“New nature” and the bizarreness of our environment
- Jonas
Houses, streets, construction sites, utility boxes – the ordinary urban landscape. We take all these elements for granted, as if concrete, metal, and plastic followed the same natural laws as water, stone, and wind. In the face of the monumentality and complexity of this “new nature,” it is easy to forget that it is entirely man-made. Added to this are social dynamics that not only physically manifest in these structures but also unfold upon this very “stage.”
This normalized bizarreness, into which humanity has maneuvered itself over time, could be experienced in the exhibition “Non-Authorized Honorary“ at the Berlin project space SPOILER Aktionsraum. The works on view did not only reference the public space – the urban environment played an essential, active role in them. Furthermore, a livestream of artistic interventions on the opening night extended the scope of the exhibition beyond the project space in Moabit, offering another way to experience the otherwise hidden – a reminder of the endless events taking place outside our immediate location and field of perception.
How little we consciously perceive and question our surroundings in everyday life is something that certain artists and graffiti writers have long turned to their advantage. Equipped with a standard safety vest, they go unnoticed when entering subway tunnels, opening sidewalks in broad daylight, or when the infamous Berlin artist known as “Angst Yok” is pasting his typographic posters around the city. While his fear (German: Angst) is “yok” – Turkish for “nonexistent” – what remains is his sense of justice. The statements on his posters dryly and humorously point to the great and small issues of our time – from the rising price of Döner kebabs and cocaine consumption (in the art scene) to Donald Trump and the (ongoing) division of Germany. The latter is addressed in his work “Grenze“ (“Border”), shown in the exhibition.
On a highway sign pointing out the former German division, he altered the text “German Division 1945–1990” to “German Division – Still Ongoing.” In the accompanying statement, the artist draws attention to the wounds still felt by the former East German population as a result of reunification – wounds that often remain unnoticed or seem irrelevant to those from the West.
Peter Behrbohm also moves through public space in disguise – as shown in the livestream. Camouflaged in the red and white of street bollards, he worked his way down Chaussestraße past the German Secret Service’s headquarters, sitting in a red and white movable chair. Moving along, he first cleaned the bollards and then painted them with a big red brush, sometimes leaving them overstriped, sometimes just repairing the weathered paint. The action felt like a gesture of care among like-minded beings: the outcasts and overlooked.
This sense of connection also resonates in his “Island“ works. Linked by black boxes, they suggest an underground network connecting street signs, bollards, advertising columns, and other immobile objects of the urban landscape – an alliance unnoticed by humans? Shown in the exhibition was a work from the series that does not feature inanimate objects but plants sprouting from the black box – on closer look however, they too, were artificial, made of plastic – slightly twitching from time to time, as if trying to convince the viewer of their liveliness – or perhaps to underline their artificiality? By connecting seemingly random elements of urban life Behrbohm’s “islands” allow a more empathetic view of the lifeless infrastructure that shapes public life – and together with the (artificial) plants, they also raise the question of what we even consider “natural.”
The extent to which our movement through the urban landscape is shaped by artificial systems of order is made visible in Enno Haar’s series “Fallen 1–6“ (“Falling 1–6”). Through staged “accidents,” white paint was spilled on intersections and bicycle paths, turning unsuspecting passersby into artistic participants: as they walked or rode through, they spread the paint further, recording their individual movements – only to result, once again, in a uniform, collective pattern.
The stage of performance artist Johannes Klever is the “semi-public” space of large galleries and museums, where clear, regulated social conventions normally apply. In places where one is expected to behave quietly and discreetly, Klever stands out all the more when suddenly his hair catches fire, his body inflates to twice its size – or, as seen in the livestream for this exhibition, when he abseiled down the façade of the Julia Stoschek Foundation Berlin to write “Forever Real” onto its massive banner.
What remains to say about the art on view inside after witnessing such a live action? And what to make of the fact that he used paint designed to dissolve without a trace within hours? With his action Klever manages to become an immaterial part of the renowned art collection simply through the memory of what happened there, infiltrating the web of invisible norms and narratives of the art and collector world and at the same time calling attention to them.
This breaking of norms also appears in Julius von Bismarck’s photographically documented performance “Punishment #7“, in which he stands on a beach, whipping at the incoming waves. Both performers challenge what are assumed to be immutable laws of nature and society – and in doing so, draw attention to the invisible paths of collective thought.
Furthermore, several graffiti-related interventions were on view: taped-over tags on utility boxes (Anna Weberberger), abstract graffiti painted with a Christmas tree (Dima Ilko), and an entrance door entirely covered with printed fabric, blending seamlessly into the graffitied façade of the building – title of the work: “Glitch“ (Coco Bergholm).
Not performed in public space was Dima Ilko’s intervention. The artist livestreamed from the setup of the world’s largest art fair, Art Basel. Viewers could follow him as he descended from the hustle and bustle above into the catacombs beneath the fair. In a narrow, remote shaft, he covered the walls and floor with a fictional rune script. But for whom? The fair is already an exclusive place, where VIP-badge holders mingle during the preview days and regular admission costs 69 Swiss francs – and yet even those who make it inside will never see these works. So how exclusive is too exclusive?
On this beautiful summer evening, a wide range of visitors gathered for the exhibition opening in Moabit. The band nightshift accompanied the live-streamed performances with atmospheric tunes and commentary, striking just the right balance of irony to offer food for thought without spoiling the relaxed mood of the get-together.
Generally, the exhibition as a whole demonstrated that a humorous approach to art need not diminish its impact. Especially in regard to the subject of our environment, humor seems a fitting means to highlight the absurdities of everyday life.
Whether artificially created, natural, or social – our daily lives are shaped by environmental factors that we often either overlook entirely or accept as immutable “laws of nature.” Rarely do we question why things are the way they are. “Non-authorized Honorary“ brought together a group of artists determined to ask precisely this question – and to decipher the hidden codes embedded in our surroundings.
When I arrived and sat down in the open space in front of the exhibition venue to watch the livestream, I noticed that the concrete right in front of me had cracked open. The sprout of a small plant had pushed its way through the seemingly impenetrable layer of human civilization – a beautiful metaphor for the small but subversive projects on display here. Projects that one might assume to not leave their Berlin art bubble – but you never know.
“Non-authorized Honorary“, SPOILER Aktionsraum, with works by Lara Nelke, Angst Yok, Boris Dewjatkim, Madeleine Brunnmeier, Peter Behrbohm, Julius von Bismarck, Coco Bergholm, Lutger Lonin, Mischa Leinkauf, Enno Haar, Anna Weberberger, Dmitry Ilko, Christian Hasucha, Johannes Klever