1 person per sqm

group show curated by Dominika Bednarsky and Jan Koslowski

The exhibition playfully explores the gestures and languages of urban space and its boundaries. Which signs and rules shape our movements within a shared environment, and how do they change over time? The participating 21 artists invite us to reconsider movement, presence, and expression in the urban context, to question limits, and to negotiate new forms of togetherness. Featuring sculptures, text objects, video works, painting, and performances, the exhibition spans a wide range from poetic interventions and humorous experiments to critical reflections on the city and the body.

text by Jan Koslowski:

Do not talk about the city, do not talk about loving the city, do not steep again the tea that already tastes bitter and whose colour already recalls a dark brown, and not amber.

Amber, a stud in the ear, a stone made of time, a walk across the street at night, a thought about you, you street, and about loving the city.

Love in the night, the amber eyes, the amber fur, the amber light, a walk from one cone of light to the next, a walk from me to you, and a farewell outside the house that is older than both of us together, and not talking about history and stories, and not thinking about yesterday, and not thinking about tomorrow, thinking over, two beetles saying goodbye to one another.

Here I sit on a roof, and the roof is not meant for sitting, it is a conclusion, a shelter, it is the boundary with the sky, with the space made of air that makes you small in the face of the other roofs and the other airs, and the other spaces, those you share, those that are divided and those that should be shared, and there is an above and a below, and there are the walls, the door you close behind you, the window you open, letting in the space made of air.

Here I sit and talk to you, here I sit and pause, here I sit and turn in circles. Here I sit, although I had actually meant to get up. Here I sit, although I had actually meant to say goodbye, here I sit, although I had actually had a day and a night, and there were months and seasons and there was the south as a promise and there was the north as a concept, and there was what was the centre, and I found it on the roof, and I thought about roofs, and I thought about a multitude of roofs, and the summer. I had almost forgotten it, I had almost forgotten you.

A romantic idea, that all roofs might be the same height, and there is no above or below, only a view across the city, a view. One view. Here I walk a little and yet make no progress, I linger and yet am poised to leave, here I sit on a roof and can go no further.

I can only feel gravity, the heavy force that gives you security, like the certainty that the roof will support me, even though it was not intended to support anyone, here I sit and share this square metre of weight.

The roof as a concept. A youth spent on the roof. The overhang, the height of the eaves, the concept, the idea. Prenzlauer Berg, a hill in the city. Hills of rubble, rubble hills, highs and lows, reaching far. The fox with Amber Eyes.

A little drama with A., I still think about the day of filming. I think about the street of my childhood. I think about the city of my childhood. I do not want to write about childhood. Childhood should not interest anyone.

It is a false trail, a half-empty beer in the corner pub that no longer exists. Cast off the ballast beneath me, the storeys, the floor. The storeys, the projectiles.

Why is this language full of war?

The old beam in the old building, removed and placed in the street, the beetles shaking 'hands', or the hands saying goodbye in greeting, taking their leave. Farewell, you roof. Once there was a view here, a single view.

You have become a tower among towers. I used to see you through different eyes. The roofing felt glows on the roof. We must not roll down. He takes off his T-shirt and sunbathes beside me. Soon we will walk down Pappelallee. He will buy a packet of Marlboro Lights, chewing gum and a Durstlöscher drink.

A manifesto for an exhibition: give things meaning, give the thirst quencher meaning, at least give togetherness itself meaning, the gathering, give the day a name, and the child sleeping in the cloister of the mind.

Here I walk, and I remember. My head has four walls. Sleep, ending. A morning after. And your hand in mine.

The roof as a concept. Conclusion, shelter. Below yes, above no. Having a roof, or not. A roof, a shelter, a place of refuge.

Here I sit with you, even if it might become dangerous. This square metre belongs to me alone. Or it is only allowed to belong to me. But I would so love to share it.