The Red Flood
A five day action in Galerie Grüntaler9, Berlin
every afternoon from 1 to 5 p.m.
September 2016
Galerie Grüntaler9, or should I say Teena Lange, offered me the possibility to use the space as I'd see fit during an appointed five day interval in September 2016.
In the course of five years she had invited numerous other artists under similar conditions, all leaving behind the tracks of their actions for the next artist to act upon.
Seeing the space in June that year I fell in love with the floor: black and white tiles, like it was in the butcher shops of my youth. I wanted to do something with it for sure! The walls looked terrible, although, on close sight, all kind of beautiful details and memories of past art actions were shining through.
At home in Helsinki I was sure what to do: paint the walls red, maybe even the ceiling.
Back in Berlin in September I saw the terrible state of the floor: some white tiles glued with black plastic, some black tiles with white, together forming a Q code, yes all very fancy conceptual art, but the floor, the regular pattern, was ruined...
I decided to clean the floor. Tearing off the plastic, scraping off the little pieces, solving the glue in oil, washing the oil away with soap: one sentence, five days.
In the meantime I started to paint the walls red. Starting from the floor up I layered horizontal stripes on top of each other. On day three I decided the windows and doors should be included. Teena agreed. The red flood was growing.
People came by, some came to look and talk, some came to look in silence, some only talked. I asked all of them to join me for a picture on the same spot. 64 people in front of a slowly rising red background.
Each afternoon session I started with a tuning in: lonesome actions in my fine blue suit and red shoes. Many times with the sound of a mouth piece on a garden hose, sometimes other kind of small actions, sometimes singing or just walking for a while. After that I would put on my working outfit and continue the transformation of the space.
The last day I ended with a small action with coins laid out on the tiles and brushing these out of the door onto the street: a small gift to whoever wanted to pick them up.
Only during and after these days came many thoughts about what it all could possibly mean: the red flood. It became visually so overwhelming, the red walls and windows above the shining black and white floor, that the associations almost jumped into my mind. And it was so rewarding to listen to what people had to say about it. The flood is still rising.
every afternoon from 1 to 5 p.m.
September 2016
Galerie Grüntaler9, or should I say Teena Lange, offered me the possibility to use the space as I'd see fit during an appointed five day interval in September 2016.
In the course of five years she had invited numerous other artists under similar conditions, all leaving behind the tracks of their actions for the next artist to act upon.
Seeing the space in June that year I fell in love with the floor: black and white tiles, like it was in the butcher shops of my youth. I wanted to do something with it for sure! The walls looked terrible, although, on close sight, all kind of beautiful details and memories of past art actions were shining through.
At home in Helsinki I was sure what to do: paint the walls red, maybe even the ceiling.
Back in Berlin in September I saw the terrible state of the floor: some white tiles glued with black plastic, some black tiles with white, together forming a Q code, yes all very fancy conceptual art, but the floor, the regular pattern, was ruined...
I decided to clean the floor. Tearing off the plastic, scraping off the little pieces, solving the glue in oil, washing the oil away with soap: one sentence, five days.
In the meantime I started to paint the walls red. Starting from the floor up I layered horizontal stripes on top of each other. On day three I decided the windows and doors should be included. Teena agreed. The red flood was growing.
People came by, some came to look and talk, some came to look in silence, some only talked. I asked all of them to join me for a picture on the same spot. 64 people in front of a slowly rising red background.
Each afternoon session I started with a tuning in: lonesome actions in my fine blue suit and red shoes. Many times with the sound of a mouth piece on a garden hose, sometimes other kind of small actions, sometimes singing or just walking for a while. After that I would put on my working outfit and continue the transformation of the space.
The last day I ended with a small action with coins laid out on the tiles and brushing these out of the door onto the street: a small gift to whoever wanted to pick them up.
Only during and after these days came many thoughts about what it all could possibly mean: the red flood. It became visually so overwhelming, the red walls and windows above the shining black and white floor, that the associations almost jumped into my mind. And it was so rewarding to listen to what people had to say about it. The flood is still rising.
all pictures: teena lange
