"Pfeiler" is an exhibition space in the Brückenpassage / MQ.
Every three months, a work by graduates of the Sculpture and Space Department is on display here.
Exhibition Opening as part of MQ Sommerfest
Thursday, May 25, 2023 at 5 pm
Performance Philipp Steinkellner "The Long Roll", 6 pm
May 26 to October 20, 2023
A Root, a Limb, a Cord
Photos 2-5: Jumpei Shimada
The trees here are full of lichen. I wonder how they feel.
My grandmother tells me that trees with lichen are old or sick. In the forest, she often shared her knowledge of the plants with me that we could see on hikes and walks.
But I hardly remember it anymore.
On a walk together we hugged trees. Some felt warm, others cold. Many of these trees also had lichens. I didn’t like it at all when they crumbled off from the hug and got stuck on my clothes. It felt uncomfortable on my skin as the lichen stuck to my sweaty hands and spread across my face when I touched it afterwards.
Many tree swings have lined our path. The ropes had grown into some trees.
Such a tree still stands at the edge of the forest, very close to my grandmother’s apartment. The rope has now almost completely disappeared into the branch.
I wonder how he’s feeling.
Text and photo: Chiara Bals
Chiara Bals (*1996 in Dornbirn) lives and works in Vienna.
March 15 to May 21, 2023
DIANA BARBOSA GIL
„The body memory kicks in.“
Photos 2-8: Vik Bayer
Hung, stretched, suspended. How far can a muscle be pulled before it cramps or snaps? Migratory, settled, halfway. The compass works across continents. Shaped, adorned, fractured. What purpose do they serve and what do they eventually shatter against? Diana Barbosa Gil's works are an inventory of relics, activated by the stress and anxiety they dilute, destined for reactive absorption. They are the ones who take over the brain and heart when they fail under the weight of a traumatic recall. And with each passing experience, surrendering to their sway becomes easier. Just as the vagus nerve, named for its characteristic wandering in the landscapes of the body, autonomously and subconsciously controls many organ processes, and its malfunction quickly deteriorates entire bodily processes, there is a reason to believe that personal histories can be stored in all cellular cells. So I let these pieces of body memory kick in – a needle to pierce the ocean in armoured halls cloaked in reseda green.
Text by Eva Slabá
Diana Barbosa Gil (*1990 in Cali, Colombia) is an artist who makes objects, installations and performance.
She lives and works between Vienna and Lisbon.
Wednesday December 7 2022–Friday March 3, 2023
SOPHIE MARIE CSENAR
„ich finde du bist manchmal immer anders gleich“
And there were these camels standing around at Matzleinsdorfer Platz Margaretengürtel 53 where 15 lanes
of merciless traffic inexhaustibly race over asphalt. Next to British Petrol and McDonald’s they stood in between construction waste on hard gravel all day. Amongst pony, horse, donkey, goat and chicken. Weird company somehow. They have been long gone but I often think of them and if they were happy. If the circus life pleases them or if they suffer.
Text: Sophie Marie Csenar
Sophie Marie Csenar (*1995 Vienna) lives and works in Vienna.
Wednesday October 5 –Friday December 2, 2022
„sticks and stones“
On a Monday, I am waiting (...)
Tuesday, I am fading
And by Wednesday, I can't sleep
Then the phone rings, I hear you
And the darkness is a clear view
'Cause you've come to rescue me
Fall, with you I fall so fast
I can hardly catch my breath
I hope it lasts
Oh, it seems like I can finally
Rest my head on something real (?)
Text: Ashlee Simpson, „Pieces of me“
Selma Klima (*1994 in Korneuburg) lives and works in Vienna.
Wednesday, 29 June–Friday, 30 September 2022
Carolina Laura Rotter
Photos 2-6: Jennifer Gelardo
B paused, glancing at one of the tables, then continued. “So eventually he had to move because the store below had installed a sign in front of his window, that was flooding his bedroom with neon light and buzzing noise. The guy had even tried to remove the thing himself!”
Apparently, he had not succeeded. She started repositioning her chair to follow the fading sunlight, then nodded towards a group of staff gathering a few meters from where the restaurant ended.
“A cigarette takes about, let's say, five minutes?” B asked.
I nodded. “More or less.”
“That’s too short to be called a break.”
“You could smoke two, I guess.”
B laughed. “If you use the first to light the next they count as one.”
Gazing off, I imagined the tiny glow as its lifetime would stretch to ten minutes or more.
“A coffee could be ten minutes as well.”
She then spoke about how the kind and size of a beverage directly translated to the time spent somewhere.
Till late that night I kept on ruminating about long shifts with hasty glasses of water at the sink between runs before falling into feverish dreams of the three numbers divided by a slash and their neon shine, illuminating scenes of B and me sharing endless cigarette breaks, keeping tiny glows alive.
Text: Carolina Laura Rotter
Carolina Laura Rotter (*1992 in Munich) lives and works in Vienna.
Wednesday, 9 March–Friday, 24 June 2022
Photos 2-6: Florian Smetana
While intoxicatedly stomping stocking ladders raise smitten last round hands over smudged glass rims to applause, the Coco heart crashes into the stomach along a drunken apricot.
Coco: What time is it?
Lisa: No idea. I have zero battery.
Waitress: Midnight. Drink up and get lost, my sweethearts! We're not getting any younger.
And now, as the last round hands rummage through transitional jackets for affiliation and voices screech for glittery bags and keys, wine drips from Coco's eyes onto the dusty empty playing floor.
Dancing, sinking drops of wax eat through melting icing into decorative fabric, that explodes the fleeing gas in rubber balloons and trickles into the lonely room as blazing confetti onto plates, tables and chairs.
Lulu: Hey, Tina! Happy belated birthday. I totally messed up. We'll celebrate it later!
Text: Anna Hostek
Wednesday 15 December 2021–Friday 4 March, 2022
Samuel Linus Gromann
between two hands
a coiled nerve
clasped to encase
and not to crush
a nacreous, enviable thing
neither breathing nor dying
it shrinks beneath a salted dust
pulling itself closer
and especially when
all eyes are away
it regurgitates absence
each time more precious
though the disguise stays the same
and so still
beneath a calcified veil
a secret is a social thing
because it exists between two
Text: Camille Clair
Samuel Linus Gromann (*1994 in Vienna) lives and works in Frankfurt am Main.
Wednesday, 6 October–Friday, 10 December 2021
„in this scenery"
Photos 2-4: Kathrin Hanga
The writer Bodil Malmsten once said that she hates music because it is the one form of artistic expression that doesn’t take the detour through the intellect, but rather manipulatively, goes straight to the heart. The same could be said about decoration.
The vases, the tablecloths, the figurines, the candleholders, the flowerpots, the knickknacks, the lamps, the blankets, the carpets, the pillows, the wallpapers. To decorate is to allow the subconsciousness of taste to surface. It is to lose oneself in the facilitation of visual and spatial pleasure and comfort. It is to acknowledge all the objects and images that we, on a purely practical level do not need, but depend on spiritually.
If we look at an artwork as an externalised thought process, decoration could be seen as an externalised emotional or intuitive process. It’s all desire, pleasure and impulse. As I write this I realise the same could be said for art. Maybe the real difference is that with decoration we don’t feel the need to ask any clever, well-formulated questions, casually referring to the theorist du jour. We don’t expect there to be a text providing us with a context and a point of entry. We don’t feel the need to understand, we just enjoy it to the deepest and fullest meaning of the word.
Text: Albin Bergström
Julia Steinbach (*1989, Avesta, Sweden) graduated from Sculpture and Space at the University of Applied Arts Vienna in January this year. She has been living and working in Vienna since 2017.
Wednesday, 29 June–Friday, 24 September 2021
Simultaneously Christoph Giesch opens the exhibition lookout (Doppelpfeiler) at Favoritenstrasse 13, 1040 Vienna.
With our human senses, she added, we can only perceive the side of things that face us. We move in, furnish our rooms, add the base and fashion the auxiliaries to our taste for the things of life. Even if we usually see one side of our being, that is the side directed towards us, we actually exist in the dual force of life’s flow.
We linger at the edge. And the walls of this room begin to open up.
Und vergiss nicht,
diese, der Wände, noch andere Seite:
selbst sie, die unverrückbar dir scheinen,
sind voller Wandlung.1
In its origin the concept of “wall” refers to walls made of wicker, a woven net of young branches that bend into each other like braided goods. This also points to the correspondence in the verbs to wind and wend.
1 The Poem of the Dead, by Jean Gebser (1945)
Wednesday, 5 May–Friday, 25 June 2021
Photos 2-4: Jennifer Gelardo
Droplets of warm sweat run down my glowing forehead.
After 3 hours of heavy lifting I glance over to the vertical cardboard formations now inhabiting my otherwise empty hallway. Quite a challenge for my lower ribs.
The boxes function as shells.
Hollow units that contain, conceal and unify.
Cardboard, sellotape, packing peanuts, foam.
Keep the pearl safe.
Non-materials of the in-between.
Fridge, urn, airplane, museum.
Ensure safety and integrity of the product.
A to B.
All of a sudden - I’m spinning. Light headed & dry mouthed…
I settle down on one of the cardboard towers. I’m the oversized gargoyle to this Gothic church, waiting for water to hydrate my throat.
Text: Samuel Linus Gromann
Wednesday, 27 January–Friday, 9 April 2021
constants contradict contrary constellations
I keep repeating until my mouth is sandy
constants contradict contrary constellations
some people dive deep to retrieve pearls
they endanger themselves
they could be collecting shells from the beach instead
through small crashes of shells — sand forms
dervishes are turning in caves
there is an urge to repeat and to rest
a gaze to the far, as if everything far is good
so they dive
fast - forward - further
it seems unnatural
looking for scissors to cut unsteady thoughts
one turns to artificial nights
briefly pain will figure our movement
J.Haller says in his „Theories of Friction“
„when two bodies are rubbed together,
some form of interaction takes place
at the contacting surfaces
resulting in a resistance to relative motion.
most friction theories
assume that the resistive force
per unit area
of contact is a
it all becomes movement
repetition becomes ground
for the next pearl retrieval
there is an obligation
to cope with dissonance
pillars of inevitable contrasts
are resting their head on sharp coral reefs
time is a component
repetition is key
I am variable
my mouth still sandy
constants contradict contrary constellations
Text: Dafne Aruyta Ilhan
Wednesday, 7 October 2020–Friday, 22 January 2021
Rafaella Pilar Isnit
„…selbst bei so viel wurscht"
Wurscht. It is a mentality. A Viennese cliché. The sausage has two ends. Two options.
It protects and determines the form in which the sausage matures. Nothing is absolute, not even freedom. Every day, everyone leaves their mark. In a private space, it is different. You are alone. Everything is adapted. Everything speaks of intimacy and stability.
Suddenly, a crisis arises. Loss becomes relevant. Present uncertainty comes to light. No more planning tools. Solidary distance commended, staying safe in a shielded room.
Just a disconnected perception of time. I become the space and the tightness becomes noticeable. Cuts. Collected experiences increase the intensity. My needs become clear. I still have the sausage in the fridge.
After the shock, I am looking for movement. Now probably, everyone is their own space. There is no use of time. Without time, is everything still? What reality? My materiality? I am tired of absorbing. Wurscht.
The sausage has two ends. Eventually two options, even if you don’t care that much.
Text: Rafaella Pilar Isnit
Wednesday 7 January–Wednesday 30 September 2020
Lower volume in higher frequencies, deep layered brown noise. Like a whole ocean, rumbling between 5 and 9 Hz. A frequency, lower than the limit of human hearing.
A “rough” present to the sleep deprived person. Relaxing and calming deep sleep aid. The downside: Earbuds prevent me from being a side sleeper. Gotta stay on my back at all times.
(Ab morgen keine toxische Feinstaub Belastung sondern autofreie Innenstadt; ein möglicher Wunsch. Das Gegenteil: Ein vermeintliches Geschenk für die Allgemeinheit. “Liebe Mieterinnen und Mieter, bitte Entschuldigen sie die nächtliche Störung in den kommenden Wochen [...]” - Herr Oberbürgermeister. Persönliche Unterschrift. Acht Spuren sind die Zukunft vor dem Fenster.)
Typically, I prefer smoothed brown noise. It is not as rough. Mixes on streaming plattforms are between 6 and 12 hours long. Cancelling most noise, making sense of my existence.
Text: Daniel Stubenvoll
Wednesday 12 June–Sunday 13 October 2019
It is flat and called schiefer
It has a name and… gesture gesture… with my hand from the sidewalk
I can´t stop hating myself for the dried flowers on my wall
I made you this kit for overcoming the past
The orderly Altbauwohnung and circumstances
In sci-fi movies I fall for all the vases that have been left over in this world
My eyes burn
This is an urgent wish to make a book of all the poems about toxic nostalgia, that hurt the make-great-agains.
Text: Julia Znoj
For „Pfeiler“ the Vienna/Frankfurt based artist Eugen Wist (*1989, Sheregesh, Russia) developed a site specific situation. The window glass is blurred by a greenish substance and leaves just a peephole for the viewer to see a wall object, – a book with a screen print, a postcard with an image of one of Van Goghs flower paintings and a found stone. All of the materials are bound together by a rope holding in place the layered composition.
Thursday 29 November 2018–Sunday 2 June 2019
Timokleia was a citizen of Thebes, who in the Macedonian occupation around 335 BC. Chr. was raped by a soldier. Following this act of violence, she led the offender to a well, pushed him in and threw heavy stones at him until he died.
We face a figure who exposes herself and confronts us with the physical scope of a violent act. At the same time, we are facing an image that seeks the complexity of sculpture and the conditions of space in the balancing act with gravity. Acting in a limited space, the sculpture develops at times an almost relief-like character.
Many of the artist's sculptural arrangements are created by pouring, deforming and assembling individual body parts in garments. By polishing the surfaces, the fine interiors of the material are carried outwards. The resulting figures provoke different relationships between the individual and social perceptions of bodies.
To what extent does violence lead to a deformation of one's own and what does Timokleia’s act of self-justice means today?
Text: Diana Barbosa Gil
Cement, marble split, pigment, stone plaster, steel, LED, triple laminated safety glass