Anne Krauter

  • Irene Grundel

    Since 1990 Irene Grundel has limited her drawings and paintings to three themes: the stone, the horn, and the bird. Some of her recent works include plaster sculptures that incorporate found objects, but still each theme is treated almost monochromatically: the bird appears in a quasi-romantic blue environment, the horn is usually red, and the stones are placed on an earth-toned ground. For this show, Grundel differentiated each theme in a particular space, thereby creating three different experiential zones. At first, the viewer entered a brown zone, indicating an original, unmitigated sense

  • Jan Fabre

    To enter and exit this exhibition one had to pass through two swinging glass doors, dyed a deep-blue with ink from a ballpoint pen. The doors symbolically demarcated a room containing a wide range of colors from red-violet to silver, all in Jan Fabre’s signature style—ballpoint ink. Besides paper, Fabre has used wood, satin, or even buildings as the surface for his “drawings.” His process is borrowed from everyday life—from idle scribbling on scraps of paper, or in telephone books, etc. But Fabre’s process becomes one of conquest, in which he makes the chosen objects of his drawings

  • Sean Scully

    “The stripe is neutral and boring,” says Sean Scully of the most obvious ingredient of his work. In the ’70s he had already chosen the stripe as the dominant motif of his painting. At that time he used tape to outline the colored stripes that divided his canvases horizontally, vertically, or diagonally into exact forms. He employed this method with explicit reference to Piet Mondrian, whose ideas Scully wanted to develop further. In 1981 he discarded this impersonal technique and, replacing the rather cold acrylic used for the stripes up until then, introduced oil paint and, with that, a legible

  • Christoph Rütimann

    Compared with Christoph Rütimann’s skepticism about our perceptual abilities, Gertrude Stein’s famous dictum, “A rose is a rose. . .,” sounds downright dogmatic or at least too clear-cut. Is a horizontal line painted by a brush simply a line? Does it describe a horizon? Does it define a distance or even a space? Perhaps it merely registers a movement across the surface. Rütimann’s response to such questions might have had the character of alternative suggestions, but instead, they have a “both-this-and-that” quality—similar to the description of a scientific model, which deliberately fails to

  • Willi Kopf

    For the past six years Willi Kopf has been building geometric cubes and rectangular forms out of untreated, standard-size sheets of chipboard. Kopf systematically saws them up and glues them together into rectangular shapes of different sizes that look as if they were meant as a playhouse for children. In fact, he is producing modulelike construction units for a process of assemblage in which calculation and chance play equal roles. These rectangular boxes, which he calls “brick elements,” are glued together and placed inside one another until at last they produce the finished sculpture, without

  • Anselm Stalder

    Anselm Stalder’s installation here was both ambitious and enigmatic. Any fixed, impervious borders between the art work and its surroundings dissolved in an interplay between the interior and the exterior. The transparency of the objects themselves revealed a dense network of relationships between organic and crystalline forms, solid and liquid aggregates. In the first room, the visitor was welcomed by Die Begleitung (The companion, 1988), several figures made of twisted iron rods and wires. On the head, arms, or trunk, small plaster laminas, resembling synapses, appeared at intervals to form

  • Helmut Dirnaichner

    The material used by Helmut Dirnaichner is not only a surface that carries the image: it also constitutes the theme, color, and subject matter of his works. Soil, ashes, or finely powdered stone have been combined with cellulose and processed into heavy yet fragile sheets of paper. The color of the paper in each case results from the specific component substance.

    In the works in this exhibition, Dirnaichner has molded his paper into two basic forms: an elongated leaf and a wider oval. The elongated forms strongly resemble dried leaves or archaic signs. Some have been drawn out and narrowed so

  • Anne and Patrick Poirier

    The return to myth seen in the art of the last ten-odd years was a kind of return to the mother. Yet to return to the mother, one must kill the father—if one takes at least one of those myths seriously, at any rate. Whether or no, the return to myth was inevitably difficult.

    For their part of this journey, Anne and Patrick Poirier chose the route of looking at the actual past. Their reconstructions of antique cities—detailed models, often quite large in size, but small in relative scale—were made with the help of site plans and measurements of classical ruins. This scientific methodology, however,

  • Dieter Roth

    If Dieter Roth were granted three wishes, as in a fairy tale, he would wish for everything—three times. “Don't forget or repress to stamp the ‘most’ into the 'speedy drawings'” reads one of Roth's instructions from July 1987. This instruction refers to his newest book, 1234 Soft MOST Speedy Drawings, 1987. Each of the drawings takes up one entire page, and thus the book has 1,234 pages. Here “speedy” refers not only to the artist's execution of the drawings but to the reader's paging through the book, for the reader looks at the book with a speed of a motorcycle racing by. Such a metaphor might

  • Erwin Wortelkamp

    Being a sculptor means much more to Erwin Wortelkamp than just wanting to find answers to questions of form and content. For him the sculptural process is synonymous with life, growth, and destruction, in equal measure. Wood, Wortelkamp’s favorite material for the past nine years, provides him with a surface to attack. It is material, resistance, and reagent all in one. Using a power saw as well as traditional tools, he works the wood by sawing, splitting, and inflicting wounds. He assaults the amorphous trunk with the defiance of one obsessed with finding form. For him more than for many others,

  • Walter Pichler

    Walter Pichler has never been very concerned with making his art public. The last large-scale exhibition to include his work was the Venice Biennale in 1982, and his sculptures are to be found in only three public collections. Yet his place in the art world of the past two decades is secure. Although there are drawings by Pichler on the market, he rarely parts with his sculptures. They are components of an overall concept in which the identity between art and life has been given a new dimension.

    For the past 15 years Pichler has been living on a farm in Saint Martin, in the sparsest, most isolated

  • Michael Buthe

    The work of Michael Buthe is inseparably connected to Africa and the Middle East. In the course of his many trips to these parts of the world, their cultures—especially those of North Africa—have become very much a part of Buthe’s life. After Cologne, Marrakesh is his second home. From these various influences he creates a milieu of private signs and ciphers in his fetishlike objects and large-scale environments, which can serve simultaneously as art and as living space for the artist. The concept of “individual mythology,” formulated by Harald Szeemann on the occasion of Documenta 5, was already