As far as anyone could recall
27 Aug - 03 Sep 2016
AS FAR AS ANYONE COULD RECALL
27 August - 3 September 2016
It happened a few months ago at an opening. The man had arrived as any of the other guests had, though no one could remember if the man had engaged in the social milling and gaiety generally required of such an occasion. At some point in the evening, however, someone noticed that he had a worn, wooden measuring stick. He was alone at one of the corners, along the exterior wall, placing the stick at increments, and making notes in a small pad from his pocket. Overcome by a mixture of curiosity and dutiful concern, the facilities manager walked over to the man to question him. A story began to circulate: the man was in possession of a ground plan for the building from many years ago. Yet, no one recognized him; it was a mystery as to how he had such a document. I heard that he wanted to confirm the building’s current dimensions. He was under the suspicion that the measurements had changed in time.
What would it be if we were to take up a place as nothing more than our interpretation of it? In other words, to reconsider our understanding of architectural syntax? The Fridericianium is a place of many incarnations—library, museum, kunsthalle and post-war ruin, to name but a few—holding a near infinitude of stories. But how does one take a measure of such a place? If a building is to reveal or conceal itself to us, perhaps we must reconsider our notions of material, as something inherently unstable and animate, its surfaces sensors of time, affective forces, and social history. Eyal Weizman quips that no crack can ever be reproduced, its path “a unique entanglement of material inconsistencies on the micro scale in combination with the effects of macro forces.” Thus a crack is information.
The practice attributed to Simonides as method of loci, to place objects in a palace as a mnemonic device, reminds us that memory is rooted in place. But is it not also inherently dialogical? We only ever remember together, in conjunction with another. A place, a scent, a person—memory is a social enterprise. Even on our own, in this conjuring, we recollect the scenes and sounds and shapes around us, we recreate a social milieu in our minds if it can’t be present next to us. Within the social, these stories take shape, but somehow remain slippery. A story can call witness as easily as it can embellish; it can haunt and hurt. Through their sedimentation, stories shift hearsay to histories, but only through an alchemy of entanglement and indeterminacy.
As far as anyone could recall began as an opportunity for the installation team of the Fridericianium to develop an exhibition of their own work at the institution. The exhibition includes works from Sebastian Amelung & Miriam Aust, martinafischer13, Peter Freund, Tilman Hatje, Katrin Leitner, Ingmar Mruk, Walter Peter, Eric Pries & Maja Wirkus, Torben Röse, Bernd Schlake, Björn Wolf and Jürgen Zähringer, and is guest curated by Angela Jerardi.
27 August - 3 September 2016
It happened a few months ago at an opening. The man had arrived as any of the other guests had, though no one could remember if the man had engaged in the social milling and gaiety generally required of such an occasion. At some point in the evening, however, someone noticed that he had a worn, wooden measuring stick. He was alone at one of the corners, along the exterior wall, placing the stick at increments, and making notes in a small pad from his pocket. Overcome by a mixture of curiosity and dutiful concern, the facilities manager walked over to the man to question him. A story began to circulate: the man was in possession of a ground plan for the building from many years ago. Yet, no one recognized him; it was a mystery as to how he had such a document. I heard that he wanted to confirm the building’s current dimensions. He was under the suspicion that the measurements had changed in time.
What would it be if we were to take up a place as nothing more than our interpretation of it? In other words, to reconsider our understanding of architectural syntax? The Fridericianium is a place of many incarnations—library, museum, kunsthalle and post-war ruin, to name but a few—holding a near infinitude of stories. But how does one take a measure of such a place? If a building is to reveal or conceal itself to us, perhaps we must reconsider our notions of material, as something inherently unstable and animate, its surfaces sensors of time, affective forces, and social history. Eyal Weizman quips that no crack can ever be reproduced, its path “a unique entanglement of material inconsistencies on the micro scale in combination with the effects of macro forces.” Thus a crack is information.
The practice attributed to Simonides as method of loci, to place objects in a palace as a mnemonic device, reminds us that memory is rooted in place. But is it not also inherently dialogical? We only ever remember together, in conjunction with another. A place, a scent, a person—memory is a social enterprise. Even on our own, in this conjuring, we recollect the scenes and sounds and shapes around us, we recreate a social milieu in our minds if it can’t be present next to us. Within the social, these stories take shape, but somehow remain slippery. A story can call witness as easily as it can embellish; it can haunt and hurt. Through their sedimentation, stories shift hearsay to histories, but only through an alchemy of entanglement and indeterminacy.
As far as anyone could recall began as an opportunity for the installation team of the Fridericianium to develop an exhibition of their own work at the institution. The exhibition includes works from Sebastian Amelung & Miriam Aust, martinafischer13, Peter Freund, Tilman Hatje, Katrin Leitner, Ingmar Mruk, Walter Peter, Eric Pries & Maja Wirkus, Torben Röse, Bernd Schlake, Björn Wolf and Jürgen Zähringer, and is guest curated by Angela Jerardi.