"The windows are open and your appearance is eyed by their curtains." Abdul Squad El-Janaby

 

As far as here, Installation with curtain, wire, wood, 4 x 2 x 3 m, 2019

#exist, Stranger - Art procession, 2019
#exist, Stranger - Art procession, 2019
Couriosity, hanging object, curtain, fabric, 2 x 0,5 x 0,5 m, 2012
Couriosity, hanging object, curtain, fabric, 2 x 0,5 x 0,5 m, 2012

First floor, wall object, curtain, glue, fabric, 2012
First floor, wall object, curtain, glue, fabric, 2012
Neighbourhood watching, hanging objects, curtain, fabrics, 3 x 2 x 2 m, 2012
Neighbourhood watching, hanging objects, curtain, fabrics, 3 x 2 x 2 m, 2012

Cellarview, ground installation, curtain, wire, fabrics, 1 x 2 x 0,5 m, 2012
Cellarview, ground installation, curtain, wire, fabrics, 1 x 2 x 0,5 m, 2012
Installation with shots made by curtain and glue, 6 x 3 m, 2012
Installation with shots made by curtain and glue, 6 x 3 m, 2012

In the works of the series Schläfer, created since 2008, I use different German place names as titles. They refer to tragic and dramatic events that took place there. The title of the series Schlafer, which I chose, reminds on the one hand of terrorists who live inconspicuously integrated while waiting for their deployment as assassins. On the other hand, it also turns out to be a reference to "inconspicuous" German citizens who can become criminals under certain circumstances.
The Swabian town of Winnenden became sadly famous when in March 2009 a 17-year-old pupil shot pupils and teachers of his school, passers-by and finally himself in a rampage. Lightly and delicately, the shaped curtain fabric bulges out of the wall like Master Horax's "Hour Flowers" from Michael Ende's book Momo and reminds us of the 15 pistol shots with which Tim K. wanted to pay attention to his unnoticed life.

Installation, B 160 x T 40 x H 75 cm, 2010/11
Installation, B 160 x T 40 x H 75 cm, 2010/11

The curtain is the orchid's death
With this installation, I deal with a phenomenon that is spreading on German windowsills: in the past, they were the symbol of the aesthetes; today, orchids are on the shelves of DIY stores and supermarkets as cheap take-away items - they have long since displaced the Usambara violet from its window seat. Framed by curtains, surrounded by nipples, with dust on her fleshy leaves, she thus resembles an aging pop singer whose lipstick is currently running unattractive. That's why I laid the orchid out to commemorate her, frozen in boundlessness, her portrait framed in silver over it, pale as a shroud.