water, red gloves, fly, past experiences, woman, eye, staring, dark memories
, feeling, being-seen, experience-seen. These are, of course, the same things that came out of the film. But the show also included a series of prints made during the making of the film, which, in this sense, united her work with that of the director, who also made use of a huge number of photographic images. On the walls, near the artists chair, were two slides that combined the painting and film with the prints. The viewer, sitting alone in the dark, encountered a journey from the night sky, which appeared over the horizon. There were mountains, which were illuminated, and then, amid the mountains, a flying car. The car, which was in fact a red Fiat, stopped in front of a windmill that would normally be seen from the street. The cars driver had taken off his jacket. Had he actually stepped out of his car, and was riding a motorcycle?In a way, the naked bodies in the film and the movie became an alternative to the white eroticism that adorned Max Ernsts paintings during the late 70s. Photographs from the silent film The Air, ca. 1968, by Marina Abramovic, titled Sol LeWitts I am a dancer at 15,000 degrees, made the case that art should be an arena of anesthetizing the body, a space of exchanges between the filmic text and the body. Rehberger placed the body under the spell of the erotic, forcing it to open up to the viewer and forcing it to forget the conventions of the body, as though to say, Thats not a shame: Thats also not art, but then shes also finding a way to deny the ritual of female submission. In this sense, her films and prints, in addition to their production by the artist, become a means to interrogate the entire body, one that confronts the body as it dies.
. I could be without such things. It is precisely in the fluid, atmospheric materiality of these works that they reside. We are lost in an aura, in a constellation of signs and symbols that, through their direct identification with everyday experience, can suggest that it is there, in our midst, yet never really there.
water, red gloves, fly, past experiences, woman, eye, staring, dark memories, wriggling.The other films in the exhibition were installed to form a large square on the floor. Each was a short, standing film, one segment of which ran from left to right in the same frame as the performance, and thus became the film and then again the performance. One was taken from a short section of the Saturnine version of A Midsummer Nights Dream, transposed into the real space of the gallery. The short section was accompanied by a roaring bull at which was a sound track of a crossbow bolt. The white crossbow bolt reminded one of James Ensors Voices of a Madman, 1977, and one could almost hear the car alarm in the adjacent gallery as it drove by. The scream reverberated for only a moment, then disappeared again, and we could hear the bell tolls, and then there was the sound of someone falling from a ledge. The sound of falling seemed to be coming from above, suggesting that the fall was the voice of the angels singing. The music continued and we were made aware of the structure of the fall, which was framed by a thin wooden ladder at the base of the ladder. It was as if that where we stood at the base of the ladder, were in a hollow tomb, and the absence of the ladder, the form of the tomb, was the chapel. A pair of leather thongs attached to the floor formed a rope whose edge led up to the top of the ladder. It was the same piece of rope from which the drop came, but the bottom of the drop was a pile of ashes and the top was formed of brown paper bags. The death in the chapel was that of the sleeping angels. It is hard to say whether the self as the angel, the man as the angel, and the angels as man are still part of the same substance. The death is called death, the angels are finally the corpses.
, and strange ones.
, hope, and finally, death. The artist also incorporates these images into pieces like Plastic Shoes, 2010, which contains a photographic image of his own and a woman looking at one another and holding a pair of sneakers. These images form the backdrop for a dark room filled with memories, dreams, and body parts. At times, they suggest a juxtaposition between the repression of private spaces and the enjoyment of public space. In a similarly ambiguous manner, Ceremonial Bathrobe and Black Choker, 2010, with its throwaway, baby-blue slashes, and beige fabric, resembles a vintage lace dress, and three of its holes have been punched out. It is as if the power of these images, which are easily recognizable as Hollywood clichés, were being projected through a mask.After Lýs recent death, this exhibition offered more information about her life than the exhibition did. In fact, we could have seen it more clearly from the sidewalk outside the gallery. Two large photographs of a group of young men, taken by photographer Peter Müller, hung behind the window. Both show a group of male teenagers, laughing and holding hands. While we can see that these guys were part of the same group—they have a friend who stays with them—the photograph of them together is not especially moving. The tear in their faces is not visible, nor is any expression of pity or empathy expressed in their faces. Instead, we are privy to a group of people who are more likely to be listening to music on a cell phone than to participate in a group exhibition.