Summer Show 23

I never plucked a lemon directly from a lemon tree but I have done so with my heart. I never went to Italy but I have touched Fontana di Trevi with my heart. I never had luck baking my own croissants but I succeeded every time with my heart. Willkommen! Summer in Hamburg, 2023, acts like autumn and covers our skin like sticky sweet honey. The air feels fat and weighs heavy on our shoulders and everyone has a small teeth grinding headache. Constant gray sky and rainy mornings and evenings. The sound of small drops on our windows is comforting, but the constantness of it makes everyone walk around with acid green neon question marks glowing from their pupils. Almost no wind and then suddenly a two minute storm leaves you soaked and cold and leaves you looking for answers to stuff into your eyes instead of all those empty bright questions. This summer is an easy disappointment - if you let it. If you put it up next to your idea of a vivid urban summer in a big German city. If you let your fantasy get the best of you. But then just don't do that. Let go of your expectations. Say nein. Nein. But don't go anywhere. Not too far. Stay close. Release your imagination. No one is winning, everyone is most likely losing. A downward spiral. Da da da dum. Natural disasters. Rhodos; holiday hell lit up by hell fire. 19 cm wide hail balls breaking every window in a small south european village. "We don't have a single intact window on the main road anymore, and I'm honestly not sure how it makes me feel". Dissociating isn't fantasy. Fantasy is a muscle. Fantasy is a stomach and it's empty and hungry. We are bad at feeding it. The church bells in all of Hamburg's churches, when they are quiet, are a fantasy. When they are not ringing, we can only long for their sound. Memories can be mind games. Emotions can be accepted as already being actions. If you can be fine with that, anything, an unplayed guitar, can become unlimited potential. Just how it looks; It looks amazing. Everything you could ever need to know about anything, you will figure out in relation to this exact guitar. I never saw the Grand Canyon but I have touched it with my heart. I never went fishing but I have smelled the sea weed and held the stick tight with my heart. I never saw an albatros but I have touched its feathered wings and whispered words of hope into its head with my heart. The glove and the curtain, the glow and the certain. In his solo show, How To Share a Sun, Moritz Haas paints himself as a dead rocker - the one he says he wants to be. Probably he doesn't want to become him, but wants to dream of being him. And with dreaming of that dream, the self portraits in his works seizes to be about only his own image but becomes about our collective fantasy of being perceived by others as what we aspire to become. Red painted silhouettes on a mirror. By looking at the work you are automatically inserted into it. Maybe it's supposed to make you think, that it's supposed to make you feel that you missed out on that party, but in the end, make you see that you are the only one in the image who actually ever was anywhere. No real reflection sticks to a mirror. The worst and the best could happen in front of a mirror and we would never know. It's all light beams and everyone already has an equal part of it. I never read Moby Dick but you are all super impressed by my knowledge of it inside my heart. I never played rock guitar up on stage like a crazy diamond but I have touched that night with my heart. In their duo show, I Lost Count, Tilting Way of Expired Days, consisting of one big collective work, Pauline Schey and Theresa Weisheit, sets up a circle of podiums displaying open books on top of them, equipped with small motion sensors reacting with sound in different ways to the audience. The varying blank pages of the open books present us with a moment of confusion. By saying nothing they are also saying everything. And by saying everything with an empty book, you are conversing with an attempt to dissolve concrete authorship. A blank page leaves you confronted with all your future opportunities and confronted with the beauty and ugliness in all the stuff you never did. Circular narration as a circle of railway tracks, an expired calendar that still haunts you. The spectator and the artwork takes terms leading and following. The sounds change depending on where in the room a spectator is positioned or on how many people are present in the room. One part becomes the conductor and the other one follows as a passenger and then takes the position of the first. With the changing position of leadership or following everyone are mutating as a reaction to each other. The expandable sound mass has freedom for new inventions and new fantasies and is not bound by a spotlight on its faces making it seen as a group of individuals. I never did not give a fuck but i tried to with my heart. Let go of your disappointed summertime sadness, let go of your idea of self importance and productivity anxiety. You are never gonna find all the answers because questions only ever come in a group with infinite members. Answer what you can. Ask more. Enjoy how lightning looks cooler than a beach. Do what you must do. Enjoy some art and enjoy whatever you enjoy. GenieBt alle den wunderschonen Sommer and take very good care of each other! Auf Wiedersehen!!