The process is easy to describe, actually the title says it all: Kauf/Verkauf von Gegendständen aus Haus Lange und Haus Esters (Buying and Selling Objects from Haus Lange and Haus Esters). On a particular occasion in a particular place a number of objects found in that place are put up for sale.
The artist arranges an exchange of goods for money; a mechanism is set in motion which could hardly be more trivial or more basic; a small segment of the dominant economy plays itself out. Dryly and succinctly the offer is outlined, the prices are named and the conditions are laid down. Objects and money change hands and the transactions are recorded in the books. A sequence of events comes to a predictable conclusion.
But not quite, for this banal procedure has a life of its own; what's more, this is just the beginning. This cameo of commercial life is completely real, and yet behind the neutrality of the exchange there is a different kind of transaction. The title which tells of buying and selling is not in itself the work; it merely outlines the concept that we are dealing with here, and which may be observed in this place and time. The fact is, that right from the outset this transaction is happening in conditions that draw particular attention to the extraneous circumstances. It is immediately obvious from the proposed sale and the intending vendor that this is an everyday procedure in an unusual place, which in turn raises unexpected questions about the meaning of both.
The process: on the occasion of the group exhibition 'Niemandsland' in Haus Lange and Haus Esters (1997) a pamphlet was sent out offering twelve very diverse objects for sale. They were illustrated and described in brief; a short text gave details as to where the objects would be exhibited, their origins, how they would be sold and how the proceeds would be used. The objects themselves were then displayed as part of the exhibition, carefully arranged round the walls of a relatively large room. Interested parties could either hand in their orders or post them. When the exhibition came to the end of its run, there were so many orders that lots had to be drawn. In the end all the paperwork, from the orders and the replies to the receipts, was passed on to the artist and thus became part of the work.
The starting point for the work is the place itself, the actual institution and its history. The things that come to light here are usually hidden from sight, even forgotten in a way, the flotsam and jetsam of museum life. Individual items were selected as much for their peculiarity as for their aesthetic qualities, but there were also more pragmatic considerations. Whatever the case, there was no particular concept behind the selection: the artist and the curator just talked and decisions were arrived at, item by item. It was only the broader parameters of the work that were planned and established while the physical contents of the work evolved from what was found in the building; chance and intuition had their fair share in the proceedings.
As the work progresses a picture emerges - one with baffling associations and planned by no-one. It starts with the design of the pamphlet: free-floating illustrations of the objects give the first hints that there is something more here than the plain facts of supply, interest and demand. Aesthetics divert economics away from the supposedly straight and narrow, in effect subverting the pragmatism of the process and providing it with a new subtext. The presentation of the objects in the museum underlines this impression. There is a strong sense that these objects - sparingly filling the space - have been brought together purely by chance; however, at the same time, each item is apparently laying claim to some special meaning. By virtue of the descriptions in the brochure there can be no uncertainty surrounding the objects, and yet they give rise to speculation. Aside from individual observations on the history and the function of the objects, which in turn possibly lead to questions about the institution itself, anyone even slightly in the know is suddenly struck by a very specific suspicion: is the spirit of Marcel Duchamp not hovering somewhere here? It is astonishing how many of the objects have a direct or indirect similarity with Duchamp's work. Surely that wardrobe lying on the floor must be related to his Trap, and aren't the strangely knotted strings very reminiscent of the 3 Standard Stoppages? Isn't that basin rather like his Fountain, and what about the mirror and Duchamp's Large Glass, the electric motor and his kinetic works, the packing cases and his Box in a Valise?
The fact remains: this game of look-alike was not intentional. But since Kauf/Verkauf... only really starts at the moment when it is presented in public, and only then begins to develop a life of its own, it is not merely legitimate but also useful to pursue this apparent affinity. However, it is also possible that something less easily understood than ordinary human awareness has been directing the process and has guided the choice of objects. In other situations, too, Maria Eichhorn moves with the sure-footedness of the sleepwalker - however rational and carefully constructed the concepts might seem to be. In any case, the apparent affinity does point to a familiar theme, which started with Duchamp, was cultivated and differentiated in the sixties and seventies, and which has come to the fore again in the nineties: namely critical analysis of art institutions by means of art itself. Unlike the work of Michael Asher or Daniel Buren, to name but two, in Kauf/Verkauf von Gegendständen aus Haus Lange und Hans Esters the view into the interior workings of the institution is, if anything, sporadic and pragmatic rather than fundamental and systematic. However, it does reveal concrete details, which despite a certain whimsicality, could serve as the starting point for more searching deliberations. The emergence of such remarkable similarities with works by Duchamp certainly points to a background critique of the notion of art and its institutions; probably more important, however, are allusions to the perplexing nature, the multiple meanings and the hermetic aspect of Duchamp's work. His work is filled with so many cryptic hints and potential connections that it never seems to speak directly to the viewer. Furthermore, today it is barely possible to separate his work from the countless commentaries, speculations and adaptations that have attached themselves to it. Perhaps the truth is that the most interesting thing about him is not so much his actual output and formulations but his 'afterlife'. The bulk of his ideas seems to emit an energy which is only realised, in the accepted sense, at a point somewhere beyond his work. The effects are greater than the cause. The reception of his work is at least as productive as the work itself, or, more precisely: what Duchamp presented in the shape of objects and ideas - plus the way he himself lived - is only an introduction to his actual work, albeit 'leading to' a conclusion that is not simply open, but ultimately unattainable.
Another point: in the exhibition 'Niemandsland' Maria Eichhorn made a move which rather underlines the importance of the connection to Duchamp in her own work. Her contribution to the library incorporated in the exhibition consisted of the writings of George Brecht, and this is not the only time she has paid her respects to his work. And so an element of Fluxus is brought into play which limits the initiative of the artist to a minimum of concept and material, in order that the event itself can be communicated easily and quickly to the other 'players', and to hurry it on its way out into the world and into time. The artist relinquishes all control over its subsequent progress; such control as there is only appears in the preparation for the work and in the formulation of the 'question'. All of George Brecht's work emanates a relaxed openness and trust in the 'intelligence' of the system that he is sending his ideas out into. Moreover, this attitude goes hand in hand with his interest in similar questions in the natural sciences.
There are other works by Maria Eichhorn, such as Mit dem Zug von Leipzig Hauptbahnhof zu alien Endstationen und zurück (1995) or Arbeit/Freizeit (1996), which display a comparable affinity with functional systems, making use of existing, generally accepted, extra-artistic structures. As may be seen in these examples, the systems in question can involve the market-place and consumption, a transport system or sociological method. This guarantees that certain rules are laid down which prevent the artist's initiative from simply wafting off into space. At the same time, however, the chosen structures are so open and have such a strong internal dynamic of their own that the original artistic proposal can develop in ways that are both surprising and very real. In Leipzig an announcement was put in the paper offering return journeys to a total of 21 destinations, free of charge. For Arbeit/Freizeit, employees in a particular firm were asked about the proportion of work to leisure time in their lives, as well as about the personal objects they had brought in for the purposes of this project. It was made clear to all the participants that the whole exercise was an artistic action. They were taking part in something -whether in reality or only in their own minds - which laid claim to the status of 'art' and yet which did not present itself to them as a finished work. In fact, as one observer remarked, by this means a good part of the artistic event shifts into simply an awareness of one's own participation and the thoughts and modes of behaviour that follow from that.
But what actually happens during the course of a process of this kind? What can you actually learn about it? In Kauf/Verkauf... the basic premise is clear and easily understood because of the brochure and the way the objects are presented. But as far as the interest shown by potential buyers is concerned - their assumptions and comments, their questions and orders - all these were only partially visible, even to those most closely involved in the project. As soon as the objects are sold they vanish from the artist's sight and from that of the public as well. They are replaced by musings as to their role with their new owners, which in turn lead to speculation on the progress of the work as a whole. Only chance - or extensive research, which is not all that likely - could recall individual items back into general view. Once the public grouping (the 'Duchampêtre' arrangement in the context of the institution) has been disbanded, the work only continues to exist in the shape of its unconnected parts and how these are individually handled - as well as in the thoughts people may have about the hole process, its effects and its possibilities.
At which point: enter the whirlwind of ideas which the artist already formulated early on in her career - first as a partially visible inscription on a wall, and again, somewhat later, in a coded, more condensed form (also reminiscent of Duchamp): D.S.B.D.S./D.S.B.D.U./D.U.B.D.U./D.U.B.D.S. or DAS SICHTBARE BEINHALTET DAS SICHTBARE/DAS SICHTBARE BEINHAETET DAS UNSICHTBARE/DAS UNSICHTBARE BEINHAETET DAS UNSICHTBARE/DAS UNSICHTBARE BEINHAETET DAS SICHTBARE.
What starts in Kauf/Verkauf... as an open experiment involving self-critical, conceptual art that persistently evades the viewer's grasp, inevitably slips into the realms of individual experience (barely accessible to the outsider), or floats off somewhere into the limitless expanses of art theory. What initially manifested itself as an image in the space, much in the traditional sense of a 'work', dissipates into the reality of chance and the everyday, perhaps even transforming into thoughts about art. In this constant interchange the visible and the invisible lock into each other, as do looking and analysing, living and thinking.
Maria Eichhorn's work seems to be on a constant search for the scraps that are left over when all the concrete questions have been set, the procedures have been defined, the process has been started and a piece of reality has been described. These leftovers have something to do with the limits of experience, the limits of human consciousness and of presentation; they have to do with those horizons that cannot simply be located or dealt with by some enlightened, rational sleight of hand. What separates this artist's activities from apparently similar experiments outside the field of art may perhaps be found in the splits and gaps between the visible and the invisible, between definition and boundlessness. In order to focus on this, she designs situations which constantly shift between these contradictory and complementary poles. Yet the result is not some perplexing, pointless game; rather it leads to a realistic (poetic) view of artistic activity today. Her work operates with apparent equanimity in different circles and systems of reality, even occasionally becoming indistinguishable from that reality. But, by the same token, in the midst of these readily describable worlds, her work takes the liberty of pointing to other things that cannot be described using this world's descriptors. Somewhere between reality and the non-describable, fragile places are created where we may see occasional flashes of those scraps that we - with good reason - have lately got out of the way of calling art: albeit scraps that hint that any (new) meaning should now only be expected behind, or rather, parallel to these attempts to describe and participate in the way things are.
Translated by Fiona Elliott
