A Friday In Kassel, In Three Parts
Since my arrival to Kassel, I have been trying my best to keep a somewhat regular exercise schedule. Typically every morning or early evening, I take a jog in the Karlsaue, commandeering a slice of green for some jump rope and core exercises.
This morning I decided that instead of using my headphones that I would use the speaker on my iPod as I went through my regular circuit training. I was in the middle of my criss-cross set when an older lady walked along the path near me and stopped.
I continued to jump as this very kind lady tilted her head to the side in observation. I set my rope down, smiled and waved good morning before settling into vertical push-ups using a nearby bench.
"Are you ... part of Documenta?"
The question caught me off guard as I was mid push-up. I offered the lady a quizzical look, unsure if she meant did I work for Documenta or if I perhaps was part of some group or...
"Are you ... art?" She asked.
Sweaty, wearing parachute shorts held up by suspenders and a baggy t-shirt (I left all my exercise gear in Milan), I just smiled apologetically and shook my head, "No, I'm sorry..."
Susan Hiller's 100 Songs for 100 Days of Documenta has become one of my favorite places in Kassel to just...hang out.
A colorful jukebox is centered at the far end of the gallery space, flanked by two benches fixed with headsets and small portable boards containing song books; the lyrics of 100 songs are juxedoposed on the walls.
Visitors are invited to select a song on the jukebox, listen via headset or jukebox, and read the lyrics (either on the walls or via the song book). My friend and I decided to take it one step further and actually sing along with the songs.
One gentleman filmed us and thanked us. Another gentleman expressed his gratitude for making him feel young again as he joined in on our rendition of Bella Ciao. A lady stopped to tell my friend she had a gorgeous voice before leaving. And we received plenty of smiles.
A trip to the jukebox gallery (as I've named it) is going to become a daily occurrence and hopefully we can get some other people to join again.
Just opposite of Susan Hiller's work is another box of music, well sound. Stuart Ringholt's "Anger Workshops" take place every day at 1p and 7p. Those participating in the workshop are enclosed in a timber-clad workshop space with an open roof that functions as a large speaker. Inside the particpants take part in a group-therapy session in which they yell and scream for five minutes to the sounds of heavy metal and house music; followed by fives minutes in which they hug to the melody of mozart.
My friends and I participated in the workshop on Wednesday and were lucky enough to make plans to meet with the artist later for coffee. We decided we wanted to know what it's like for those 'outside' of the work as the gallery space around filled with a cacophony of noise.
Pressed up against the workshop room, you can feel the vibrations as though the room were a real speaker. The reaction to the work by unsuspecting visitors is by far the highlight. One second the gallery is silent as a couple admires a nearby painting, the next the space is roaring with music and yells startling every visitor. It's fantastic.
In fact, we were so energized by the music going on inside the box we started to move along to the music, encouraging others to touch the wood in order to see how it vibrated. Apparently our air guitar skills were impressive enough to spark the interest of one of Ringholt's colleagues, Bianca, who is an artist and professor at Vitoria College of Arts in Melbourne, who ended up sharing with us her experiences and spent the rest of the evening with AND...AND..AND where we watched the first three hours of a of six hour screening of unedited stock film material from the The Dialectics of Liberation Congress that took place in the Roundhouse, London, in 1967. Absolutely interesting stuff. We will be watching the remaining three hours tomorrow evening.
(ps: I apologize for any grammatical errors, unfortunately I am writing this at the wee hours of four-thirty).
