in bubbles of effervescence. Her painting is not of lines which separate, marked by horizontal and vertical coordinates – the sharp perspective she often uses, stutters quickly in her work. Hers are lines without connecting points.
“Frauenschuh – Lady’s slipper” is a self-portrait, the mess of detritus standing in for the technologically extended body: we see a smartphone, medication for the menopause, a sneaker, toothpaste. The flower itself is a cultivated hybrid, its natural evolution determined by man. In this work, the extended body of man, is also a body outside of the dictates of evolution, a “deterritorialised” body no longer adapted to any particular environment. A “deterritorialised” hand is nothing more than a useless pink cartoon blob. It ends with the amoeba in the pond, the water now an acid yellow, surrounded by toxic corals and water plants.
Magdalena Wisniowska 2023
Es begann mit der Amöbe, wie wir sie in der Schule gezeichnet haben: blütenförmig, mit Vakuolen übersät, mit einem kreisförmigen Zellkern in der Mitte. Obwohl die Amöbe weder ein Gehirn, noch ein Nervensystem oder Sinneszellen hat, besitzt sie die Fähigkeit auf ihre Umgebung zu reagieren. Auf der Suche nach Nahrung bewegt sie sich im trüben Teichwasser, weicht Fressfeinden aus, antizipiert und reagiert. Dafür braucht sie keine Organe, denn erst im Laufe der Evolution entwickeln sich diese, um komplexere Funktionen erfüllen zu können. Ein Organismus mit einem Gehirn kann besser denken als ein Organismus ohne Gehirn.
Für den französischen Philosophen Raymond Ruyer sind alle Organe technische Artefakte; Technologien, die der Organismus mit der Zeit entwickelt hat. Im Gegensatz zur Amöbe haben wir durch unser menschliches Gehirn und unser Nervensystem Zugang zu diesen Technologien. Das gibt uns das Gefühl, hoch entwickelt zu sein. Wir sind in der Lage, komplexe Entscheidungen zu treffen, Probleme zu lösen und Konzepte zu entwickeln, und lassen dabei das trübe Teichwasser hinter uns.
In den Gemälden von Susanne Kühn gibt es keine Grenze zwischen dem Künstlichen und der Natur. Ist das Organ ein technisches Artefakt, unterscheidet es sich nicht von den anderen Artefakten; den Werkzeugen und Maschinen, mit denen wir uns umgeben. Das Organ gehört zu einer inneren Proto-Technizität, während die Maschine die externe Projektion des Organs ist. Beide haben zudem ihre eigene evolutionäre Entwicklung, die eine intern, die andere extern, ein Exo-Darwinismus.
Im Gemälde “Robota I” sehen wir die Künstlerin in drei verschiedenen Gestalten: als lesende Heilige Barbara, als junge Frau in Ostdeutschland bei der Arbeit und als Mutter, die das Feuer anfacht. Drei Technologien werden hier dargestellt, allesamt Erweiterungen des Körpers. Da ist das Buch: der Wissensspeicher, der als Erweiterung des Gehirns fungiert. Werkzeuge und Maschinen sind Erweiterungen der menschlichen Hand. Mit dem Feuermachen wärmen wir uns und bereiten Nahrung zu. Es ist die primitivste aller Techniken, sie ist eine Erweiterung unseres Thermoregulations- und Verdauungssystems. Die Arbeit mit diesen Technologien bildet das Schaffen der Künstlerin.
In ähnlicher Weise hat das Biologische einen technischen Aspekt in “Her name is Amygdala Vertigo”. Im menschlichen Gehirn besteht die Amygdala aus zwei tiefsitzenden mandelförmigen Zellstrukturen, die, wie wir lernen, für Gedächtnis, Entscheidungsfindung und emotionale Reaktionen zuständig sind. Schematisch gesehen gleichen sie den EarPods, die aus dem Gemälde herauszuwachsen scheinen, sanft gebogen und konvex. Sie sind umgeben von den scharfen, vielfarbig konkaven Kanten des Faustkeils, einem der ersten vom Menschen hergestellten Werkzeuge. Das Porträt, als „extended body“, beinhaltet die auf der Leinwand dargestellten Technologien.
Susanne Kühn interessiert sich vor allem für jene Momente, in denen das Fortschreiten der Evolution und der technologischen Entwicklung aufschäumen. Die klaren Linien ihrer Malerei entstammen keinem präzisen Koordinatensystem, vielmehr zerbricht das perspektivische Konstrukt des Bildes schnell. Ihren Linien fehlen die Verbindungspunkte.
“Frauenschuh” ist ein Selbstporträt, in dem die Ansammlung von nicht abbaubarem Müll für den technologisch erweiterten Körper steht: Wir sehen ein Smartphone, Medikamente für die Wechseljahre, einen Turnschuh, Zahnpasta. Die Blume selbst ist eine gezüchtete Hybride, deren natürliche Entwicklung vom Menschen bestimmt wurde. In diesem Gemälde ist der erweiterte Körper des Menschen auch ein Körper außerhalb des Diktats der Evolution, ein “deterritorialisierter” Körper, der nicht mehr an eine bestimmte Umgebung angepasst ist. Eine „deterritorialisierte“ Hand ist nichts weiter als ein nutzloser rosa Cartoon-Klecks.
Es endet mit der Amöbe im Teich, dessen Wasser nun säuregelb ist, umgeben von giftigen Korallen und Wasserpflanzen.
Another studio visit and resulting exhibition text:
I owe you the truth in painting and I will give it to you
Cézanne
…d’un seul pas franchi…
Derrida
The small problem of truth has been occupying me recently: the truth in painting, as promised by another “sauvage raffiné,” Paul Cézanne. A long time ago, it took a painting by Vincent van Gogh, Old Shoes with Laces (1886), for the German philosopher Martin Heidegger to recognise what this truth might be and for him, the artwork became defined through its revelation of this truth. We now consider ourselves too sophisticated to think that a painting of some worn-out shoes reveals something so profound about the peasant woman’s being that there is no other way this can be grasped. And yet a little of this heideggerian desire remains. I find we still look for truth in painting despite thinking it unlikely. Or at least, I do.
At the height of the pandemic Stefanie Ullmann would walk and run in the rose gardens at the Isar, in May, when the magnolias are in bloom. These caught her attention – I remember how bright that spring was, and how vibrant the greens. But again it took a painting by van Gogh, this time, Blossoming Almond Branch in a Glass (1888) for her to begin painting from memory a series of small canvases with flowers. A second series of watercolours followed. The oil paintings share van Goghs’ shimmering green-yellow palette as well as his strong horizontal and vertical lines.
Vincent van Gogh, Sprig of flowering almond in a glass, 1888, oil on canvas, 24.5 cm x 19.5 cm Credits: Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam (Vincent van Gogh Foundation)
When I look at these paintings I find myself standing in Heidegger’s shoes. There is a truth in Stefanie Ullmann’s work that has to do with his schematic definition. On the one hand he claims, art has long been thought as formed matter, in other words as a “Zeug,” translated by Derrida as a “product,” more commonly in English translations of Heidegger’s essay as “equipment.” And these paintings here, especially the abstract ones, have this workman-like quality of being built, almost brick by brick, layer by layer. Occasionally Stefanie Ullmann even uses a spatula like a masonry trowel. And yet, as Derrida in his interpretation of Heidegger’s argument rightly notes, an artwork is more than a product or Zeug because it does what no other product can – it resembles a thing, “Ding.” It is as if it were not produced. Thus, an artwork is a product that is also more than a product, because it crosses over, steps into the realm of the thing. In the same way, Ullmann’s paintings enjoy this self-sufficiency. Despite their lightness, they feel as sturdy as earth or rock or tree, untouched by human hand.
The point of painting is – for Van Gogh, Heidegger, Derrida etc. – that this step crossing from thing to product and back again occurs within. Painting shows how tightly things, Zeug and artworks interlace.
As part of Various Others and in collaboration with Temporary Gallery, Centre for Contemporary Art, Cologne
Milchstr. 4, 81667 Munich
09.09.2022 – 29.09.2022
Hannes Heinrich, ‘n. T (Rockaway)’, 2022, oil, charcaol on canvas, 45 x 35 cm (installation view)Hannes Heinrich, ‘n. T (Rockaway)’, 2022, oil, charcaol on canvas, 45 x 35 cm Hannes Heinrich, ‘n. T (Rockaway)’, 2022, oil, charcaol on canvas, 45 x 35 cm (installation view)Hannes Heinrich, ‘n. T. (fold myself 1)’, 2022, oil on canvas, 250 x 190 cmBuket Isgören, ‘Buket’ series, 2015-19, pencil and coloured pencil on paper, 42 x 30 cmBuket Isgören, ‘Buket’, 2019, coloured pencil on paper, 42 x 30 cmBuket Isgören, ‘Buket’, 2015, pencil on paper, 42 x 30 cmBuket Isgören, ‘Buket’ series, 2015-19, pencil and coloured pencil on paper, 42 x 30 cmHannes Heinrich, ‘n.T (Hoody)’, 2022, charcoal, paper on canvas, 45 x 35 cmYou call but not to me, 2022, installation viewYou call but not to me, 2022, installation view
There is a call. In the light, in the dark, it doesn’t matter. I stop and look around. I see the caller and I answer. I answer because I know that the caller is calling me. The person they are calling is the same person I am. I identify myself in their call. I understand and I respond appropriately. And in doing so I confirm that the identity they have given me is the right one. But there is another call, one that for Deleuze and Guattari opens a different, passional regime: someone calls, but this is not me. They call someone else. I still stop and look around but I do not identify myself with the person being called and I feel … I do not know exactly, but Deleuze and Guattari would say, betrayed. Oh, how I would like to be the one who is being called! Providing there is a fascination with the caller, I want to identify this unknown person, I desire this betrayal. This too is a powerful bond.
Then there is the third call that Deleuze and Guattari do not write about. Someone calls and this call is meant for me, but I do not answer because it seems too obvious, almost too stupid. They cannot be really calling me, or are they? Are they really, now?
All three ways of calling are apparent in the work of Hannes Heinrich’s and Buket Isgören. There is a moment of recognition: this, there, is a depiction of a flower. It is rendered in such a way I recognise it as such. There is also a moment of betrayal, especially apparent in Heinrich’s work, when he rubs charcoal across the object he covers with canvas, desiring a closeness that the object does not give. Isgören too painstakingly colours in her leaves and petals. And then there is the call that is too much; it is too direct: flower, chair, shoe, hoody. In Heinrich’s latest work, the object he has drawn and rubbed, is cut out in order to once again gain a third dimension and become solid.
Hannes Heinrich is a Munich-based artist. He studied in Munich, graduating in 2017, Klasse Kneffel. His most recent exhibitions include: ‘Part of a process,’ Galerie Jahn & Jahn, Munich (2022); ’Die ersten Jahren der Professionalität, BBK, Munich (2022); ‘The Shade, Kunstverein Kirchzarten (2020) and ’Ruinous Times’, Ruine München, Lenbachhaus Munich (2020).
Buket Isgören is a Turkish artist who lives in Cologne and works at at Kunsthaus KAT18. GiG Munich learnt about her work through Aneta Rostkowska, the director of CCA Temporary gallery. Aneta visited GiG Munich and left the pamphlet accompanying the 2020 exhibition ‘Florophilia’. The strength of the writing lead GiG Munich to contact Aneta, who then agreed to collaborate with GiG for Various Others. She then suggested we show Buket’s work together. Buket Isgören is autistic and this presented the challenge of how to write about art in the theoretical way characteristic of GiG, but in a language that is simple. The exhibition will be accompanied by language workshops, inviting participants to translate difficult texts to simple German. This is in the spirit of Temporary Gallery and its focus on social context.