Lies down next to him, and he holds her, she hugs him
That's not how it is
THE MAN
Everything is like this
Lights out. Darkness
The truth is... always an exciting beginning.
The truth, however, is that the overflowing soul sometimes pours itself into completely empty language, because none of us can ever express the true extent of our desires, our thoughts or our sufferings; and human language is like a cracked kettle on which we drum crude rhythms like dancing bears, while we long to make music that melts the stars.
(Gustave Flaubert).
I use Flaubert because he is one, perhaps even THE writer who has repeatedly and decisively sharpened my reading memory over decades to this day. According to Flaubert, art is closer to the truth than almost anything we call a lie. Like the Stoics, Flaubert teaches that we must be content with what we can recognize, while at the same time remaining humble in the face of what transcends our language or imagination.
So, I write fragments and feel my way forward, because truth reveals itself more in fragments than in the whole, like a trace in the sand, soon blown away, soon rewritten. This resulted in an exhibition, an exhibition that also has to do with me, with me, Hubert Winter.
We are showing works by Mary Ellen Carroll, Simone Fattal, Judith Fegerl, Marcia Hafif, Simonetta Jung, Shigeko Kubota, Marie Jo Lafontaine, Gina Pane, Elfriede Elisabeth Schlichter, Laurie Simmons, Elaine Sturtevant, Hannah Wilke and Kandis Williams.
