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6/27/2011

Nachbetrachtung I (Bozen)


„Wir sehen jetzt in einen Spiegel, wie in einem dunklen Wort“, so schreibt Paulus am Ende seines berühmten Hoheliedes im Korintherbrief: „wir sehen jetzt in einen Spiegel, wie in ein dunkles Bild, dann aber von Angesicht zu Angesicht. Jetzt erkenne ich stückweise, dann aber werde ich erkennen, gleichwie ich erkannt bin.“
Am letzten Dienstag hatten wir die passage2011 bei uns zu Gast, jene zwei Männer, Wolfgang Aichner, und Thomas Huber, haben es geschafft, rechtzeitig im Zeitplan im Hinblick auf die Wasserung im Canale Grande zur Biennale, vom Berg zu kommen. Sie hatten mit ihren bloßen Händen seit dem 25. Mai, also etwa 4 Wochen, bei dem schlechtesten Wetter, ein 150 Kilogramm schweres Boot über den Nevesattel (3100m) gewuchtet, wir haben hier das Boot am Dienstag einmal um die Kirche getragen – mit 20 Leuten, es ist immer noch schwer gewesen.
Am Abend haben wir dann mit einer illustren Runde über dieses „transalpine Drama“ unter dem Motto: „Das Boot, der Berg und der Glaube“ diskutiert. Zwischenzeitlich ist es am Donnerstag im Canale vor der Kirche St. Angelo die Custode und angekommen und dort gesunken in einem lustigen Spektakel. Jetzt ist es im Venediger Gemeindesaal mit den Filmdokumentationen vom Berg zu sehen.
Ich möchte hier noch einmal auf die Spur der Frage mit ihnen gehen, was dies alles mit dem Glauben zu tun hat. Nicht nur, weil wir diese Frage am Dienstag erst angedacht, und keinesfalls nur im Ansatz beantwortet hat.
Glaube kann auch sein wie der Blick in einen Spiegel, sagt Paulus, Lebensbetrachtung, Selbstbetrachtung, in der wir uns nie ganz, sondern nur stückweise erkennen. Es könnte ein dunkler Spiegel gemeint sein, mit matten Stellen, so vermuten die Exegeten, wie etwa poliertes Metall. Glauben ist wie die teilweise Selbsterkenntnis in einem Spiegel, mit der Aussicht, sich und sein Dasein eines Tages ganz zu begreifen im gegenüber Gott von Angesicht zu Angesicht. Mit dem Traum, dass uns Gott liebevoll und gnädig ansieht, kann dieser forschende Glauben, wer bin ich wirklicb bei Gott, eine ganz erhebende Reise sein.
Nun gibt es einen spannenden Doppelsinn im griechischen hier, den Luther in seiner Übersetzung noch voll augeschöpft hat. Wir schauen jetzt in einen Spiegel wie in ein dunkles Wort, schreibt er. Bruchstücke des Selbst- und Fremderkennens sind geprägt von dunklen, das heißt undurchsichtigen, mutmaßlichen, geheimnissvollen Worten. Salopp gesagt: wenn es ans eingemachte geht bei einem selbst, dann beginnt man leicht zu stammeln und nach Worten zu ringen, die Worte bleiben dunkel. Nur Mut zum Stückwerk, denn das ist Glaube wesentlich: nicht nur die klare, direkte Antwort, sondern auch die suchenden, tastenden Frage!
Auch moderne Kunst, diese darstellende Performance-Kunst, hält auf ihre Weise der Welt, der Gesellschaft den Spiegel vor. Und bruchstückhaft können wir mittels des dunklen Bildes, auch der passage2011, etwas von uns und an uns erkennen.
Diese dramatisch szenische Art, die Gesellschaft mit Aktionen im Freien zu spiegeln, beherrschten übrigens schon die Propheten. Beschrieben ist das im Alten Testament in den sogenannten prophetischen Zeichenhandlungen. Gott sagt zu Ezechiel: „Ich will dich zu einem Wahrzeichen machen für Israel!“ Entsprechend können heute Künstler lebende Wahrzeichen, dunkle Spiegelbilder sein auf unser Leben. Wenngleich sie, das muss man eingestehen, selten sehr ausdrücklich eine Berufung Gottes vor sich hertragen. Aber wer weiß?! Wir tragen sicher unseren christlichen/Glaubenskosmos hinein in die Kunst, wie wir dies in vielen Teilen unseres Lebens mehr oder weniger ausdrücklich immer tun. In diesem Sinne können Künstler in uns den fragenden, suchenden Glauben verstärken, wenn wir nur den Eindruck gewinnen, dass Sinn machen könnte, was wir sehen!
Ein, zwei mögliche Glaubenssinne dieser Zeichenhandlung möchte ich ihnen, wiederum im Gespräch mit einem dunklen biblischen Wort, dem Schöpfungspsalm 8 jetzt nahe bringen.
„Wenn ich sehe deiner Hände Werk, die Gestirne, die du gemacht hast, was ist der Mensch, dass du seiner gedenkst, und des Menschen Kind, dass Du dich seiner annimmst?“ beschreibt der Psalmist die Verhältnisse von Mensch und Natur, von Mensch und göttlichem Kosmos. Betrachte ich Aichner und Huber beim Wuchten des Bootes über Geröll in der Weite des Gebirges, so drängt sich mir auch dort die Frage auf: Was is der Mensch? Was macht er? Was will er? Was treibt er blos?
Auch in Psalm 144 kommt dieser Gedanke noch einmal vor: „Was ist der Mensch, dass Du dich seiner annimmst, und des Menschen Kind, daß du ihn so achtest? Ist doch der Mensch gleichwie ein nichts. Seine Zeit fähret dahin wie ein Schatten. Herr, neige deinen Himmel und fahre herab, taste die Berge an, dass sie rauchen.“ 
 „Ist doch der Mensch gleichwie ein Nichts.“ Jene Botschaft vermeint Rheinhold Messner im Buddhismus zu finden, und inszeniert diesen nihilistischen Gedanken in seiner Ausstellung auf Sigmundskron.
Aber es gibt Alternativen, die unserem protetantischen Glauben wohl mehr entsprechen. Noch einmal der andere Psalm 8:
„Wenn ich sehe Deiner Hände Werk? Was ist der Mensch, dass Du seiner gedenkst? Und des Menschen Kind, dass Du dich seiner annimmst? Du hast ihn nur wenig niedriger gemacht als dich und mit Ehre und Herrlichkeit hast Du ihn gekrönt.“
„Mit eigenen Kräften“, wurde immer wieder im Nachgang des Gesprächs am Dienstag festgehalten, mit eigenen Kräften haben diese Männer das geschafft, bis an und über die Grenze ihrer Belastbarkeit sind sie gegangen, um das unmögliche zu tun. Bar jeder Sinnversprechen unabhängig und selbstbestimmt über sich selbst hinausgewachsen, auch durch die mentale Kraft des An- Etwas-Glaubens.
Das Projekt ist eine weitere Variante der Aufforderung Gottes: „Macht Euch die Erde untertan.“ Und sie ist zugleich ein Zerrspiegel dieser Bewegung, die wir alle tagtäglich vollführen: Hochgradig unangepasst an unsere Naturräume, über winden wir die Widerstände der Natur. Mit einem Boot über den Berg nach Venedig, warum einfach, wenn es auch schwer geht? Weil wir noch etwas anderes wollen als Menschen, über uns hinauswachsen, auf Gott hin mit Techniken der Kultur, die Risiken in sich bergen. Ja, wir können auch anders! Flugzeuge bauen, Herzen transplantieren, Schiffe übers Gebirge ziehen. Warum das alles? Zum Wohl des Menschen, aber auch für Ruhm und Ehre. Denn: „Du hast ihn nur wenig niedriger gemacht als dich und mit Herrlichkeit und Ehre hast Du ihn gekrönt. Du hast ihm zum Herrn gemacht über deiner Hände Werk. Alles hast Du unter seine Füße getan.“, heißt es in Psalm 8.
Von welcher Ehre, von welchem Ehrgeiz mache ich mich abhängig? Indem die Handlung der Künstler die absurde Anstregung abbildet, auf der Biennale Helden zu werden, in den Olymp der schönen Künste aufzusteigen, ist sie – auch in ihrer parodistischen Note - in gewisserweise Religionskritik. Kritik am Götzendienst des Kunstbetriebs, deren Verehrung Opfer bis an die Selbstaufgabe fordern.
„Ist die Aktion gottlos?“, fragte eine Teilnehmerin des Gesprächs. Gottlos, nein, würde ich sagen. Und die Frage verändern in: Welchem Gott dienen wir? Im Sinne der Bestimmung Martin Luthers: Woran Du dein Herz hängst, das ist Dein Gott!  
Ein Thema für uns alle, immer wieder in dieser Welt der haltlosen Selbstüberschätzung. Aber auch umso notwendiger zu betonen: wir dienen auch schon dem anderen Gott, dem einen, der uns mit Gaben beschenkt, die wir einander weiter geben können.
Es ist nicht nur die Gabe der Zweisamkeit, die die beiden Künstler in außergewöhnlicher Weise, ich würden sagen, wie Brüder im Herrn leben. Es ist auch die Gabe der Zuwendung, die ihnen durch Menschen auf dem Weg zugewachsen ist, sei es, in der ländlichen Bevölkerung in Tirol, wo sie gerackert haben, und dafür von den Landsleuten Respekt erfuhren, wie sie immer wieder glücklich erzählten.
Die Gabe der Zuwendung: Sei es im Nachdenken und Sprechen, sei es in der nächtliche Massage für den geschundenen Rücken, sei es in der wöchentlichen Wache über dem Werk in Venedig, sei es im Aushalten zuhause. Auch das bildet etwas entscheidendes ab von Glaube, von Liebe. Die Fähigkeit, die Lust zur Gabe schöpft aus einem Geist, der verbindet und belebt.
Für uns an der passage2011 passiv/aktiv Beteiligte ist es also auch eine, zugegeben vielleicht etwas fremde Art geistliche Übung. Mich erfüllt es mit Freunde, dass wir den Kunst-Pilgern Gastgeber sein durften. Denn all das zeigt uns eine andere Herrlichkeit des Menschen als die Selbstliebe des Narziss in der Selbstbespiegelung. Es ist ja kein Zufall, dass der Spiegel, nach Paulus, eines Tages weichen wird und das wirkliche Erkennen nur von Angesicht zu Angesicht in Aussicht steht. Wir sehen jetzt in einen Spiegel wie in ein dunkles Wort, dann aber von Angesicht. Jetzt erkenne ich stückweise, dann aber werde ich erkennen, gleichwie ich erkannt bin.
Wir sind schon dabei, Menschen dieser Welt, von Angesicht zu Angesicht zu sein, wir lernen einander zu sehen und erahnen, durch dunkle Worte hindurch auf dem Weg, an und mit ihm, an den Ursprung allen Lebens zu glauben!

MF

Photo: passage2011 in front of Christus Kirche, Bozen on June 21, Martin Richartz

6/24/2011

MAKING VICTORY OUT OF DEFEAT

Me: You’re one of the last ships to go down in the collective memory as a tragic accident.
Titanic: Humph.
Me: If you’d gone your way as planned, finished your journey and grown old, you would have ended up being scrapped just like all the rest. Who would ever mention you then?
Titanic: They would have built even bigger ships. Ones that would have sunk.

The legitimate conclusion of seafaring, the gladly reached port, the serene ocean calm – can be just as deceptive as its opposite derivative, which over the years has changed in meaning. In the ancient world and in medieval times human transgression and the unsolicited usurpation of the divine element were considered an exorbitant breach in conduct. The consequence was quite fittingly called: shipwreck. Shipwreck as an expression of failure on life’s sea journey. From dry land such a failure could well be pursued with a certain sense of gratification: There you are, you see! Took a bad ending – serves them right! Yet as the Enlightenment took hold and Christianity’s symbolism of salvation began to fade, the metaphor of the shipwreck likewise underwent change. Today we no longer have the choice of land or ship; we are definitely on a ship’s deck. Simply stuck onboard for life. The natural element of water is demythologised and freed from the sinister depths, and whether we like it or not the human race is mired in the adventure of what is to come and completely powerless against future sensations and demises. From a philosophical approach the shipwreck remains an image depicting a situation of failure. Nonetheless, and this is entirely new, it is now also the impulse for a possible new beginning; the shipwreck as a clean slate providing the metaphorical framework for pondering over humanity’s most fundamental questions. From the ruins of old ships new ones can be built. And from the perspective of someone drowning, let us take Gericault’s Raft of the Medusa, any ship arriving now could mean salvation.

AR

Image: Théodore Géricault: The Raft of the Medusa, Oil on canvas, 1818/19, Musée du Louvre

Der Untergang


June 23, 2011, 5.48pm

SUNK

The Speech

When this boat has its first contact with water today, will it triumph over art? Does humanity’s apotheosis await us for the project’s finale, as in the classic drama, or will it all end in disaster, whatever form that may take?
The tension mounts. The fact that the boat has made it this far at all borders on a small miracle. The route was indeed more difficult than anyone had anticipated. Every day for the past three weeks we all seized on the latest news from the Alps. In our sala fans gathered every day in order to hear the latest update. Once there was no contact for several days and unease began to spread among the art community.
Humans clearly seem to love extremes. When two artists set out to get a boat over the Alps with their bare hands in order to come here to Venice to see the crème de la crème of the art world, at first one does not know quite what to make of it.
Is this all about an artistic and physical challenge, a new extreme sport offering artistic quality in its stage setting and image motifs alone – a red rubber dingy upon a glacier with two unshaven, haggard men?
Or is hauling a 150-kilogram cutter over the Alps more of a caricature of art? Is this the making of art – a satirical take on getting to the Biennale with whatever means necessary?
Could this actionist transalpine drama be a political demonstration against climate change? Or does it have a prophetical dimension? The water level is constantly rising and could even reach the Alps. It may therefore be wise to make a point out of taking a boat up into the Alps right now, since we know full well that the water will make it there before long. The threat is not really that absurd. UNESCO has calculated for Venice that the water level in the Adriatic Lagoon will rise by 50 centimetres by the year 2100 and that the town therefore could well be under water 250 times a year.
There is also a biblical tradition in setting a boat down on land well away from water. Noah also built his ark where there was no water far and wide. For this he was ridiculed by everyone and even began to doubt himself – until the flood came. It is known as the deluge (‘sin flood’) and is a central story to three world religions.
Or will we refer to the art action as humanity’s hubris, of Man’s own overestimation? Are we witnesses to an artistic drama in which Nature is to submit to the means of art? Natural boundaries are crossed as we cease to accept that a boat is supposed to sail across water and not across mountain peaks. Humanity’s yes-we-can rage has encountered a striking precedent. Parallels to current news reports are evident: despots and dictators act with oppression and their populations suffer. Unprecedented disasters are caused by once celebrated technological achievements such as nuclear technology. With growing frequency we experience the collapse of Nature due to the rise in living standards going hand-in-hand with the stripping of natural resources.
The Bible is full of similar stories that deal with humanity’s conceit. They are a collective reminder, as it were, of how something similar was already being attempted millennia ago.
The most prominent myth tells of how humanity sought to reach for the skies. It is the story of the Tower of Babel. A tower is built that is to reach unto heaven. The goal: “So that we may make a name for ourselves.” (1 Moses 11.4) God takes a look at everything and confuses humanity by making everyone speak a different language. Consequently, the project cannot be continued. God does not intervene because he fears for his power: in the Bible we hear an undertone of irony in that God has to descend from heaven in order to inspect this construction, so small is it from where he sees it. Yet he intervenes in order to protect his creatures, who once again fail to grasp the human scale and do not know what is good for them.
If the boat project stands in the tradition of this human hybrid, then there is the option that today the project may fail. Maybe a confusion of language will prevent the two artists from communicating with each other. An interesting variation for the Biennale. Likewise interesting for humanity as it seeks its happiness in venturing ever “higher, bigger, further”. Having already reached its limits it now slides into ruin.
Yet failure can reveal something jubilant. “It is not until Man measures himself against resistance that he recognises himself,” said Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Experiences of failure go deeper than those of success. They make us more human, more sensitive. Luther said on this: “Sin with courage, yet believe with greater courage and rejoice in Christ, the Lord is above sin, death and Satan.” What he means comes down to: Human failure is inevitable. Face it. And more: Have faith! And defy those human standards by looking to Christ, who sets an example by living a different life.
However the actionist, transalpine drama finishes, it is an art project with cryptic, great symbolism and astonishing twists. It therefore fits well into this protestant community that for centuries differed from the customary habits of this town.
We therefore thank the artists and everyone who has made this drama possible.
BP, priest of Comunitá Evangelica Lutherana, Venezia

6/23/2011

BEAUTIFUL VIEW OVER THE SMALL BLUE



Me: And how high did you get?
Icarus: I was able to touch the sun with my hands.
Me: Damn, how annoying!
Icarus: Never mind, there are worse plunges than freefall.

After the sinking of the Titanic in 1912, the numbers of those lost in the ship disaster were overshadowed by the millions killed in the First World War. Parallel to this, the advance of civil aviation resulted in ships losing their dominance as a means of mass transportation. Today’s challenge is that of humanity venturing into space. It is no longer a question of discovering the vast expanse spread out before us but rather what is above us, which leads to the question of where from and where to, the issue of the sense and the objective and ultimately that of God. In humanity’s agenda of ever faster, ever higher, ever further no provision has been made for just pausing to reflect. A characteristic of the discord in today’s Western societies is the intent to distance ourselves from where we actually want to go: the all-embracing feeling of belonging fades into the distance.

If the activists Wolfgang Aichner and Thomas Huber had made their project more contemporary, they would have had to pull a rocket over the Alps rather than a ship. Yet the metaphor of the ship is more open and inviting; it implies that everyone has a place inside it. Their ship is made from postmodern material, from synthetics, and it has no mast, i.e. no crucifix implying Christian salvation. Their project is also meant to be read as a statement against the common practice within the art business of transporting opulent artwork to and fro around the world, which certainly appears questionable from an ecological point of view. Maybe a ship is what is needed – one that is stranded in order to demonstrate the situation humanity now finds itself in globally. Means are becoming ever more scarce and somehow it is all leading nowhere; the intimidator has become the intimidated. Yet the tide is in the process of turning… Making this ship of ours push on ahead despite all odds: therein lies the assignment and crux of future generations. Since the artists are moving at and around the boat but not in the boat, their mountain trek aboard a ship does seem somewhat bound by fate. It would appear that, for an artificially created moment, humanity’s plight lies in their hands.

AR

Image: Ai Weiwei: The Wave’, 2005, porselein / porcelain, Private Collection, courtesy Galerie Urs Meile, Beijing-Lucerne

Venice - finally


The boat has reached the lagoon. Even though it is now closer to its natural surrounding it looks like a vulnerable foreign matter next to the beautiful Palazzi and the maritime hustle and bustle.
After three weeks in the mountains the red lady has reached its destination, and is waiting for its asignation... today at 17.00.

Photo: Stefan Huber

6/19/2011


Sisyphus has no need to be worried about his way down. But when trying to bring a boat down a mountain in one piece, maximum caution is advised. Almost the greatest possible disaster happened, where it is not only about the existence of the boat, but one's own health was at stake. The shock is deep-seated, but absolutely target-oriented the project is approaching its next destination. The near end of the drag on the mountain in mind, the daily ritual becomes even more a torment... at least for two more days, if all goes well. And then the breakthrough to the promised Venice....

CS

6/15/2011

THE CHALLENGES OF THE UNFATHOMABLE



Me: I have reason to believe that infinity and the roaring of the seas belong together.
The Sea: So what?
Me: But it’s just great!
The Sea: Then just listen to how I go roaring through you!

71% of the Earth is covered by water, the life-giving element that cleanses, quenches thirst, and yet also has another, more ugly face: one that is engulfing, destructive and cold. The unfathomable deepness of the ocean is a dark force. The sea forms a natural boundary around the human habitat. In the ancient world humanity declared the sea a sphere attributed to the gods in an attempt to grasp the unpredictability of the sea and the dangers it concealed. It is also expressed by a haiku: The sea a mirror. / Once again double presence / For them up there!

AR

Image: Hiroshi Sugimoto, North Atlantic Ocean, Cliffs of Mother I, 1989

6/14/2011

Climax

The mountain has been conquered! 3029m on Schlegeis glacier. In weeks-long ordeal by wind and weather, spared from avalanches and rockfall, Huber and Aichner have now reached the highest point of their expedition. Finally, it went through knee-deep snow gelatinous. The sight of the boat at the top puts us into euphoria, but the decline is still ahead. The boat must be let down over 80 m, before it will be pulled down over rocks and boulders. Will we be able to keep our schedule? Will the boat reach the ground in one piece so it can continue its journey towards the horizon? Follow the expedition on our map-based diary !

21.6., 2p.m. press conference Taufers Castle (Castello di Tures)
22.6., 10a.m. farewell at Museion, Bolzano
23.6., 5p.m. ship-launching ceremony, Chiesa Lutherana, Scuola St. Angelo Custode, Venice

CS

6/10/2011

DEFIANCE


Me: A huge wave!
The ship: Hold on tight!
Me: I feel sick.
The ship: Watch you don’t throw up on my deck.

It is part of human nature to defy the natural phenomena that are attributed to the divine sphere. Gilgamesh tried to reach eternal life via the Waters of Death. Thus began the navigation vitae, the metaphorical water-life-ship connection, which Hans Blumenberg called the nautical life metaphor. Are Ulysses’ odysseys anything more than the titillating of the gods’ palates, an adventurous violation of boundaries, a metaphor’s battle for the collective consciousness? Which mariner was the first to discover himself in the planks of the swaying deck on which he stood, the first to see the image of his own existence: of his perpetual peril, of his unremitting boldness?

AR

Image: Ian Hamilton Finlay (paper work)

6/07/2011

On 2.400 m


They are on 2.400 m. The backs hurt, and the fingers are covered with blisters. The weather changes rapidly, only the nights are constantly cold. As every day they report to their diary, as every day they will try to upload it with some images on the servers in order to feed the exhibitions in Munich and Venice with updates. The developement can be followed even more closely online, where every single metre they dragged the boat was tracked.

The red object on the glacier, this thing which does not belong there - that was the starting idea for this project. Now, as they are reaching the Schlegeis Glacier, the image has turned towards a physical torture for the two artists. They cannot care much about the reviews in the media or the response of the visitors of the exhibitions. For us it still might have a metaphorical meaning, for them it is simply a matter of physical and mental survival. And it is still a way to go.

CS

Image: Thomas Huber/Wolfgang Aichner: passage2011, Photo: Matthias Fuchs

6/04/2011

THE REALM OF THE DEAD CAN WAIT


Me: So where are the pillows?
Charon: You don’t get that here.
Me: Blankets?
Charon: You don’t get that here. Wouldn’t you say so, Noah? (laughs)
Noah: You don’t get that here.

In the biblical story of Noah the ark takes on the meaning of a ship of life: rescuing human and animal life from the dangers of Nature’s peril; the sea appears as the expression of sinister wrath. The lesson to be learned: devoutness on the inside and mercy from above are all that are needed to defy annihilation. The course of the ship’s journey is closely related to the course of human life, including the happy ending: the promise of salvation. Under the protection of Christ as the helmsman, the believer will reach his or her destination safe and sound: the Port of God, Elysian eternity. It is no coincidence that the ship’s mast resembles the Christian symbol of the crucifix.

In stark contrast to the Ship of Life, images from Egyptian and Greek mythology depict the Ship of Death and the journey across the River of Death. The ship serves as a means of transport for the soul on its way into the afterlife. As peaceful as all this may sound, Michelangelo’s representation of Charon on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel shows a pretty rough scene: Charon is casting the damned down to hell.

Image: Michelangelo (Buonarroti), The Last Judgement -- Boat of Charon from Sistine Chapel (section)

 

6/02/2011


Day 4, on 2.000 m absolute altitude. Remoteness, silence. A routine starts - they are in time. Weather conditions are still OK but that will change by tomorrow.
Day 4, on almost below 0 m. Crowds of people in Venice are queuing here and there. Its hot and humid. The show  must go on - Christoph S might look down to the scenes with a bitter smile. Am I the only one who has a lump in the throat?

CS

Image: German Pavilion, 2011

NO WAY OUT OF THE END OF THE CIRCLE



Me: Reinforced concrete.
Nature: It gets brittle and the metal will rust. Everything that exerts pressure will at some point collapse and slowly but surely we’ll overgrow it.
Me: What about the energy of good ideas?
Nature: Who needs that?

Do eccentrics change the world? The idea of using an old steamboat for the rubber trade is a good one. This is a way of earning the money needed to build an opera house in the middle of the Amazon jungle, which is where Caruso will sing. It’s just a shame that the river that is suitable for the ship is behind a wooded ridge. Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald, who was called Fitzcarraldo by the Spanish-speaking natives, came up with the clever idea of merely pulling the ship up and over the mountain. Helped by a formidable effort on the part of the natives they actually managed to pull off this stroke of genius. But then a strange feeling overcame the natives; in order to calm the river spirits they sabotaged the project and the ship that was sacred to them was allowed to drift away in the rapids.
This is where the end of the seafaring metaphor becomes visible: its end joins back up with the beginning. The meta-metaphor of the Fitzcarraldo myth comprises it all: gods or no gods, no matter what lengths the secularised individual goes to in order to make the impossible possible, there is no escaping the spirit of nature, that harmoniously comprised finiteness of all that flourishes and all that is aspired to. Funnily enough, the filmmaker Werner Herzog saw his own film as a big metaphor. He just did not know what for.

In addition, the Fitzcarraldo story evokes a successful art strategy: the idea of having to create something spectacular so that something even more spectacular can be made. What came first: the inflated prices that enabled artists to have the most expensive artwork in the world made? Or the most expensive artwork in the world that led to the prices of the artist’s other works to become inflated? A diamond-studded skull cannot talk. Questions to Damien Hirst.

AR

Image: Damien Hirst, For the Love of God, Scull with diamonds, 2007