With a contribution by Dario Wokurka

What isn’t broken may never be fixed
Printed pages that toss and turn reveal a vista of floating photographs, a smooth blend of greens, browns and greys (less often: orange and blue) that are framed in squares and composed to figure as interiors, mostly, but also mediated, transported, transformed, distorted as images or image-shaped information. Who is there, and if so, why? Would you be surprised to see yourself?


Appearing and reappearing in changing situations, dispersed but still in one piece, these photographs remain ambivalent about whether they support the relation between superficiality and surface, thus stating insistence on their image-being: their existence as images that can be subjected to circulation and translation onto various carriers, like paper, plastic foils, aluminum plates or the screens of electronic devices. As images they remain rather quiet about human consciousness (represented) inside of them. The presence of a passive-looking bystander, a glass, and a hand holding a glass oppose a reading of them as completely autonomous (as in independent of such consciousness), yet also underscore a conspicuous absence of this sort of subjectivity in the series. However, in terms of composition, the proximity of objects to the photographic device reminds one of the humanly effort invested in setting their scene.


Much like a stretcher-framed aluminum treated PET foil stained with toothpaste six months after the exchange, a visible yet non-painterly abstraction, brushwork functions like a band or belt that pulls and holds together the sceneries. The gesture, unlike a blissful streak of Zen, signifies a break with the long duration and presents itself as a narrating voice, from here to here, and when it stops, it does so in an abrupt manner, much like the arm that is holding the hand that is holding the glass, which is empty, yet full of light. Scale is invoked, your hands holding the pages, the grain of its support, a distance of a few millimeters, a space unfolding itself in front of your eyes, a slippery slideshow that hardly ends until the book is closed.