Vita brevis, ars longa: eternity remains an artist’s wet dream. Some of my works are more ephemeral: their days are numbered; they exist only for the period of the show. Then the haunting is over. Here today, gone tomorrow. Some of my materials fade, wither, lose air, get old, tear, dry out, and end up as a slightly rancid memento mori. The way you see them now—at the moment you are observing them—they’ll never be like that again. May they rest in peace. Sigh and amen.
These works are time-specific as well as site-specific; they are bound up with the given circumstances and the durability of the material. The same thing applies to works that are outdoors, or longer-term installations, such as Bohne or Bob_343; they just last longer. These two works are installed indoors; the material is protected from wind and weather. This makes them last longer and they get older at a slower rate. The colors fade, the surfaces may get brittle, but, if need be, they can also be perked up and given a new protective layer. When the building is torn down, no longer in use, or undergoes renovations, then it’ll be over for them, too. Then they have to give way or go down with the ship. Architecture is anything but eternal; nowadays, it’s reckoned that buildings will be used for about fifty years.
Right now, my motto is more like “a lot and temporary,” rather than “a little bit and stable.” That could also change, though. Some works are also made out of aluminum or baked clay, so they’re very resistant and durable. Perhaps, as a contrast, I should start using some really tough materials.
Material, site, time, wet dreams: actually, I’d just like to freeze up all of eternity into a single moment. And I like to use the leftover materials again for the next work.