When a tree falls down in the forest and noone witnesses it, did it really happen? When an artist makes a sculpture on top of a mountain and noone sees it, is it really art? The artist Christian Eisenberger does not like to limit himself to the gallery or the art space. When the impulse moves him, he is content to spontaneously create something when and where he wants, and then to let it run its course. Such is the case with his ice sculptures or his sugar cube towers that are left in their natural environments to melt or be overrun by ants. Such tendencies towards land art-influenced pieces demonstrate both Eisenberger’s methods of inspiration as well as his attitude toward art-world restrictions such as properly designated venues or commissioned works. Eisenberger first gained attention by his impromptu displays of cardboard figures on city streets and art fair grounds. The gesture questioned the predispositions of viewers and so-called “proper” venues.

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The need to create art is a complex one. On the one hand, one could argue that art is a cry for attention, a narcissistic calling. On the other, art is a form of play, a way to satisfy one’s childlike predisposition towards drawing, building, making stuff. Eisenberger creates works that want to be acknowledged, but at the same time, Eisenberger hides behind his work while simultaneously daring the viewer to look away. In a recent exhibition, he took cover within a bear suit made entirely out of packing tape, spray painting cryptic messages and scrawlings within a makeshift four-walled cardboard space. The set-up both invited the viewer to utilize unstable aids such as a ladder or a wobbly table to get a peek at his antics, but the effort was rewarded by his playful displays and offerings of snacks. In the end, the structure was challenge to and deconstruction of the static “white cube” gallery space by literally converting the viewer from a passive to an active role. It was all part of the “game” that Eisenberger had meticulously set up, at once inviting and defiant.

But this is not to say that Eisenberger’s approach is childish. The bear suit is a further development of a series of works involving countless cocoons that the artist created and then shed by wrapping himself in packing tape and then cutting himself out of the mummy-like figures. Such projects satisfy his need to hide and yet be seen, and the resulting shells, which he then displayed in various contexts, remain testaments to his observations on performance, corporeality, and materiality. Further use of ephemeral, “trashy” materials such as packing tape, cardboard boxes, or even his own sperm, express his commitment to spontaneity and his rebellion against material worth. His performances—for example, when he dressed up as kind of faux suicide-bomber clown and walked the streets of Vienna and London—often smack of insouciance, but, like a child and even more like an artist, his desire to engage is very real. (jn)

This artist portrait was realised with the kind support of the CastYourArt foundation.

In Heinrich Kleist’s essay, “On the Marionettentheater”, a discussion takes place between a layman and the principal dancer of the city opera. The layman, impressed by the presentation, wants to know what kind of technical mechanism has made it possible for the puppets to dance so convincingly that it seems as though dance itself has been shown in its most perfect form. The dance professional considers this for a moment, then gives an answer: When we see a “perfect” dance presentation and ask how it was done, then we’re already missing the point. It does not depend on the mechanics, nor on the perfected techniques with which the individual limbs of the puppets are handled with the most precision.

If one wants to understand why a dance appears “perfect”, it is much more effective not to focus so much on the technical perfection, but rather on the mechanisms of the representation of the dance. If these mechanisms are perfect, then the viewer who sees a movement corresponding to the represented one has to call this movement “dance”. And vice versa, when he sees movements which do not correspond to this representation of dance, even if they are also superbly performed, he does not even consider them to be dance. In short: What we perceive as dance is what corresponds to its representation.

In their workshop, “Sweat -The Movie“, Tor Lindstrand and Marten Spangberg of International Festival together with the participants take on this topic of the representation of the dance. Contemporary dance is very different and much more than what is shown to us on stage. Contemporary dance is not limited to the isolated movements which are demonstrated to us in video clips and Hollywood movies. But contemporary dance is influenced and rarely separated from such representations of dance. What is dance when the medium of its representation shifts? What is dance?

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Lindstrand and Spangberg conceived of a workshop setting in which the participants – all professional dancers – not only reflect on typical representations of dance, either by approaching them or distancing themselves from them, but also investigate cinematic possibilities of the representation of dance and thereby contribute to the definition of dance. “Sweat - The Movie”, according to Lindstrand, is “a workshop about the production of a dance film and a dance film about this workshop, which took place as part of the Impulstanz Festival in Vienna”. Each participant took part in discussing, training, choreography, building and designing film sets, directing, shooting, and editing. The production took place over 30 days, ending with its premiere on the 31st day, August 8th 2008 at Kasino am Schwarzenbergplatz, Vienna.

Art can be critical of media and media criticism can be fun—that’s the message anyway from “dream manufacturer” Götz Bury’s art. In his Traumfabrik (“dream factory”), the artist produces prototypical works from the image landscapes of the media world, whether they be turkey-serving presidents in combat gear as the protagonists of the “axis of evil”—with or without AK-47s, holidays under palm trees, documentations of Neanderthal life, or things happening otherwise elsewhere in the world.

These props that are inspired by stereotypes of reality in the media are developed from sheet metal, pasteboard, and wood in the workshop of the artist and are reimagined by visitors to the Traumfabrik through extreme gestures and impersonations. These compositions of “reality images” are thereby experienced as the scurrility of exaggeration, thanks to the omnipresent one-dimensionality of media-presented reality itself.

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The agendas of reality or even history must be adequately portrayed in the pictures according to the standards of the media—i.e., grotesquely. Just as radio announcers professionally modify their voices through raised pitch, rapid speech, and excessive melodiousness in order to keep our moods up, happiness on the screen can only be communicated though being inundated by countless face-distorting smiles, which are, in the end, painful.

Those who visit the dream factory take home photos of themselves from the artist, as well as the knowledge that reality is in fact a surreal dream, and those who make illusions of themselves there, remain naive. (wh/jn)

Works of the artist can be viewed at Werkstadt Graz.

This beautiful song annihilates, at least since the group Fuckhead has been celebrating its progressive deconstruction in a big way. Already captivated in recent years by the adrenaline kick of the mosh pit, the musicians and performers Aigner, Bruckmayr, Strohmann, Kern, Jöchtl, and Pittermann got their start originally as a noise-rock band. Along with their music and audience members, who are integrated onto the stage, Tableaux Vivants-type held-pose ending scenes have allowed Fuckhead to differentiate themselves from the authenticity-oriented hardcore punk generation at end of the eighties. Their ironic handling of political and masculinity-related themes in their “authenticity pictures” is still relevant for them today.

However, irony must be understood in order to be noticed. This was not always the case. At the beginning of their career, Fuckhead’s role as a projection surface often ended up being a bad call. The left-wingers found Fuckhead to be too right, the right-wing found them to be too gay, the underground felt they lacked political objectives, and for the art world, Fuckhead was too nonconformist to be integrated into either art theory circles or the art business.

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Fuckhead maintains a balance between music and performance. Some put more importance on their musical side, while others are particularly drawn to their visual side. In the midst of all the visual scenery, the physical body being pushed to its extremes has long been Fuckhead’s main act. With Bruckmayr being pulled from the chest by a hanging steel cable, the band had reached a limit, which left them wondering how to further position themselves. “We set ourselves up the last time to move on to something even more fantastical” commented the members of Fuckhead over the new adjustment. The public has embraced this change, along with the positive vibes and the adrenaline rush that Fuckhead embodies. This was especially the case at the Donaufestival in Krems, when the California body-art performer, Ron Athey, propelled fake pearls out of his ass, “paying tribute” to the European conquerors’ original “gift” to America. (wh/jn)

The scenes for this episode were shot at the Donaufestival Krems.

“Mankind” consists of two female artists. As in every other civilization, this one also has its prehistory. One half of Mankind is D. Kimm, a poet and musician originating from Montréal. Already before joining Mankind, Kimm was organizing literature festivals and was the leader of “Les Filles électriques”, which performed poetry in its written, spoken, and electronic forms. The other half of Mankind, Alexis O`Hara, a musician from Ottawa, was already examining the human condition through sound experimentation, Onomatopoea, and Poetry Slam performances.

Mankind performs live electronic sound samples, mixed with their own voices set to sound loops, poetic conversations, and spontaneously produced noise bytes, creating a kind of “sound cinema” rich with images, sounds and content. In their own words, Mankind describes themselves as a “supersonic cinema with a visual bonus”. The public gets a cinematic experience minus the rewind button. The improvisatorial character of their performances constantly creates something new to view and breaks through the glass fourth wall, which in conventional theatre, normally separates the art from the audience.

Mankind lives up to its name. The human condition is always the central theme in their productions. Lived and desired everyday scenarios are sketched out. What lies just under the surface of our mundane existence – whether concealed or revered – is revealed. Mankind scrutinizes “the good life”. Our prefabricated beauty and hardship gets visually exposed, improvisatorially explored, broken down, and, every now and then, destroyed. “We seek out Beauty as well as Trouble. We transcend the Palpable and the Impalpable. Our Weakness is our Strength.” Such is the artists’ manifesto. ” We are Mankind.”. (wh/jn)
The video of the episode was shot at the Donaufestival Krems.

She produces films every year. She stands before the camera. She directs—in recent years, together with Chris Haring. It was a blessing that she met Chris Haring, explains Mara Mattuschka. He is generous. He has an open system of working that integrates people and their respective points of view. Haring stages his productions in bare spaces, from which Mattuschka makes films which correspond to cinematic rules of setting and dramaturgy. She extends her perspective as a painter into her cinematic approach. Up-close views of the body, from below, from above. Views which distort perspective. With digital retouching, she designs places, architectures, and spatialities. The films resulting from their collaboration are called: “Legal Errorist”, “Part Time Heroes”, and “Running Sushi”. A fourth is to come.
She refers to her earlier cinematic work as “psychological mini-dramas”. Their contents move between the borders of tragedy and comedy. She appears in them as a performance artist. She plays Madame Ping Pong, Mimi Minus, Mahatma Gobi, and Ramses II. Their identities are somewhat loose, at play, they only become clearer in self-expression. In play, one develops a certain relaxedness towards oneself and towards problems in everyday life. This is probably what Otto Mühl was aiming at, in principle.

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Mara Mattuschka makes films, plays, sings, paints. Bulgarians, she says, have a tendency to do everything. Mara Mattuschka comes from Bulgaria. She studied painting and animation with Maria Lassnig. She boasts a wide variety of artistic styles. Her work lives to the fullest, her characters are usually naked and psychologically open-hearted. Truth has many sides. She refers to herself as a post-post modernist – she likes to play, but also somehow addresses truth.
In the twenty first century, the need to experiment and break rules is over. There is a new renaissance, a return to humanity, for whom a discussion about gender roles has actually already begun. This new renaissance could be wonderful, as she hates the word “creativity”. Her work is extremely versatile, and she is so full of energy. She takes breaks between works in café houses—a truly Viennese tradition during which she takes a breather from the (Kasachok) dance of life. (wh/jn)