Streit ⋅ Reanimation ⋅ Copycat ⋅ MASTERCAT2 ⋅ Master Cat ⋅ radical chic ⋅ nostalgie de la boue (with Israel Aten) ⋅ in Liebe zu ... ⋅ Royal Space Force (with Niklas Taleb) ⋅ How to Build Airplanes (with Philip Ullrich) ⋅ i'm game ⋅ EZB ⋅ Lets Play Modernism ⋅ IP (enhanced) ⋅ Neue Stadt (with Frederike Wetzels) ⋅ Leuchten ⋅ Spieltrieb ⋅ the Conversation (with Max Schmoetzer) ⋅ wohnen ⋅ mittwochs
installation views from Rundgang, How to Build Airplanes for a Tribalized Society, Kunstakademie Düsseldorf, 2015
dimensions variable, different foil on glass, text (download pdf)
As I laid my head back against the soft cushion, I felt a tingling sensation caress my scalp. Like an army of ants it swarmed over my skin, touching every nerve and making my head buzz. An overwhelming feeling of calm rushed through me as my mind sunk into the depths of the chair.
A deeply fragmented society, consisting of countless small groups with no common ground. People with completely diverging views, ideals and habits. The constricted space of an airplane. Suspended over the ground, disconnected, but every minor detail thoroughly calculated. No place where conflicts may arise. A crude mixture of superficial materialities, empty references to cultural identities and soothing, paternalistic design. Only the unrestrained pragmatics of a corporate language can level this out.
Something warm creeps along your spine. For a moment you think you have lost control of your bladder, but you don’t mind. Instead, the muscles in your face twitch, raising a faint smile on your lips. You can feel every blood cell floating through your veins and every neuron spinning to the rhythm of your heartbeat. The space and the light around you are of a profound azure-blue shining from all directions.
Down there, the world is burning. They are out for your people. No place to hide. These are wild times, wilder than they used to be. Long-held allegiances don’t count for much anymore. Nowadays, people stick to likeminded others, and those that count as likeminded are fewer and fewer every time you count again. The wrong hairstyle can be all it takes, or if you like the wrong song – and then you’re out, and you can look for a new clique that might be better suited to who you are – who you really are, beneath all of it.
