Ute Müller, Michael Strasser
curated by Siggi Hofer
7. October 2017 - 5. November 2017
When entering the room, the eye will immediately search and ﬁnd the places which it favourably accepts. And with continuous absorbing, it will revel in them in order to go down in memory. However, where it was static in the moment, everything in the recollection starts to swing, rotate and sound. It was never a circle, never a rectangle, nor a triangle, never anything whole. Before, the object was certainly there, now it is here, and then, it will be gone completely. One time, the sound comes from there, and another time, from somewhere else. Doubles and triples. Harmony becomes disharmony, however, to one that you could get used to. The confusion as a choreographer of human movements and actions, and as a producer of the reverberation and the recollection - the artist, she and he, is the perfect instrument or medium. Confusion is freedom. The apparition mostly arises gingerly, but sometimes quite suddenly. While the shiver is creeping up on you slowly, the leap back, on the contrary, happens fast as a lightning. The so beautiful creates problems, suggests this, and then suggests that, from time to time a solution or an end. The confusion seems calculating. A system that forces to think until the end, and everyone knows that the end is the assignment.
The ghost of the artist, she and he, did make a good job of it, and has created a universe only out of fragments. A universe in which you could either get lost or immerse yourself, or one that strikes back merciless, exactly at the time when it is at its most beautiful. With a ﬂat hand into the face so that you hear it hurting like blazes.
To have beauty, you have to want it. Under the spell of contrast, we perceive countless shades of grey, among them the darkest and the palest grey that, one time, is mistaken for white, and some other time, is mistaken for black. Through permeable spots, coloured threads ﬁnd their way into the exhibition. Disused beliefs seem to lie idle, seem to be abandoned, seem to be motionless. Like a ghost, as if by an invisible hand, lines and dots ﬂoat, collide with each other, and would certainly get cracks and fall apart if they weren’t elastic like rubber.
The more we look closer, the more we detect diversity and plenty. Conspicuously, it seems that the realm of fragments and contrast has multiple forms, so that we are almost forced to discern, or compose, in order to get an organised picture.
But right before the end, a slight breeze takes the intention again to the beginning. Ute Müller and Michael Strasser are showing new works.
words: Siggi Hofer
translation: Stefan Thyri