November 2022
‘STEADICAM’, Micha Eden Erdész
EXT DAY Hastily tiled edge of the river.
PAN UP POV STEADYCAM ESTABLISHING SHOT Suburban River panorama.
JESH IS OFF SCREEN
JESH
Tripping over a tile would be bad thing here.
TIGHT ON
Tip of burn off tower in the distance across the river.
JAGAR
This used to be the glow of your face. When we lived in the apartment. The one you hated so much. I really don’t know why you didn’t get those photographs out when I asked you. It was so much like this.
MOS
INTO VIEW
Concrete bunker with dimly lit entrance.
Camera swings repeatedly between sight of tower refrain and entrance as if synonymous.
JUMP CUT TO
EXT CONTINUOUS Apartment view.
JAGAR faces the window in his briefs and multiple towers cast a warm light across hazy roofs.
JAGAR
Doesn’t it remind of you of the boat? A wall of burn off instead of the coast. Would you have preferred to stay there?
Jagar slides his bare foot against a splintered floor, discoloured by use and maybe rain. He picks at the inside of his right wrist. His jaw seems slackened.
INDISTINCT CHANTING
STEADICAM
CLOSE ON Jagar’s face.
TRACKING SHOT Along the inside of Jagar’s shirt.
VOICE OVER FEMALE VOICE
Don’t sever yourself from the experience of your father’s work. It was his friend; it is yours now, well in your mind. In pictures the gap behind the garden behind the backdrop before where you were headed. Where you recognise.
REVERSE ANGLE From middle of river looking up to the building on the other side. The terrace is empty.
JESH is holding on tightly to a railing at the edge of the pedestrian tunnel. He is swinging his mobile in his other hand as if wanting to inadvertently drop it. He pulls it to his chin.
JESH
I would have never guessed you wondered about that.
October 2022
‘Again Joan’, Micha Eden Erdész
(Again Joan resorts to Loiseleur. He gives the same sign as before, and Joan says yes. Massieu's eyes are as if riveted to Joan's lips, and now when she answers yes he forgets where he is, forgets that Cauchon is just beside him, and almost without thinking says to Joan: Do you realize that this is an extremely important answer? Cauchon pounces on Massieu and bursts out: You had better hold your tongue!) -
TIGHT ON
An important answer
All lips and gestures
Heads turning to the side
STOCK SHOT – MAN MOWING LAWN
SUPER Zoom to violence nodding neck
VO – JOAN
The grape juice is Concord from the States.
And turned away from the fanatic gaze
PUSH IN / MONTAGE
Lips turned downwards the words escape like a philtrum snake
Are you? Are you? Could those glossy eyes speedy with amazement, crazed with delight and
awesome pity cast Chinese whispers among the delegates?
SMASH CUT TO
GOLF DRIVING RANGE
The comical retort – pantomime authority and more chainlike ball hopping turns
IRIS OUT
When does civility turn accusatory in the face of those awesome lips? Who cares what they say?
Spittle on the face unbridles the distance from which they judge
Human excuse looking down in deference to the beauty switching hands
INTERCUT A chiselled chin against a distance-less background flipping fanlike through a fantasy
doorway
Welted doors Welted doors
If it wasn’t for that staff wood-fed by salty perspiration and indignant holding on
INTERCUT She might answer no
POV PAN Squeegee face can’t avoid thinking those eyes are like pole axe extensions lifting, raising, beckoning, grazing and the men just run about like little farty dragon children
PULL BACK
Cloth mingling, sackcloth on wool, seamless upon seem, pulled down lip of parchment stretching, stretching the law, words straining, bleeding
DOLLY
Give me my fucking crown. So, I can better make beautiful gothic serifs of my own, the twine, backhanded arthritic finger
And a ring becomes a focal plane
Tears crawl, bulbous jelly, sin food, get me through the peep shaft, looking through with better judgment as Cyrillic master
I want to smooth those caps or ruffle them up. How long will it take for the angles of my neck to persuade them of my ecstatic truth.
ZOOM
For I know, I know
I am just an analogue warmth of a human in service to your gaze
If only I could make sound
April 2021
‘Dialogues with the Seen’, Andreas Kühne
Thoughts on the exhibition, ‘On Joy and Disappointment’ by Angela Stauber and Micha Eden Erdész at the Kunstverein Ottobrunn, 2021 [abridged]
Saxa loquuntur – the stones speak – is a Latin phrase, the origin of which lies in the dark recesses of history. It can also be found in the Lucas Gospel (19,40), but there – in the German translation by Martin Luther – the stones ‘scream’. In the recent works of Angela Stauber and Micha Eden Erdész it is not so much the stones that ‘speak’ because of their materiality, rather it is the structures or buildings formed from them – and other materials – that are seen individually and shaped and interpreted through other artistic means. In fact, Aedificia loquuntur could be a motto for their exhibition in Ottobrunn. Both artists project their visual impressions onto the surface via their own methods and intentions, and invite us, the viewers, to participate in the process of transformation and be inspired by their interpretations. ‘Buildings’ always reflect social and therefore cultural conditions. This is the case with even the oldest surviving testaments and fragments. However, the visual experiences selected and distilled by both artists do not relate to historical buildings or urban landscapes. Their aim is not to document and preserve through their works, but rather to question and reflect on their perception of the architecture both natural and built. For both artists, ‘the strange in the everyday’ is the subject of their painted, drawn, photographed and staged works. Or, as Duane Hanson once put it, ‘just that fixed moment.’ Their objects, buildings and urban landscapes apparently do not seem to participate in a symbolic dimension, albeit a very a mediated one.On closer inspection, the question arises as to why their works speak to us and what they tell us, and indeed whether they tell us anything at all. Born in Toronto in 1975, Micha Eden Erdész, an Intermedia artist who studied architecture and philosophy, edifies his artistic strategy with the help of the large photographic tableau, ‘The Happy Games’, that recreates, using his own materials and methods, the ‘Olympic tent roof’ of the stadium in Munich that was designed and created by Günter Behnisch and Frei Otto (1972). During a visit to the Bavarian state capital, he photographed and filmed this incunable of modern architecture and later adapted it and made it alien. Projected onto a Lycra fabric background, individual acrylic glass elements of the roof structure shine in the dazzling sunlight, raindrops fall onto the roof, the pylons cast shadows and the vertical lines of Olympic rings – added in later – structure the tableau. Despite its size, the picture does not appear monumental, but understated, almost intimate – as a representation of a perceived, captured and reflected moment that cannot be repeated. Erdész, an artist of Canadian origin, also links the 1972 Summer Olympics with a tragic event: the attack on Israeli athletes. Members of the Canadian water polo team – naive and unaware of what they were getting into – had helped the terrorists to scale the fence that enclosed the Olympic village. Some of the Canadian athletes, completely shocked and taken aback by the acts of terrorism that followed, felt they had been complicit and left the games. Erdész’s tableau is infused with this story, so to speak, but he does not bring it to the surface. The artist said he did not want to create a ‘memorial’ but attempted to deal with the quandary by aesthetic means. On Joy and Disappointment is the name of the exhibition in Ottobrunn. And, of course, the title also refers to the current situation during the Coronavirus pandemic. But it also points beyond the pandemic: to joy and disappointment as emotions which are necessary to an artistic creativity that constantly strives for substance. In the pandemic, both artists felt their studios offered an the possibility of stillness amid a world afflicted by chaos and anguish. This experience will remain, even when the artists’ lives and experiences have apparently resumed their habitual paths.
Through their impressive forms, their frugal gestures, their presence, their brittleness, their contemplativeness and their inherent beauty, the works of Angela Stauber and Micha Eden Erdész extend and enrich our existence.of their materiality, rather it is the structures or buildings formed from them – and other materials – that are seen individually and shaped and interpreted through other artistic means. In fact, Aedificia loquuntur could be a motto for their exhibition in Ottobrunn. Both artists project their visual impressions onto the surface via their own methods and intentions, and invite us, the viewers, to participate in the process of transformation and be inspired by their interpretations. ‘Buildings’ always reflect social and therefore cultural conditions. This is the case with even the oldest surviving testaments and fragments. However, the visual experiences selected and distilled by both artists do not relate to historical buildings or urban landscapes. Their aim is not to document and preserve through their works, but rather to question and reflect on their perception of the architecture both natural and built. For both artists, ‘the strange in the everyday’ is the subject of their painted, drawn, photographed and staged works. Or, as Duane Hanson once put it, ‘just that fixed moment.’ Their objects, buildings and urban landscapes apparently do not seem to participate in a symbolic dimension, albeit a very a mediated one. On closer inspection, the question arises as to why their works speak to us and what they tell us, and indeed whether they tell us anything at all. Born in Toronto in 1975, Micha Eden Erdész, an Intermedia artist who studied architecture and philosophy, edifies his artistic strategy with the help of the large photographic tableau, ‘The Happy Games’, that recreates, using his own materials and methods, the ‘Olympic tent roof’ of the stadium in Munich that was designed and created by Günter Behnisch and Frei Otto (1972). During a visit to the Bavarian state capital, he photographed and filmed this incunable of modern architecture and later adapted it and made it alien. Projected onto a Lycra fabric background, individual acrylic glass elements of the roof structure shine in the dazzling sunlight, raindrops fall onto the roof, the pylons cast shadows and the vertical lines of Olympic rings – added in later – structure the tableau. Despite its size, the picture does not appear monumental, but understated, almost intimate – as a representation of a perceived, captured and reflected moment that cannot be repeated. Erdész, an artist of Canadian origin, also links the 1972 Summer Olympics with a tragic event: the attack by Palestinian terrorists on Israeli athletes. Members of the Canadian water polo team – naive and unaware of what they were getting into – had helped the terrorists to scale the fence that enclosed the Olympic village. Some of the Canadian athletes, completely shocked and taken aback by the acts of terrorism that followed, felt they had been complicit and left the games. Erdész’s tableau is infused with this story, so to speak, but he does not bring it to the surface. The artist said he did not want to create a ‘memorial’ but attempted to deal with the quandary by aesthetic means.
September 2015
‘They’ll never control Water on the Heath’,
Anna Behrmann
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May 2013
‘At least you will feel neutralised by Magic Mirrors!’, Dolphin Totem Bearer
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May 2009
‘The Otter People’, Micha Eden Erdész
A view over the river,
could stand opposite a pillar,
faced,
crushed against it, wet,
and nil by mouth.
One sublime with the other
divided by the only real,
One day the water will swallow it up.
The Saint Paul Cathedral will die.
The peak of his dome
points a path for the dolphins,
A slope back to the origin of the
man.
The water is the domain of the Otter people.
One must always take away the thing and
Dipping into the River next to us.
Sounds create pressure in the room.
A small difference in the radiator
the balance changes to the right or left.
The fan sounds like a storm from home.
Perhaps the reason he shakes an a
remembrance of those young flights.
That image is like gravity for me.
The promise of life is not there yet.
And yet, if it got a name,
the fan in the bathroom would just be there
to blow.
Despite the strict continuum of stairs
into the water, Straight into baptism. into the water, right in baptism.
Refer the curiosity of it
to sleep
with a woman in bed with a girlfriend
and her friend and her friend with lacquered
nails,
toes like sugar
Caught in a constant fire of.
Being clean and cold.
Imagine,
There is a centre of decline
in the depth of the water.
Wrinkling like the most unknown
expression
from someone I've ever known.
It rings above it like candy,
and clearer whiter layer of glaze on the
porpoise
held above the expression of the
city.
Lips, there were also lips.
The river preached the displaced of the
humanity,
So when the tides rise forever,
There is blue glaze on top,
His upper edge, a sturdy hair bunch
with white capitals around.
Or could there be a nice light,
the weak lights behind half opened
doors,
with the colours of that Rainbow Valley
(drawn with) paint given by the English
queen.
That just stands there?
Or slightly on the water,
they were smoothed out, wiped away,
sprayed away to the mighty grip
from knowing that the pieces have an image
to be.
A cutting board to the known present
divide
It did not exist in the now.
Dive into the water, doing tough.
Further away, like that conversation, Further away, like that conversation
Yes. one not suitable for swimming.
Yes.
No. An excuse for not feeling yourself afloat
In a mass of humiliated water.
Breeds on his only life and refers to
himself to prove that.
It reaches back to the last moment
or its freed board or confetti expressions. from his liberated sign with expressions of
confetti.
Tablets of occurrences that trickle away
in a trance of colliding tiles.
Absorb all events
poison
for the martyr who accosts you.
Deeper in the water there was one down
to pull
as a tooth floss over a lip.
It was like a sharp edge, an industrial one
cut.
But maybe this is right,
this is the moment when an object would
have to cut,
Yes, an edge like I once told someone that
should be.
A sweet green light as a candy
that perhaps did not want to melt.
Candies in wrappers, which do not melt.
An ideal measure for the river.
The new buildings,
the fake snowstorm inside a
Department store,
bewitching, overlooking everything,
The size is comparable to pure
imagination.
A park flies from the end of the world
or that I imagined it.
There was possibility in milk
if those sounds had not come up.
The oracle from very far away:
Does anyone want to build the silence that they need
to have?
A colonnade entrance built of glass
with genres out there that are in the ether
float around.
The abundance of sound injures it
thoughts
while hibernating in the closet, during the winter sleep in the closet,
locked it from inside locked from the inside
like a circus display - try it
surprising.
How do you know how to use the Urge
to treat?
love failure,
The unruly tapping of the tongue.
About a bridge of possibilities
hoping that a sharp fold of the arm
Me, will save us a landscape.
The toddler treasures as naked walking
within the lines.
The call of cicadas, that slow auction on tone
to the end proportion without echo. to deafening proportion without echo.
Actually erasing the echo.
No shouting. No answer - I find peace
that I saw
In a field in Canada with an out-performable
rage of a cicada
and the bubbling of phosphates on the St. Laurent, and the bubbling of phosphates on the Sint
Laurentius,
Like a noise of cola.
A definition of success
driven by the Otter People.
The mystery of a deadlock through inheritance.
The experience country.
The Urge would be a sleepy return.
To be accomplished in a contemporary breath of
hyperactivity
or an existing collectiveness.
What would the Otter people say about touches - through your various roles
I remember
on each other's body then
I tried to get rid of the wasp
my lip had landed.
Sticky to stand full of horror,
Standing on the mat of foam in the sunny
garden.
After that I did not want to go inside.
This is a work on transparency in all
meanings of the word.
I remember a girl who had to rely on me
to fit,
how she got lipstick
And threatened to kiss me if I stayed with her
name calling.
and very good reason to bully girls.
And down in the ravine, he made one there
submarine with a trash can.
It was plastic, and it just did not want to
Underwater.
The water seemed so clean.
It was the bridge to Tarabithia that
Holes made in the idea.
The same place where
I had smuggled cigarettes in one
cassette case.
I dreamed about the heap
In the middle of the ravine.
It was the place in the middle,
The banished middle pocket.
It was also not connected to anything.
There it was, hard but consequent.
The bridge to Tarabithia.
There was once a king and a queen.
They were in the middle of a river,
They crossed with a hanging rope
- She fell.
She would have survived if there were none
little hope.
My brother is my sister.
My brother is Canada.
It is just a matter of nerves.
Not forgotten.
Waiting for a plane toilet.
This challenge,
She could be the Hagazuzah.
Sitting on the fence
Between reality and sleepiness.
Forget that everyone is really the same.
That because of a simple expression
of fear
everything is retained,
And everything is clear.
I connect with the Otter People, brother.
If only two things remained, then
that would be you and the river.
When we breathe, we will
continue to take these life-threads
the moment they stayed behind.
By elimination.
Standing on the bridge is like
merge into the origin,
Finding the focal point.
Be sure it was there.
The imagined is not enough.
This place would
You can thaw to water.
the best break.
Opposite that place.
Het Ottervolk
Een uitzicht over de rivier,
zou tegenover een pilaar kunnen staan,
onder ogen gezien,
ertegen geplet, nat,
en nihil door de mond.
De ene subliem met de ander
verdeeld door de enige echte,
Op een dag zal het water het verzwelgen.
De Sint Pauluskathedraal zal sterven.
De piek van zijn koepel
wijst een pad voor de dolfijnen,
Een helling terug naar de oorsprong van de
mens.
Het water is het domein van het Ottervolk.
Men moet het ding altijd wegnemen en
het naast ons in de Rivier onderdompelen.
Geluiden creëren druk in de kamer.
Een klein verschil in de radiator
naar rechts of links verandert het evenwicht.
De ventilator loeit als een storm van thuis.
Misschien is de reden dat hij schudt een a
herinnering aan die jonge vluchten.
Dat beeld is als zwaartekracht voor mij.
De belofte van leven is er nog niet.
En toch, als het een naam zou krijgen,
zou de ventilator in de badkamer er gewoon
naar blazen.
Wanneer woorden falen
beroering te kort of the klein om te worden
gevoeld
Een woordeloze opening.
Flitsen en beelden, zwakke uitvindingen,
Druk op de verkeerde plaats,
Zet aan tot de mythe van het ontstaan.
En daar was het dan
op de oevers van de Thames, in het halve licht
van
de spleet die in het midden van gordijnen is
gesneden,
mijn bed aan de rand van een van zijn
bruggen.
Onder lakens, vochtig, met lichaamssappen of
de stromin,
De rivier.
Wie was er het eerst in?
Er waren onbekenden op, langs het water.
Ondanks het stricte continuüm van trappen
into the water, Straight into baptism. tot in het water, Recht in de doop.
De nieuwsgierigheid doorverwijzen van het
slapen
met een vrouw in bed met een vriendin
en haar vriendin en haar vriend met gelakte
nagels,
tenen als suiker
Gevangen in een constant vuur van.
Proper en koud zijn.
Stel je voor,
Er ligt een centrum van achteruitgang
in de diepte van het water.
Rimpelend zoals de meest onbekende
uitdrukking
van iemand die ik ooit eens heb gekend.
Het ijzelt erboven als snoep,
en duidelijkere wittere laag glazuur op de
bruinvis
vastgehouden boven de uitdrukking van de
stad.
Lippen, er waren ook lippen.
De rivier predikte het ontheemden van de
mensheid,
Dus wanneer de getijden voor altijd oprijzen,
Er zit blauw glazuur bovenop,
Zijn bovenrand, een stevige haarbos
met witte kapitelen rondom rond.
Of zou er een fijn schijnsel kunnen zijn,
de zwakke lichtjes achter half geopende
deuren,
met de kleuren van die Regenboogvallei
(getekend met) verf gegeven door de Engelse
koningin.
Dat daar gewoon staat?
Of lichtjes op het water,
ze waren gladgestreken, weggeveegd,
weggespoten tot in de machtige greep
van de wetenschap dat de stukken een beeld
zijn.
Een snijplank om het gekende heden te
splitsen
Het bestond niet in het nu.
Duik in het water, stoer doend.
Further away, like that conversation, Verder weg, zoals dat gesprek
Yes. eentje niet geschikt voor tijdens het zwemmen.
Ja.
Nee. Een excuus om je niet drijvend te voelen
In een massa vernederd water.
Broedt op zijn enige leven en verwijst naar
zichzelf om dat te bewijzen.
Het reikt terug naar het laatste moment
of its freed board of confetti expressions. van zijn bevrijde bord met uitdrukkingen van
confetti.
Tabletten van voorvallen die wegtrippelen
in een trance van botsende tegels.
Alle voorvallen absorberen is
vergif
voor de martelaar die jou aanklampt.
Dieper in het water was er een naar onder
trekken
als tandfloss over een lip.
Het was als een scherpe rand, een industriële
snee.
Maar misschien is dit juist,
dit is het moment waarop een object zou
moeten snijden,
Ja, een rand zoals ik ooit iemand vertelde dat
zou moeten zijn.
Een zoet groen licht als een snoepje
dat misschien niet wou smelten.
Snoepjes in wikkels, die smelten niet.
Een ideale maatstaf voor de rivier.
De nieuwe gebouwen,
de namaaksneeuwstorm binnenin een
warenhuis,
beheksend, alles overziend,
De omvang is vergelijkbaar met pure
verbeelding.
Een park vliegt van het einde van de wereld
weg.
away.Ik ben niet zeker of het er echt wel is
of dat ik het me inbeeldde.
Er zat mogelijkheid in melk
als die geluiden niet waren komen aankruipen.
Het orakel van heel ver weg :
Wil er iemand de stilte bouwen die ze nodig
hebben?
Een colonnade-ingang gebouwd van glas
met gensters erbuiten die in de ether
rondzweven.
De overvloed aan geluid verwondt het in
gedachten
while hibernating in the closet, tijdens het winterslapen in de kast,
locked it from inside van binnenuit op slot gedaan
als een circusvertoning - probeer het
verrassend te maken.
Hoe weet men hoe men de Drang moet
behandelen?
liefdesstoring,
Het tegendraadse tappen van de tong.
Over een brug van mogelijkheden
hopend dat een scherpe plooi van de arm
Mij, ons een landschap zal besparen.
De kleuter schatten als naakt wandelend
binnen de lijnen.
De roep van cicadas, dat trage veilen op toon
to deafening proportion without echo. tot oorverdovende proportie zonder echo.
Eigenlijk de echo uitwissend.
Geen geroep. Geen antwoord - ik vind de rust
die ik zag
In een veld in Canada met een overtrefbare
woede van een cicade
and the bubbling of phosphates on the St. Laurent, en het bubbelen van fosfaten op de Sint
Laurentius,
Als een rumoer van cola.
Een definitie van succes
gedreven door het Ottervolk.
Het mysterie van een impasse door erfenis.
Het ervaringsland.
De Drang zou een slaperige terugkeer zijn.
Te volbrengen in een hedendaagse adem van
hyperactiviteit
of een aanwezige verzamelzucht.
Wat zou het Ottervolk van aanrakingen - doorheen jouw verschillende rollen - zeggen
Ik herinner
mehen
terend op elkaars lichaam toen
ik de wesp probeerde kwijt te spelen die op
mijn lip was geland.
Stokstijf te staan vol horror,
Staand op de mat van schuim in de zonnige
tuin.
Daarna wou ik niet naar binnen gaan.
Dit is een werk over transparantie in alle
betekenissen van het woord.
Ik herinner mij een meisje dat op mij moest
passen,
hoe ze lippenstift opdeed
En dreigde me te zoenen als ik haar bleef
uitschelden.
en hele goede reden om meisjes te pesten.
En beneden in het ravijn, hij maakte daar een
duikboot met een vuilnisbak.
Het was van plastiek, en het wou maar niet
onder water.
Het water leek zo proper.
Het was de brug naar Tarabithia die
Gaten maakte in het idee.
Dezelfde plek waarnaartoe
Ik cigaretten had gesmokkeld in een
cassettedoosje.
f en toe droomde ik van het hoopje
In het midden van het ravijn.
Het was de plek in het midden,
De verbannen middenzak.
Het was ook nergens mee verbonden.
Daar was het, hard maar voortvloeiend.
De brug naar Tarabithia.
Er was eens een koning en een koningin.
Zij stonden middenin een rivier,
Ze staken over met een hangend touw
-Zij viel.
Ze zou het hebben overleefd als er geen
hoopje had gelegen.
Mijn broer is mijn zus.
Mijn broer is Canada.
Het is gewoon een kwestie van zenuwen.
Van niet vergeten.
Wachten op een vliegtuigtoilet.
Deze uitdaging,
Ze zou de Hagazuzah kunnen zijn.
Zittend op het hek
Tussen realiteit en slaperigheid.
Vergeten dat iedereen echt hetzelfde is.
Dat omwille van een eenvoudige uitdrukking
van angst
alles wordt weerhouden,
En alles is helder.
ij verbindt me met het Ottervolk, broer.
Als er maar twee dingen overbleven, dan
zouden dat jij en de rivier zijn.
Als we ademen, zullen we
deze levensdraadjes blijven nemen
op het momentdat ze achterbleven.
Door eliminatie.
Op de brug staan is als
opgaan in de oorsprong,
Het focale punt opzoeken.
Zeker zijn dat het er was.
Het ingebeelde is niet genoeg.
Deze plek zou
Jou tot water kunnen ontdooien.
toring is de beste onderbreking.
Tegenover die plek staan.
October 2006
‘World of liminal moments deserve a second look’, Alison Oldham
‘STEADICAM’, Micha Eden Erdész
EXT DAY Hastily tiled edge of the river.
PAN UP POV STEADYCAM ESTABLISHING SHOT Suburban River panorama.
JESH IS OFF SCREEN
JESH
Tripping over a tile would be bad thing here.
TIGHT ON
Tip of burn off tower in the distance across the river.
JAGAR
This used to be the glow of your face. When we lived in the apartment. The one you hated so much. I really don’t know why you didn’t get those photographs out when I asked you. It was so much like this.
MOS
INTO VIEW
Concrete bunker with dimly lit entrance.
Camera swings repeatedly between sight of tower refrain and entrance as if synonymous.
JUMP CUT TO
EXT CONTINUOUS Apartment view.
JAGAR faces the window in his briefs and multiple towers cast a warm light across hazy roofs.
JAGAR
Doesn’t it remind of you of the boat? A wall of burn off instead of the coast. Would you have preferred to stay there?
Jagar slides his bare foot against a splintered floor, discoloured by use and maybe rain. He picks at the inside of his right wrist. His jaw seems slackened.
INDISTINCT CHANTING
STEADICAM
CLOSE ON Jagar’s face.
TRACKING SHOT Along the inside of Jagar’s shirt.
VOICE OVER FEMALE VOICE
Don’t sever yourself from the experience of your father’s work. It was his friend; it is yours now, well in your mind. In pictures the gap behind the garden behind the backdrop before where you were headed. Where you recognise.
REVERSE ANGLE From middle of river looking up to the building on the other side. The terrace is empty.
JESH is holding on tightly to a railing at the edge of the pedestrian tunnel. He is swinging his mobile in his other hand as if wanting to inadvertently drop it. He pulls it to his chin.
JESH
I would have never guessed you wondered about that.
October 2022
‘Again Joan’, Micha Eden Erdész
(Again Joan resorts to Loiseleur. He gives the same sign as before, and Joan says yes. Massieu's eyes are as if riveted to Joan's lips, and now when she answers yes he forgets where he is, forgets that Cauchon is just beside him, and almost without thinking says to Joan: Do you realize that this is an extremely important answer? Cauchon pounces on Massieu and bursts out: You had better hold your tongue!) -
TIGHT ON
An important answer
All lips and gestures
Heads turning to the side
STOCK SHOT – MAN MOWING LAWN
SUPER Zoom to violence nodding neck
VO – JOAN
The grape juice is Concord from the States.
And turned away from the fanatic gaze
PUSH IN / MONTAGE
Lips turned downwards the words escape like a philtrum snake
Are you? Are you? Could those glossy eyes speedy with amazement, crazed with delight and
awesome pity cast Chinese whispers among the delegates?
SMASH CUT TO
GOLF DRIVING RANGE
The comical retort – pantomime authority and more chainlike ball hopping turns
IRIS OUT
When does civility turn accusatory in the face of those awesome lips? Who cares what they say?
Spittle on the face unbridles the distance from which they judge
Human excuse looking down in deference to the beauty switching hands
INTERCUT A chiselled chin against a distance-less background flipping fanlike through a fantasy
doorway
Welted doors Welted doors
If it wasn’t for that staff wood-fed by salty perspiration and indignant holding on
INTERCUT She might answer no
POV PAN Squeegee face can’t avoid thinking those eyes are like pole axe extensions lifting, raising, beckoning, grazing and the men just run about like little farty dragon children
PULL BACK
Cloth mingling, sackcloth on wool, seamless upon seem, pulled down lip of parchment stretching, stretching the law, words straining, bleeding
DOLLY
Give me my fucking crown. So, I can better make beautiful gothic serifs of my own, the twine, backhanded arthritic finger
And a ring becomes a focal plane
Tears crawl, bulbous jelly, sin food, get me through the peep shaft, looking through with better judgment as Cyrillic master
I want to smooth those caps or ruffle them up. How long will it take for the angles of my neck to persuade them of my ecstatic truth.
ZOOM
For I know, I know
I am just an analogue warmth of a human in service to your gaze
If only I could make sound
April 2021
‘Dialogues with the Seen’, Andreas Kühne
Thoughts on the exhibition, ‘On Joy and Disappointment’ by Angela Stauber and Micha Eden Erdész at the Kunstverein Ottobrunn, 2021 [abridged]
Saxa loquuntur – the stones speak – is a Latin phrase, the origin of which lies in the dark recesses of history. It can also be found in the Lucas Gospel (19,40), but there – in the German translation by Martin Luther – the stones ‘scream’. In the recent works of Angela Stauber and Micha Eden Erdész it is not so much the stones that ‘speak’ because of their materiality, rather it is the structures or buildings formed from them – and other materials – that are seen individually and shaped and interpreted through other artistic means. In fact, Aedificia loquuntur could be a motto for their exhibition in Ottobrunn. Both artists project their visual impressions onto the surface via their own methods and intentions, and invite us, the viewers, to participate in the process of transformation and be inspired by their interpretations. ‘Buildings’ always reflect social and therefore cultural conditions. This is the case with even the oldest surviving testaments and fragments. However, the visual experiences selected and distilled by both artists do not relate to historical buildings or urban landscapes. Their aim is not to document and preserve through their works, but rather to question and reflect on their perception of the architecture both natural and built. For both artists, ‘the strange in the everyday’ is the subject of their painted, drawn, photographed and staged works. Or, as Duane Hanson once put it, ‘just that fixed moment.’ Their objects, buildings and urban landscapes apparently do not seem to participate in a symbolic dimension, albeit a very a mediated one.On closer inspection, the question arises as to why their works speak to us and what they tell us, and indeed whether they tell us anything at all. Born in Toronto in 1975, Micha Eden Erdész, an Intermedia artist who studied architecture and philosophy, edifies his artistic strategy with the help of the large photographic tableau, ‘The Happy Games’, that recreates, using his own materials and methods, the ‘Olympic tent roof’ of the stadium in Munich that was designed and created by Günter Behnisch and Frei Otto (1972). During a visit to the Bavarian state capital, he photographed and filmed this incunable of modern architecture and later adapted it and made it alien. Projected onto a Lycra fabric background, individual acrylic glass elements of the roof structure shine in the dazzling sunlight, raindrops fall onto the roof, the pylons cast shadows and the vertical lines of Olympic rings – added in later – structure the tableau. Despite its size, the picture does not appear monumental, but understated, almost intimate – as a representation of a perceived, captured and reflected moment that cannot be repeated. Erdész, an artist of Canadian origin, also links the 1972 Summer Olympics with a tragic event: the attack on Israeli athletes. Members of the Canadian water polo team – naive and unaware of what they were getting into – had helped the terrorists to scale the fence that enclosed the Olympic village. Some of the Canadian athletes, completely shocked and taken aback by the acts of terrorism that followed, felt they had been complicit and left the games. Erdész’s tableau is infused with this story, so to speak, but he does not bring it to the surface. The artist said he did not want to create a ‘memorial’ but attempted to deal with the quandary by aesthetic means. On Joy and Disappointment is the name of the exhibition in Ottobrunn. And, of course, the title also refers to the current situation during the Coronavirus pandemic. But it also points beyond the pandemic: to joy and disappointment as emotions which are necessary to an artistic creativity that constantly strives for substance. In the pandemic, both artists felt their studios offered an the possibility of stillness amid a world afflicted by chaos and anguish. This experience will remain, even when the artists’ lives and experiences have apparently resumed their habitual paths.
Through their impressive forms, their frugal gestures, their presence, their brittleness, their contemplativeness and their inherent beauty, the works of Angela Stauber and Micha Eden Erdész extend and enrich our existence.of their materiality, rather it is the structures or buildings formed from them – and other materials – that are seen individually and shaped and interpreted through other artistic means. In fact, Aedificia loquuntur could be a motto for their exhibition in Ottobrunn. Both artists project their visual impressions onto the surface via their own methods and intentions, and invite us, the viewers, to participate in the process of transformation and be inspired by their interpretations. ‘Buildings’ always reflect social and therefore cultural conditions. This is the case with even the oldest surviving testaments and fragments. However, the visual experiences selected and distilled by both artists do not relate to historical buildings or urban landscapes. Their aim is not to document and preserve through their works, but rather to question and reflect on their perception of the architecture both natural and built. For both artists, ‘the strange in the everyday’ is the subject of their painted, drawn, photographed and staged works. Or, as Duane Hanson once put it, ‘just that fixed moment.’ Their objects, buildings and urban landscapes apparently do not seem to participate in a symbolic dimension, albeit a very a mediated one. On closer inspection, the question arises as to why their works speak to us and what they tell us, and indeed whether they tell us anything at all. Born in Toronto in 1975, Micha Eden Erdész, an Intermedia artist who studied architecture and philosophy, edifies his artistic strategy with the help of the large photographic tableau, ‘The Happy Games’, that recreates, using his own materials and methods, the ‘Olympic tent roof’ of the stadium in Munich that was designed and created by Günter Behnisch and Frei Otto (1972). During a visit to the Bavarian state capital, he photographed and filmed this incunable of modern architecture and later adapted it and made it alien. Projected onto a Lycra fabric background, individual acrylic glass elements of the roof structure shine in the dazzling sunlight, raindrops fall onto the roof, the pylons cast shadows and the vertical lines of Olympic rings – added in later – structure the tableau. Despite its size, the picture does not appear monumental, but understated, almost intimate – as a representation of a perceived, captured and reflected moment that cannot be repeated. Erdész, an artist of Canadian origin, also links the 1972 Summer Olympics with a tragic event: the attack by Palestinian terrorists on Israeli athletes. Members of the Canadian water polo team – naive and unaware of what they were getting into – had helped the terrorists to scale the fence that enclosed the Olympic village. Some of the Canadian athletes, completely shocked and taken aback by the acts of terrorism that followed, felt they had been complicit and left the games. Erdész’s tableau is infused with this story, so to speak, but he does not bring it to the surface. The artist said he did not want to create a ‘memorial’ but attempted to deal with the quandary by aesthetic means.
September 2015
‘They’ll never control Water on the Heath’,
Anna Behrmann
May 2013
‘At least you will feel neutralised by Magic Mirrors!’, Dolphin Totem Bearer
May 2009
‘The Otter People’, Micha Eden Erdész
A view over the river,
could stand opposite a pillar,
faced,
crushed against it, wet,
and nil by mouth.
One sublime with the other
divided by the only real,
One day the water will swallow it up.
The Saint Paul Cathedral will die.
The peak of his dome
points a path for the dolphins,
A slope back to the origin of the
man.
The water is the domain of the Otter people.
One must always take away the thing and
Dipping into the River next to us.
Sounds create pressure in the room.
A small difference in the radiator
the balance changes to the right or left.
The fan sounds like a storm from home.
Perhaps the reason he shakes an a
remembrance of those young flights.
That image is like gravity for me.
The promise of life is not there yet.
And yet, if it got a name,
the fan in the bathroom would just be there
to blow.
Despite the strict continuum of stairs
into the water, Straight into baptism. into the water, right in baptism.
Refer the curiosity of it
to sleep
with a woman in bed with a girlfriend
and her friend and her friend with lacquered
nails,
toes like sugar
Caught in a constant fire of.
Being clean and cold.
Imagine,
There is a centre of decline
in the depth of the water.
Wrinkling like the most unknown
expression
from someone I've ever known.
It rings above it like candy,
and clearer whiter layer of glaze on the
porpoise
held above the expression of the
city.
Lips, there were also lips.
The river preached the displaced of the
humanity,
So when the tides rise forever,
There is blue glaze on top,
His upper edge, a sturdy hair bunch
with white capitals around.
Or could there be a nice light,
the weak lights behind half opened
doors,
with the colours of that Rainbow Valley
(drawn with) paint given by the English
queen.
That just stands there?
Or slightly on the water,
they were smoothed out, wiped away,
sprayed away to the mighty grip
from knowing that the pieces have an image
to be.
A cutting board to the known present
divide
It did not exist in the now.
Dive into the water, doing tough.
Further away, like that conversation, Further away, like that conversation
Yes. one not suitable for swimming.
Yes.
No. An excuse for not feeling yourself afloat
In a mass of humiliated water.
Breeds on his only life and refers to
himself to prove that.
It reaches back to the last moment
or its freed board or confetti expressions. from his liberated sign with expressions of
confetti.
Tablets of occurrences that trickle away
in a trance of colliding tiles.
Absorb all events
poison
for the martyr who accosts you.
Deeper in the water there was one down
to pull
as a tooth floss over a lip.
It was like a sharp edge, an industrial one
cut.
But maybe this is right,
this is the moment when an object would
have to cut,
Yes, an edge like I once told someone that
should be.
A sweet green light as a candy
that perhaps did not want to melt.
Candies in wrappers, which do not melt.
An ideal measure for the river.
The new buildings,
the fake snowstorm inside a
Department store,
bewitching, overlooking everything,
The size is comparable to pure
imagination.
A park flies from the end of the world
or that I imagined it.
There was possibility in milk
if those sounds had not come up.
The oracle from very far away:
Does anyone want to build the silence that they need
to have?
A colonnade entrance built of glass
with genres out there that are in the ether
float around.
The abundance of sound injures it
thoughts
while hibernating in the closet, during the winter sleep in the closet,
locked it from inside locked from the inside
like a circus display - try it
surprising.
How do you know how to use the Urge
to treat?
love failure,
The unruly tapping of the tongue.
About a bridge of possibilities
hoping that a sharp fold of the arm
Me, will save us a landscape.
The toddler treasures as naked walking
within the lines.
The call of cicadas, that slow auction on tone
to the end proportion without echo. to deafening proportion without echo.
Actually erasing the echo.
No shouting. No answer - I find peace
that I saw
In a field in Canada with an out-performable
rage of a cicada
and the bubbling of phosphates on the St. Laurent, and the bubbling of phosphates on the Sint
Laurentius,
Like a noise of cola.
A definition of success
driven by the Otter People.
The mystery of a deadlock through inheritance.
The experience country.
The Urge would be a sleepy return.
To be accomplished in a contemporary breath of
hyperactivity
or an existing collectiveness.
What would the Otter people say about touches - through your various roles
I remember
on each other's body then
I tried to get rid of the wasp
my lip had landed.
Sticky to stand full of horror,
Standing on the mat of foam in the sunny
garden.
After that I did not want to go inside.
This is a work on transparency in all
meanings of the word.
I remember a girl who had to rely on me
to fit,
how she got lipstick
And threatened to kiss me if I stayed with her
name calling.
and very good reason to bully girls.
And down in the ravine, he made one there
submarine with a trash can.
It was plastic, and it just did not want to
Underwater.
The water seemed so clean.
It was the bridge to Tarabithia that
Holes made in the idea.
The same place where
I had smuggled cigarettes in one
cassette case.
I dreamed about the heap
In the middle of the ravine.
It was the place in the middle,
The banished middle pocket.
It was also not connected to anything.
There it was, hard but consequent.
The bridge to Tarabithia.
There was once a king and a queen.
They were in the middle of a river,
They crossed with a hanging rope
- She fell.
She would have survived if there were none
little hope.
My brother is my sister.
My brother is Canada.
It is just a matter of nerves.
Not forgotten.
Waiting for a plane toilet.
This challenge,
She could be the Hagazuzah.
Sitting on the fence
Between reality and sleepiness.
Forget that everyone is really the same.
That because of a simple expression
of fear
everything is retained,
And everything is clear.
I connect with the Otter People, brother.
If only two things remained, then
that would be you and the river.
When we breathe, we will
continue to take these life-threads
the moment they stayed behind.
By elimination.
Standing on the bridge is like
merge into the origin,
Finding the focal point.
Be sure it was there.
The imagined is not enough.
This place would
You can thaw to water.
the best break.
Opposite that place.
Het Ottervolk
Een uitzicht over de rivier,
zou tegenover een pilaar kunnen staan,
onder ogen gezien,
ertegen geplet, nat,
en nihil door de mond.
De ene subliem met de ander
verdeeld door de enige echte,
Op een dag zal het water het verzwelgen.
De Sint Pauluskathedraal zal sterven.
De piek van zijn koepel
wijst een pad voor de dolfijnen,
Een helling terug naar de oorsprong van de
mens.
Het water is het domein van het Ottervolk.
Men moet het ding altijd wegnemen en
het naast ons in de Rivier onderdompelen.
Geluiden creëren druk in de kamer.
Een klein verschil in de radiator
naar rechts of links verandert het evenwicht.
De ventilator loeit als een storm van thuis.
Misschien is de reden dat hij schudt een a
herinnering aan die jonge vluchten.
Dat beeld is als zwaartekracht voor mij.
De belofte van leven is er nog niet.
En toch, als het een naam zou krijgen,
zou de ventilator in de badkamer er gewoon
naar blazen.
Wanneer woorden falen
beroering te kort of the klein om te worden
gevoeld
Een woordeloze opening.
Flitsen en beelden, zwakke uitvindingen,
Druk op de verkeerde plaats,
Zet aan tot de mythe van het ontstaan.
En daar was het dan
op de oevers van de Thames, in het halve licht
van
de spleet die in het midden van gordijnen is
gesneden,
mijn bed aan de rand van een van zijn
bruggen.
Onder lakens, vochtig, met lichaamssappen of
de stromin,
De rivier.
Wie was er het eerst in?
Er waren onbekenden op, langs het water.
Ondanks het stricte continuüm van trappen
into the water, Straight into baptism. tot in het water, Recht in de doop.
De nieuwsgierigheid doorverwijzen van het
slapen
met een vrouw in bed met een vriendin
en haar vriendin en haar vriend met gelakte
nagels,
tenen als suiker
Gevangen in een constant vuur van.
Proper en koud zijn.
Stel je voor,
Er ligt een centrum van achteruitgang
in de diepte van het water.
Rimpelend zoals de meest onbekende
uitdrukking
van iemand die ik ooit eens heb gekend.
Het ijzelt erboven als snoep,
en duidelijkere wittere laag glazuur op de
bruinvis
vastgehouden boven de uitdrukking van de
stad.
Lippen, er waren ook lippen.
De rivier predikte het ontheemden van de
mensheid,
Dus wanneer de getijden voor altijd oprijzen,
Er zit blauw glazuur bovenop,
Zijn bovenrand, een stevige haarbos
met witte kapitelen rondom rond.
Of zou er een fijn schijnsel kunnen zijn,
de zwakke lichtjes achter half geopende
deuren,
met de kleuren van die Regenboogvallei
(getekend met) verf gegeven door de Engelse
koningin.
Dat daar gewoon staat?
Of lichtjes op het water,
ze waren gladgestreken, weggeveegd,
weggespoten tot in de machtige greep
van de wetenschap dat de stukken een beeld
zijn.
Een snijplank om het gekende heden te
splitsen
Het bestond niet in het nu.
Duik in het water, stoer doend.
Further away, like that conversation, Verder weg, zoals dat gesprek
Yes. eentje niet geschikt voor tijdens het zwemmen.
Ja.
Nee. Een excuus om je niet drijvend te voelen
In een massa vernederd water.
Broedt op zijn enige leven en verwijst naar
zichzelf om dat te bewijzen.
Het reikt terug naar het laatste moment
of its freed board of confetti expressions. van zijn bevrijde bord met uitdrukkingen van
confetti.
Tabletten van voorvallen die wegtrippelen
in een trance van botsende tegels.
Alle voorvallen absorberen is
vergif
voor de martelaar die jou aanklampt.
Dieper in het water was er een naar onder
trekken
als tandfloss over een lip.
Het was als een scherpe rand, een industriële
snee.
Maar misschien is dit juist,
dit is het moment waarop een object zou
moeten snijden,
Ja, een rand zoals ik ooit iemand vertelde dat
zou moeten zijn.
Een zoet groen licht als een snoepje
dat misschien niet wou smelten.
Snoepjes in wikkels, die smelten niet.
Een ideale maatstaf voor de rivier.
De nieuwe gebouwen,
de namaaksneeuwstorm binnenin een
warenhuis,
beheksend, alles overziend,
De omvang is vergelijkbaar met pure
verbeelding.
Een park vliegt van het einde van de wereld
weg.
away.Ik ben niet zeker of het er echt wel is
of dat ik het me inbeeldde.
Er zat mogelijkheid in melk
als die geluiden niet waren komen aankruipen.
Het orakel van heel ver weg :
Wil er iemand de stilte bouwen die ze nodig
hebben?
Een colonnade-ingang gebouwd van glas
met gensters erbuiten die in de ether
rondzweven.
De overvloed aan geluid verwondt het in
gedachten
while hibernating in the closet, tijdens het winterslapen in de kast,
locked it from inside van binnenuit op slot gedaan
als een circusvertoning - probeer het
verrassend te maken.
Hoe weet men hoe men de Drang moet
behandelen?
liefdesstoring,
Het tegendraadse tappen van de tong.
Over een brug van mogelijkheden
hopend dat een scherpe plooi van de arm
Mij, ons een landschap zal besparen.
De kleuter schatten als naakt wandelend
binnen de lijnen.
De roep van cicadas, dat trage veilen op toon
to deafening proportion without echo. tot oorverdovende proportie zonder echo.
Eigenlijk de echo uitwissend.
Geen geroep. Geen antwoord - ik vind de rust
die ik zag
In een veld in Canada met een overtrefbare
woede van een cicade
and the bubbling of phosphates on the St. Laurent, en het bubbelen van fosfaten op de Sint
Laurentius,
Als een rumoer van cola.
Een definitie van succes
gedreven door het Ottervolk.
Het mysterie van een impasse door erfenis.
Het ervaringsland.
De Drang zou een slaperige terugkeer zijn.
Te volbrengen in een hedendaagse adem van
hyperactiviteit
of een aanwezige verzamelzucht.
Wat zou het Ottervolk van aanrakingen - doorheen jouw verschillende rollen - zeggen
Ik herinner
mehen
terend op elkaars lichaam toen
ik de wesp probeerde kwijt te spelen die op
mijn lip was geland.
Stokstijf te staan vol horror,
Staand op de mat van schuim in de zonnige
tuin.
Daarna wou ik niet naar binnen gaan.
Dit is een werk over transparantie in alle
betekenissen van het woord.
Ik herinner mij een meisje dat op mij moest
passen,
hoe ze lippenstift opdeed
En dreigde me te zoenen als ik haar bleef
uitschelden.
en hele goede reden om meisjes te pesten.
En beneden in het ravijn, hij maakte daar een
duikboot met een vuilnisbak.
Het was van plastiek, en het wou maar niet
onder water.
Het water leek zo proper.
Het was de brug naar Tarabithia die
Gaten maakte in het idee.
Dezelfde plek waarnaartoe
Ik cigaretten had gesmokkeld in een
cassettedoosje.
f en toe droomde ik van het hoopje
In het midden van het ravijn.
Het was de plek in het midden,
De verbannen middenzak.
Het was ook nergens mee verbonden.
Daar was het, hard maar voortvloeiend.
De brug naar Tarabithia.
Er was eens een koning en een koningin.
Zij stonden middenin een rivier,
Ze staken over met een hangend touw
-Zij viel.
Ze zou het hebben overleefd als er geen
hoopje had gelegen.
Mijn broer is mijn zus.
Mijn broer is Canada.
Het is gewoon een kwestie van zenuwen.
Van niet vergeten.
Wachten op een vliegtuigtoilet.
Deze uitdaging,
Ze zou de Hagazuzah kunnen zijn.
Zittend op het hek
Tussen realiteit en slaperigheid.
Vergeten dat iedereen echt hetzelfde is.
Dat omwille van een eenvoudige uitdrukking
van angst
alles wordt weerhouden,
En alles is helder.
ij verbindt me met het Ottervolk, broer.
Als er maar twee dingen overbleven, dan
zouden dat jij en de rivier zijn.
Als we ademen, zullen we
deze levensdraadjes blijven nemen
op het momentdat ze achterbleven.
Door eliminatie.
Op de brug staan is als
opgaan in de oorsprong,
Het focale punt opzoeken.
Zeker zijn dat het er was.
Het ingebeelde is niet genoeg.
Deze plek zou
Jou tot water kunnen ontdooien.
toring is de beste onderbreking.
Tegenover die plek staan.
October 2006
‘World of liminal moments deserve a second look’, Alison Oldham
