You call but not to me

Hannes Heinrich, Buket Isgören

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 cm
Buket Isgören, ‘Buket’ series, 2015-19, pencil and coloured pencil on paper, 42 x 30 cm
Buket Isgören, ‘Buket’, 2019, coloured pencil on paper, 42 x 30 cm
Buket Isgören, ‘Buket’, 2015, pencil on paper, 42 x 30 cm
Buket Isgören, ‘Buket’ series, 2015-19, pencil and coloured pencil on paper, 42 x 30 cm
Hannes Heinrich, ‘n.T (Hoody)’, 2022, charcoal, paper on canvas, 45 x 35 cm
You call but not to me, 2022, installation view
You 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.

You call but not to me

Hannes Heinrich, Buket Isgören

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

Opening: 9.09.2022, 5 pm

 

Hannes Heinrich, o.T. (Hoody) 2022, charcaol and paper on canvas, 45 x 35 cm

GiG Munich is excited to collaborate with the Temporary Gallery. Centre for Contemporary Art, a Cologne-based art association and center for contemporary art, in presenting the work of Hannes Heinrich and Buket Isgören.

The work of GiG Munich and the Temporary Gallery. Centre for Contemporary Art is strongly theoretical and both spaces strive to establish a critically relevant and broad cultural, historical, social, and scientific framework for each of their curatorial projects.

Hannes Heinrich and Buket Isgören paint and draw what is personal and close by: flowers and oil on canvas, found objects in their studios, pencil drawings. Yet their intense shared approach leads beyond the mundane. In a world where the distribution of power is semiotically organized via meaning, each thing a sign for something else, Heinrich’s and Isgören’s objects are so imbued with meaning, they turn away and forge their own paths. Curated by Aneta Rostkowska and Magdalena Wisniowska.

GiG air – Hannes Heinrich

This is the first of a series of ‘air’ exhibitions, based on a visit to the artist studio.

Hannes Heinrich, Untitled (Rockaway), 2022, charcoal & oil on canvas, 45 x 35 cm

When attempting to describe the paintings of Hannes Heinrich, it seems useful to think in terms of Peirce’s typology of the sign. For there are three ways in which a sign might denote the object, all at work in his painting. The first way is iconic, where the sign in some way resembles or imitates its object; the second is indexical, where the sign and the object have a direct connection, and finally, the third is symbolic, where the sign denotes the object by means of a convention or rule that allows for interpretation. Now by large, Hannes Heinrich paints objects he finds in his studio. Nothing uncommon and everything ordinary: there is a chair, a plant by the window, trainers with shoelaces undone. There is his body, his head, face, hands and feet. Especially in the past we could clearly distinguish these objects in his paintings as he traced their shadows directly onto canvas. His work was thus primarily iconic, although the actual shadows cast by the objects would be described as indexical. In the last couple of years a shift occurred in his work, where instead of using charcoal to trace an object’s shadow he began to wrap the canvas around an object and trace it directly, in a kind of vaguely erotic, masturbatory surrealist act. In this new work, the technique of frottage was no longer limited to a textured surface but now included the object in its three dimensional entirety. These charcoal tracings would then become the basis for his paintings as elements were further rubbed away or painted over.  The indexical aspect of his work therefore gained importance. 

Hannes Heinrich, ‘o.T.’, 2021, oil on canvas, 210 x 160 cm

Yet whether more iconic or more indexical, this did not alter the work’s symbolic character. As much as his, or indeed any other painting, looks like or is a trace of an object, it must also be understood as a convention or a sign – a fact of which Heinrich is well aware. Already Braque and Picasso’s art dealer understood this explicitly, associating cubism’s new found freedom from illusionistic practice with the recognition of painting as ‘script’ ( as quoted by Yve-Alain Bois in ‘Kahnweiler’s Lesson‘). But structuralist and poststructuralist readings of western art history especially common in the 80s and 90s, showed that all painting, no matter how abstract or realistic, also functioned within this symbolic system. When introducing cubism as an art movement, Francis Frascina shows that the use of the symbol was already at work in the most illusionistic of Chardin’s still lifes, arguing that a painting like ‘The Ray’ was not only about the painter’s ability to depict the light glistening on the ray’s wet and slimy surface, but also about his ability to play with symbolic meaning. There is sexual significance to be found in the exposed gonads of the ray fish – not to mention its sexually suggestive shape – as well as in a particular kind of jug, that Chardin’s contemporaries would well understand. 


Jean Simeon Chardin, ‘The Ray’, 1728, oil on canvas, 114 cm × 146 cm, Louvre Museum, Paris

http://hdl.library.upenn.edu/1017/d/fisher/n2002100626

If Frascina could still be confident that in the 1700s a jug could stand for a uterus and then show how the later, more contradictory and playful Picasso collage questions the conditions of representability, in our post-internet age signs have shown themselves to be inherently far more slippery. We may think of signs consisting of a signifier and signified, a particular expression linked to a certain content, but within the social context of the sign (a sign always needs to be interpreted by someone) a sign refers to as much another sign as it does a signified. This is why Deleuze and Guattari in the chapter ‘587 BC–AD 70: On Several Regimes of Signs’ of  A Thousand Plateaus do not think of the sign as a Saussurian closed language system, terms defined by a set of relations, but instead as a deceptive signifying regime of endless, circular debt. A sign always refers to another sign and in doing so marks itself as deceptive. We see or hear something, but we also know that meaning is not found in the shapes that we see or the sounds that we hear – that meaning is found elsewhere. What we hear and see is meant to deceive us. There is paranoia associated with the sign, we, forever suspicious as to what a thing might or might not signify. 

What is it then, that we see or hear in this paranoid way, if the signifier always deceives us, hiding its meaning somewhere else for us to find? Deleuze and Guattari would argue that what we encounter in the signifying regime is a mask or a face. Or rather, the face is always already a mask. We do not see the order behind the visible, but the structure of the visible, and that takes empty, hollow shape of the mask. That we are able to negotiate this world of signs and not fall into a constant state of paranoia, is because of the meaning we find in the face itself and which we then project onto the world. According to Deleuze and Guattari, the face is the means by which the signifying regime controls and organises the world, the semiotic configuration of political power. As such it is despotic, in that someone – the despot – has to tell us in a manner that brooks no argument: see this, in that. The despot needs the face in order to wield his power over us.  

(And it has to be said, there is something despotic about the way semiotic interpretations have been used in art history and it is indeed unsurprising that someone like Frascina mentions masks in his discussion of cubism. The distorted faces of Picasso’s ‘Les Demoiselles d’Avignon’ are presented as references to the ‘primitive’ African mask, signifier of the then contemporary obsession with ‘primitive cultures’ and marked by the fear of the other.)

But despite including his face as one of the objects in his studio that he wraps in canvas and traces in charcoal, in a gesture that echoes St. Veronica’s veil – and let us remember, for Deleuze and Guattari, faciality is something they specifically associate with the rise of Christianity in western culture – there are no faces in Hannes Heinrich’s paintings. There isn’t even a faciality at work. As signs, his canvases with their traces of charcoal and paint do not deceive us, instead I would argue, they betray. Rather than confronting us with an empty frontal stare, they turn their face away, and we are forever looking around the edge of the canvas, with its marker line, to guess at the pattern of the folds, the movement of charcoal, and the object that the canvas once held. How is it that Heinrich repeatedly confronts the objects in his studio? He wraps them in canvas to hide them, so that they cannot be seen, so that their gaze is averted, veiled. If in Hebrew the word for face is ‘presence,’ then the veiled face, the face hidden in the hands of Moses, would be understood as absence.  

For Deleuze and Guattari, betrayal is central to the new post signifying or passional regime, to which it bears witness. They argue that we do not live in the one signifying regime – neither do we only live in the other, the post signifying one – but always in a mix of both. In the signifying regime we are always faced with a multitude of signs, one forever leading to another; in the passional regime, there is a plurality of the subject, a ‘redoubling of the subject with a point of subjectification.’ In their reading of Althusser, when someone or something calls to us, we, as social individuals become constituted as interpellated subjects. You call and ‘I’ answer, your call determining in part that ‘I’ I become and which I in answering accept. On the other hand, the point of subjectification is the object that Heinrich so obsesses over – the chair, shoes, plant, whatever the case may be – that he cannot let go, that he repeatedly covers and rubs all over. The object of subjectification also calls out, yes, but not to me, because it is standing in profile and looking somewhere else. Heinrich obsesses about his object because as much as he wants to see it, the object doesn’t want to see him. The love here is unrequited. 

For Deleuze and Guattari this moment of unrequited love turning away is an act of betrayal, and it is worth mentioning that in Meyer Schapiro’s account of symbolic form, within our system of visual representation – the account that Frascina draws on so heavily – Judas, the ultimate betrayer, is presented in profile. When it stands in profile, the object as a sign betrays you, because it does not do what it was supposed to do, face you, so that you can find meaning within its mask-like structure. Before, in the paranoid system, everything was about me – me finding significance in everything. Now, I nothing is about me, and I seem irrelevant. By facing somewhere else, the point of subjectification indicates meaning is to be found elsewhere, by a different subject within a different social context and a different organisation of power. The task is now up to me, to assume authority and lend interpretation. But I also betray the object of subjectification, as cannot absorb the this object, I cannot fully mirror the speaking subject that interpellates me. And this double betrayal creates a powerful bond between us. 

Hannes Heinrich institutes his painting within a regime of signs, a mixed regime, as much signifying as passional. Or rather the hold of the object over him, and his paintings over us, is of passion, lending this configuration of power its semiotic structure. His objects are in profile, as are we, when we encounter them in his paintings. I keep returning to his work, not because I find the objects interesting or because they have some hidden meaning but because I am forced by them to look somewhere else, and in doing so, to be someone other than me. 

5 Years

Tim Bennett, Jenny Dunseath, Jonah Gebka, Andrea Hanak, Jane Hayes-Greenwood, Hannes Heinrich, Melina Hennicker, David Henrichs, Stefanie Hofer, Lukas Hoffmann, Lou Jaworski, Steffen Kern, Stefan Lenhart, Jo Love, Michael Lukas, Robin Mason, Kathrin Partelli, Rebecca Partridge, Plastique Fantastique, Berthold Reiss, Miriam Salamander,  Michael Schmidt, Maria Thurn und Taxis, Stefanie Ullmann, Maria VMier, Susanne Wagner, Youjin Yi, Andrea Zabric, Janka Zöller.

23.07 – 19.09.2020

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Image: Hannes Heinrich

Jane Hayes-Greenwood

The Witch’s Garden

26.07 – 20.08 | 2.09 –  September 27.09. 2019

 

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Black Prince, 2019, Acrylic and oil on linen, 45 x 55 cm

 

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Sugar Almond, 2019, Acrylic and oil on linen, 45 x 55 cm

 

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Beehive Ginger, 2019, Acrylic and oil on linen, 45 x 55 cm

 

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Silver Dollar, 2019, Acrylic and oil on linen, 45 x 55 cm

 

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Silver Dollar, 2019, Acrylic and oil on linen, 45 x 55 cm

 

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Apollo’s Gift I, 2018, Acrylic and oil on linen, 45 x 55 cm

 

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False Unicorn Root, 2019, Acrylic and oil on linen, 45 x 55 cm

 

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Rainbow Moonstone, 2019, Acrylic and oil on linen, 45 x 55 cm

 

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Compared with the large scale installations of paintings, objects and video she has shown previously, the show Jane Hayes-Greenwood presents at GiG seems, at first glance, quite straightforward. It consists of thirteen small oil paintings, all on identically sized linen canvases, each depicting one flower or plant. Some of these plants – like for instance, One O’Clock Gun – look vaguely familiar, something you might come across in a garden or meadow, others are startlingly strange, unnatural composites of tubular forms, bulbs, prickles and flesh.  Although many of the plants are green, the colours are unlike those found in nature, a mixture of viridian, mint, pale blue, grey and black. The plants are rooted in the soil, but this is pale yellow or pink – they are clearly defined, casting strong theatrical shadows, yet equally clearly, they are not from this world. They are all slightly larger than life.

Speaking to Jane, we learn that the work stems from her earlier research into the origin of the ❤️ symbol. It is thought that this shape is based on the seeds of a mythical plant, the Silphium, known in Roman times for its contraceptive and aphrodisiacal properties.  A possible recreation of how Silphium might have looked appears in Apollo’s Gift and Apollo’s Gift II. The other plants of the collection have been similarly selected for their histories, their medicinal properties or even, as with One O’Clock Gun, for their unusual name.  Together they form a ‘Witch’s Garden,’ and it seems very deliberate to be showing them in Bavaria, a state infamous for one of the largest witch trials of the 17th century. 

But just as a fast motion film of a plant germinating and growing does not bring us any closer to the actual seedling, knowing more about Jane’s research practice is not what brings us close to the work.  As Heidegger argues in his short essay ‘The Thing,’ the abolition of distance brings no nearness, indeed often when distance is abolished, the nearness of the thing remains absent. Nearness cannot be encountered directly, instead, it can only be reached by attending to what is near.  And what is near according to Heidegger, are things, standing on their own, self-supporting and independent. Things are not objects, neither re-presented in perception, thought through their making process nor through the function they fulfil. They cannot be defined for us, precisely, by scientific method.  We have to learn the activities of things through what they do, because things are foremost an activity that involves other things and non-things – the world. 

Since I have known Jane, she has always been interested in things, whether these are the mysterious artefacts of her earlier drawings, the fetishistic partial objects of her paintings, or in this case, the plant forms contained by her canvases. Whether or not these plants are supposed to be life-like or make-believe, they gather together tales of the divine and the problems of being human, what relates to the infinite, and what is defined as perishable. Quite literally they stem forth to join earth and sky. They encourage us not to think the earth and sky separately in order to define and understand them but together, at once, intertwined. 

Magdalena Wisniowska 2019

Jane Hayes-Greenwood

The Witch’s Garden

26.07 – 20.08 | 2.09 –  September 27.09. 2019

 

Apollo's Gift I

 

 

GiG Munich is excited to present The Witch’s Garden, the first international solo exhibition by London-based, British artist Jane Hayes Greenwood. The show focuses on the artist’s latest series of work, newly made paintings of dreamlike plants and the mythical gardens where they might grow. Exploring desire, control and magical thinking, the work makes use of an idiosyncratic symbolism, referencing varied sources such as illuminated manuscripts, botanical illustration, anatomical diagrams and herbal fertility guides.

In The Witch’s Garden the painted plants act as potential ingredients for love potions or spells, their depicted herbs and flowers thought to have special power and potency.  Drawing on apocryphal histories, the painting Apollo’s Gift I is based on an extinct plant known as Silphium, reportedly used as a contraceptive and aphrodisiac in the 700 BC. Described as having a heart-shaped seed, one theory suggests this might be where the heart shape symbol ❤ originated from.  The Witch’s Garden explores our relationship to the natural world, our bodies and their life cycles, and considers fear, power and ritual behaviour.

Jane Hayes Greenwood completed an MA in Fine Art at the City & Guilds of London Art School with distinction in 2015. Soon afterwards she was shortlisted for the Catlin Art Prize, 2016 (London) and presented a large-scale solo exhibition, Lead Me Not Into Temptation, 2017 at Block 336 (London). She was recently selected for the  Anomie Review of Contemporary British Painting, 2018, as one of the 40 artists whose practices have been shaping and defining Britain’s contribution to current painting on the national and international stage. She is also the co-founder and Director of Block 336; an artist-run project space, studio provider and UK registered charity located in Brixton, London that has hosted over 30 exhibitions. She teaches within the BA Fine Art department at City & Guilds of London Art School.

 


 

GiG Munich freut sich, The Witch’s Garden zu präsentieren, die erste internationale Einzelausstellung der in London lebenden britischen Künstlerin Jane Hayes Greenwood. Die Ausstellung konzentriert sich auf die neueste Werkreihe des Künstlers, auf neu entstandene Gemälde traumhafter Pflanzen und auf die mythischen Gärten, in denen sie wachsen könnten. Die Arbeit beschäftigt sich mit Begierde, Kontrolle und magischem Denken und benutzt eine eigenwilligen Symbolik, die sich auf verschiedene Quellen bezieht, wie zum Beispiel illuminierte Manuskripte, botanische Illustrationen, anatomische Diagramme und Kräuterfruchtbarkeitsführer.

In The Witch’s Garden fungieren die bemalten Pflanzen als potenzielle Zutaten für Liebestränke oder Zaubersprüche, wobei die abgebildeten Kräuter und Blumen eine besondere Kraft und Potenz haben sollen. Das Gemälde Apollos Geschenk I basiert auf einer ausgestorbenen Pflanze namens Silphium, die angeblich im Jahr 700 v. Chr. als Verhütungsmittel und Aphrodisiakum verwendet wurde. Eine Theorie besagt, dass es sich um einen herzförmigen Samen handelt, von dem möglicherweise das Herzformsymbol ❤ stammt. Der Hexengarten erforscht unsere Beziehung zur natürlichen Welt, unseren Körpern und ihren Lebenszyklen und betrachtet Angst, Kraft und rituelles Verhalten.

Jane Hayes Greenwood hat 2015 einen MA in Fine Art an der City & Guilds of London Art School mit Auszeichnung abgeschlossen. Kurz darauf wurde sie für den Catlin Art Prize 2016 (London) gewählt und präsentierte eine große Einzelausstellung mit dem Titel Lead Me Not Into Temptation, 2017, Block 336 (London). Sie wurde kürzlich für die Anomie Review of Contemporary British Painting 2018 als eine der 40 Künstlerinnen ausgewählt, deren Praxis den britischen Beitrag zur aktuellen Malerei auf nationaler und internationaler Ebene geprägt und definiert hat. Sie ist auch Mitbegründerin und Direktorin von Block 336, ein von Künstlern geführter Projektraum, ein Studioanbieter und eine in Großbritannien registrierte Wohltätigkeitsorganisation mit Sitz in Brixton, London, die über 30 Ausstellungen veranstaltet hat. Sie unterrichtet im BA Fine Art Department der City & Guilds of London Art School.

Justina Becker

24.05 – 12.07.2019

 

P1030657Justina Becker, 2019, installation view

 

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P1030722Justina Becker, untitled, 2019, antique wooden windowframe and egg tempera, dimensions variable

 

Justina14Justina Becker, 2019, installation view
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P1030736Justina Becker, 2019, installation view

 

P1030735Justina Becker, 2019, installation view

 

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Justina Becker, 2019, installation view

 

P1030699Justina Becker, o.T., 2015, egg tempera and canvas strips, 20 x 32  cm
P1030716Justina Becker, o.T., 2015, egg tempera on canvas, 20 x 32 cm

 

P1030719Justina Becker, o. T., 2015, egg tempera on canvas,  20 x 32 cm

 

P1030686Justina Becker, 2019, installation view

 

Justina3Justina Becker, 2019, installation view (nighttime)

 

Justina4Justina Becker, 2019, installation view (nighttime)

 

Justina2Justina Becker, 2019, installation view (nighttime)

 

All things have a strangeness to them for those who care to look. Their foreignness has been long recognised, whether this takes the form of the thing-in-itself, never to be experienced or trauma, first defined as that which acts like a foreign body in the mind.  We notice the strangeness of objects for instance, when blunt or broken they stop being useful and they turn away from us and each other.  Justina Becker pays close attention to things in their strangeness. The objects she incorporates in her practice are always things that she finds close by, in her house or in the small town where she lives, and almost always, these things have been abandoned, damaged in some regard, without a use. The objects have a history to them – even the viewer not privileged enough to know more of their background, the wheres and hows they came about, can recognise the signs of their previous use. They retain a sense of having lived their own life, among other people and other objects. 

Having studied painting to graduate with Klasse Hildebrand,  Justina Becker approaches her objects with the eye of a painter. Her older work was concerned with the material qualities of painting. How the canvas goes around the stretcher would be important or the way that the canvas keys fit tightly into the corner of a frame.  A shift in her practice occurred when she discovered the readymade and began to use things that previously belonged to someone else. Initially she would wrap these objects in various ways. Some would be covered in a layer of light, sheer fabric almost like a shroud, others would be tightly wound with brightly coloured woollen thread. This protective gesture had a double meaning. On the one hand, it would be a way of hiding the object, obscuring its material qualities and past histories. On the other hand, the object would never be completely covered and through the various gaps and imperfections, its material history would become even more apparent. 

The current exhibition at GiG, shows two of Justina Becker’s older paintings together with a new body of work. One seems at first a straightforwardly abstract, but gives the illusion of a painting shrunk and stretched, the other, consisting of strips of canvas wrapped tightly like a bandage around a stretcher, utilises this double gesture of hiding and revealing. They provide a kind of framework for the new work, a complex installation of hanging window frames, made specifically for the exhibition room at GiG. The wooden windows frames are old, perhaps antique, but with none of the antique’s preciousness. They have been removed and replaced with something better and less rickety, glass taken out, the wood still having some kind of value, even if just as kindling for the fire. These frames have been partially painted by the artist in sympathetic colours and rehanged in the space no longer as windows, or even as architectural elements that would divide the room, but simply for themselves, in their best light. Justina Becker’s work takes on here an almost theatrical element, but the stage she sets is curiously not for us, the viewer, awaiting some kind of grand spectacle. The room in its theatricality is now left for the objects to be in.

Magdalena Wisniowska 2019

Justina Becker

24.05 – 12.07.2019

 

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Opening: Friday 24th May 2019, 6 – 9 pm

GiG is pleased to introduce the work of Justina Becker (br. 1974) in her first solo exhibition in Munich.

In line with the recent turn towards materialism and realism in the arts, her practice pays close attention to the object, using the simple act of covering things – whether with cloth, coloured thread or cardboard – to reveal as much as to conceal its hidden objecthood. For GiG, Justina Becker will be presenting a new series, which uses the ready made device of the window frame not to open outwards, offering access to the world beyond, but inwards, towards the inner material life of things. 

 

GiG freut sich die Arbeit von Justina Becker (geb. 1974) in ihrer ersten Einzelausstellung in München vorstellen zu können.

Entsprechend dem gegenwärtigen Interesse an Materialismus und Realismus in der Kunst widmet Justina Becker dem Objekt große Aufmerksamkeit. Sie deckt Dinge ab, ob mit Stoff, buntem Faden oder Pappe, nicht um sie zu verstecken, sondern um ihre verborgene Objekthaftigkeit aufzudecken. Justina Becker präsentiert für GiG eine neue Serie mit Fensterrahmen, die den Blick nicht nach außen wenden, vielmehr offenbaren sie das materielle Innenleben der Dinge.

 

Hannes Heinrich

Look Mum No Hands

15.03 – 3.05.2019

 

fullsizeoutput_deaHannes Heinrichs, Look Mum No Hands, 2019, installation view

 

fullsizeoutput_dd7Hannes Heinrich, o.T., 2019, oil on canvas, approx. 65 x 50 cm

 

fullsizeoutput_dacHannes Heinrichs, Look Mum No Hands, 2019, installation view

 

fullsizeoutput_dd5Hannes Heinrichs, Look Mum No Hands, 2019, installation view

 

fullsizeoutput_ddfHannes Heinrichs, Look Mum No Hands, 2019, installation view

 

fullsizeoutput_de0Hannes Heinrichs, Look Mum No Hands, 2019, installation view

 

DSCF2394_04-XFHannes Heinrichs, Look Mum No Hands, 2019, installation view

 

fullsizeoutput_de2Hannes Heinrichs, Look Mum No Hands, 2019, installation view

 

fullsizeoutput_de5Hannes Heinrichs, Look Mum No Hands, 2019, installation view

 

fullsizeoutput_de7Hannes Heinrichs, Look Mum No Hands, 2019, installation view

 

fullsizeoutput_de3Hannes Heinrichs, Look Mum No Hands, 2019, installation view

 

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fullsizeoutput_de4Hannes Heinrichs, Look Mum No Hands, 2019, installation view

 

fullsizeoutput_ddcHannes Heinrichs, Look Mum No Hands, 2019, installation view

 

fullsizeoutput_ddeHannes Heinrichs, Look Mum No Hands, 2019, installation view
(All images courtesy of Hannes Heinrich and Jan Erbelding)

 

When one thinks of the description, “a reflective painter” one thinks of a solitary man in studio, quietly considering each brushstroke he makes. Morandi and his objects for instance, slowly gathering dust – Raoul de Keyser would be a more recent example, a “painter’s painter,” pausing when painting the bark of the birch tree to ask, in a very serious voice, “What is a painting?” and hear nothing but silence as his response. 

Hannes Heinrich is a reflective painter in this contemplative sense. He works alone in his studio paintbrush in hand. He has a set of motifs he repeatedly returns to, an inventory of which would read as follows: grids, trees, branches, shadows, shadows of hands, woodgrain. All of these motifs have strong art historical references. The grid reminds us of how the canvas is woven but also of modernist painting. The shadow paintings recall the story of Butades’s daughter, Kora, tracing the silhouette of her lover. Larger than life handprints are like those left in prehistoric caves. Heinrich combines and recombines these elements systematically in a palette of blues (deep ultramarine and pale, like a robin’s egg) reds, yellows and black. Sometimes the grid is painted first, other times, the tree branches in oil crayon. At other times it is difficult to discern the painting process, as despite being painted in layers, the surface seems even, each block of painting lightly resting against the next. There are abstract paintings and more figurative ones and a concern with the boundary between abstraction and illusion. There is no privileging of the original in the classical sense, painting considered to be twice removed from its Platonic form – no stress over painting’s capacity for representation. Heinrich seems happy to be part of the contemporary post digital world, where the kind of illusion offered by figurative painting is one of many and where talk of originals has long ceased. 

But to call Hannes a reflective painter also does him a disservice. It neglects the natural exuberance of his work, its openness, its willingness to engage the viewer. Contemplation implies solitude and while Heinrich’s paintings are certainly thoughtful they are also chatty. The question, “What is painting?” is not asked to silence, set within the four walls of the small studio. It is not even asked to the other paintings that might already be within. It is asked to us. And not in a demanding fashion, expecting us to know, but in a friendly way, with a slight nudge and half smile, “Hey, what IS painting?” Don’t you want to know?

Magdalena Wisniowska 2019

Hannes Heinrich

Look Mum No Hands

15.03. – 03.05.2019

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Vernissage: Freitag 15. März, 18 – 21 Uhr,
15. März 2019 – 3. Mai 2019
Bitte nach Vereinbarung unter contact@gig-munich.com
Finissage: Freitag 3. Mai 2019, 19 – 21 Uhr

 

GiG Munich is excited to open 2019 with the solo exhibition by Hannes Heinrich, Look Mum No Hands.

Hannes Heinrich (b. 1989) is a figurative painter, recently graduated from the Academy of Fine Arts, Munich (Klasse Kneffel). His work has an easy, natural exuberance, a riot of colour and psychedelic-type patterns, Matisse-like brushstrokes and woven grids. His motives are often art historical, as if taken straight out of 19th century academic paintings. There is the myth of Zeuxis and Parrhasius, competing for status of best painter, Butades’ daughter, Kora, tracing her lover’s shadow and wood grain belonging to the carpenters table, two times removed from its Platonic ideal. In his work however, painting’s capacity for illusion lies not at the origin of painting, but is treated as one option out of many available for the painter. Resemblance here no longer belongs to a discourse of the copy and the original but a Road Runner world happy to be full of simulacra, copies were no originals exist.