Weißer Regen ( White Rain),2024
During a 2023 visit to Potsdam’s Russian Colony, Alexandrowka, I experienced an unexpected sense of familiarity. The wooden houses, fruit orchards and scent of Russian cooking brought back memories of childhood and of the Russian literature I read when I was young. Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Chekhov and the Kyrgyz writer Chingiz Aitmatov were part of my education and shaped my understanding of the world.
At the same time, these memories brought back the ideological context in which the literature had been presented to us. Soviet culture was closely connected to the political education of the GDR. We were taught to regard the Soviet Union as a “class brother” while the West was presented as an enemy.
I returned to the books from my childhood and began covering their pages with white paint. Rather than destroying the books, I wanted to alter their accessibility. The text remains underneath the paint, but can no longer be read. The physical object survives while its original function is interrupted.
This process became the basis for Weißer Regen (White Rain), a title taken from Aitmatov. The white surface suggests both covering and cleansing, but also introduces a simple physical tension between what is present and what can be seen.
The painted and rolled pages are illuminated by projected GDR civil defence slides from my archive. These slides were used for teaching about gamma radiation and the effects of chemical warfare. Their projected images fall across the altered books, bringing two different forms of preserved material into contact.
The work brings together books, slides, paint, light and projection. Each element retains something of its original identity while being placed in a new material relationship. The books are covered but remain intact. The slides are no longer used for instruction but become light and image. What was once readable becomes a surface.
Weißer Regen continues my interest in the tension between preservation and transformation. I am interested in how an object can be changed, partially concealed or made inaccessible while still remaining there.
12 prints, 80 × 60 cm
At the same time, these memories brought back the ideological context in which the literature had been presented to us. Soviet culture was closely connected to the political education of the GDR. We were taught to regard the Soviet Union as a “class brother” while the West was presented as an enemy.
I returned to the books from my childhood and began covering their pages with white paint. Rather than destroying the books, I wanted to alter their accessibility. The text remains underneath the paint, but can no longer be read. The physical object survives while its original function is interrupted.
This process became the basis for Weißer Regen (White Rain), a title taken from Aitmatov. The white surface suggests both covering and cleansing, but also introduces a simple physical tension between what is present and what can be seen.
The painted and rolled pages are illuminated by projected GDR civil defence slides from my archive. These slides were used for teaching about gamma radiation and the effects of chemical warfare. Their projected images fall across the altered books, bringing two different forms of preserved material into contact.
The work brings together books, slides, paint, light and projection. Each element retains something of its original identity while being placed in a new material relationship. The books are covered but remain intact. The slides are no longer used for instruction but become light and image. What was once readable becomes a surface.
Weißer Regen continues my interest in the tension between preservation and transformation. I am interested in how an object can be changed, partially concealed or made inaccessible while still remaining there.
12 prints, 80 × 60 cm
