Austrian writer Robert Musil’s most famous character, the “man without qualities” known to readers only as Ulrich, spends an entire novel stumbling through the year 1913, a native of the fin de siècle lost in the dawn of the twentieth century. At first glance, Michael Müller, who considers Ulrich a soul mate, seems just as much at odds with his own time. Musil’s lost young man was also the spiritus rector of Müller’s recent exhibition “Was nennt sich Kunst, was heißt uns wahrsein?” (What is Considered Art? What Does It Mean to Be True to Oneself?), an exceptionally intense—even

Tue Greenfort’s latest exhibition, “Vis Vitalis,” comprised diverse materials—newspaper clippings, sculptures, C-prints, posters, videos—coordinated through a built-in exhibition architecture. From the outside, visitors first encountered a blown-up photograph showing demonstrators in violent clash with the police—a familiar image that immediately triggers an array of associations related to the manifold global uprisings of recent years. Chunks of melted plastic are attached to it; brand names, still legible, identify these lumps as yogurt cups. The iconic image, taken from the