3. October at 18 o'clock
Öffnungszeiten
03.10. until 31.10.
every Wednesday 17-19 o'clock

“And you have no part in the after­li­fe?”… ‘I am,’ repli­ed the [dead] hun­ter, ”always on the gre­at stair­ca­se that leads upwards. On this infi­ni­te­ly wide stair­ca­se I am moving around, some­ti­mes up, some­ti­mes down, some­ti­mes right, some­ti­mes left, always on the move. But when I take the grea­test ups­wing and the gate alre­a­dy shi­nes for me at the top, I awa­ke on my old boat, stuck in some earth­ly body of water. 
(F. Kaf­ka, Der Jäger Grac­chus; frag­ment, published posthumously)

 

Maxi­mi­lia­ne Leni Armann’s figu­res, which appear as shadows on the viewer’s reti­na, are revenants in search of a fixed place and retur­ning from an inde­ter­mi­na­te past that seems to lie in the future. But revenants, ghosts, requi­re repre­sen­ta­ti­on in order to com­mu­ni­ca­te with us. In Armann’s work, the­se are pho­to­gra­phic prints on back­lit foil, in which they appear to us in an inde­ter­mi­na­te and flee­ting pre­sence that they have never pos­s­es­sed. In con­trast to the lite­ra­ry revenants, which always refer to an omis­si­on, an unful­fil­led desi­re, in the series “sit­ting on {..}” they are 3D cha­rac­ters from vir­tu­al space. The artist places them in a sea­ted pose, burns them into light-sen­si­ti­ve pho­to­gra­phic paper, which is taped over the lap­top screen, and pres­ents them in life-size prints. Their aura is so flee­ting and yet so pre­sent that for a moment they seem to con­tain a sto­ry and an authen­ti­ca­ti­on that what one sees was actual­ly the­re. Howe­ver, this “aura of the cor­po­re­al”, this alche­mi­cal con­nec­tion bet­ween object and image for Roland Bar­thes, visi­bly eva­po­ra­tes in Maxi­mi­lia­ne Leni Armann’s work. This is not about an authen­tic trace, a cont­act print of rea­li­ty. The appearan­ces that emer­ge in the pho­to­gra­phic prints are much more like reflec­ti­ve figu­res of an Other that com­ple­ments us in a (re)constructed rea­li­ty. This rea­li­ty takes place in dif­fe­rent spaces at the same time, which incre­asing­ly influence, con­di­ti­on and intert­wi­ne with one another.

At the thres­holds of the­se sphe­res of digi­ta­li­ty, vir­tua­li­ty and (con­s­truc­ted) rea­li­ty, howe­ver, the­re are pas­sa­ges of tran­si­ti­on, limi­nal spaces. The artist has had the­se crea­ted by AI and takes us to the­se thres­holds in the series “traces” (screen expo­sures on pho­to­gra­phic paper), which stretch bet­ween a not-yet and a no-lon­ger. The­se are spaces that have never exis­ted, that seem stran­ge to us and yet so secret­ly fami­li­ar that a dis­tur­bing, uncan­ny space, a ghost­ly “uncan­ny val­ley” opens up for the view­er at this thres­hold. But in front of ever­y­thing ghost­ly, wha­te­ver it may repre­sent and wha­te­ver cul­tu­ral forms it may take, the­re is always an (ine­s­ca­pa­ble) media­li­ty, a vehic­le, a medi­um. Maxi­mi­lia­ne Leni Armann finds a lucid sym­bol for this: “Zero and One”, two light boxes with images of the front sides of two dif­fe­rent moni­tor screens repre­sent the­se medi­al worlds, for­mu­la­te their depic­ti­ve­ness, ques­ti­on their func­tion as a recep­ti­on room, gate­way and pro­jec­tion sur­face and com­mu­ni­ca­te the­se con­stant­ly new ques­ti­ons back into the future.

 

Text: Franz Schneider