"7 Year Itch" Art Show - Snooped By Uwe Schneider

While our 19,99 € Award jury is curating the hell out of all the wonderful submissions we found in our mail box, Fun Club's music and literature expert Dr. Uwe Schneider goes down on the art scene like an eagle. Once again he proves why he is considered the first German "Universalgenie" after Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz.

"In Billy Wilder's movie from 1955, the title “Seven Year Itch“ refers to the declining affection between partners after being in a relationship for seven years. I’m not the one to decide if this is a psychological phenomenon to be taken seriously or a mere cliché – in the case of the notorious Strychnin Gallery, whose Berlin branch was founded in 2003 by Yasha Young and whose best of exhibition was named after this quote, it surely gains different aspects of meaning. Strychnin, with their vast range of genres and styles is far away from a “monogamous“ relationship with any particular movement within the fine arts. Maybe this is why there is no sign of declining interest at all to bear. In some languages, „itching“ is also a metaphor for feeling restless about something, and it might serve as the most appropriate connotation of the phrase: Strychnin looks back on seven years of prolific and restless art shows and now presents their first retrospective.

The anniversary celebration started last Friday and presents a selection of about 60 international artists, who all have exhibited there before. When talking about various styles and genres, one shouldn't ignore some obvious combining elements that are leitmotifs of some sort in the history of their choice.  I'm talking about a focus on phenomena usually labeled „lowbrow“, „pop surrealism“ or „fantastic realism“ - styles in which classical modernism, folklore and counter culture meet, where influences from comics, book illustrations and underground music are hard to overlook, and whose subjects are figurative and narrative in the deconstructive way of a Murakami novel or a movie by Julio Medem or Tim Burton. For example, this is the case in the works of two Davids from across the Atlantic Ocean, Hochbaum and Stoupakis, who can't be missing among Strychnin's greatest hits. Consider Stoupakis' childlike fairytale set pieces, which are both kitchy and nightmarish and gained a lot of critical reputation in mags like Juxtapose and Hi Fructose; or think of the collaged foto and painting fragments of Hochbaum's mythical dreamscenes full of mediaeval cityscapes and strange women with brushwood on their backs – they all appear like screenshots from a folk tale which follows a surrealist script and is accompanied by some punkish score. 

Music, by the way, isn't just a metaphor in the exhibition's context. Whilst Stoupakis could easily illustrate a sexy dark cabaret outfit, Benjamin Vierling has actually contributed artwork for folk chanteuse Joanna Newsom. His „oil and egg tempera on panel“ works belong to the most traditional ones on the Strychnin roster, comprise influences from the 15th to the 19th centuries and are of a highly symbolic nature. Ansgar Noeth's prints under glass must be mentioned as well in context of a new symbolist tendency in contemporary art. The striking heads of his allegories, however, are a far cry from any pre-raffaelite contemplativeness. They subtly balance between earnestly showing and slightly mimicing the sins they deal with. More focused on the counter cultural element are the black and white images of Clive Barker-illustrator Richard A. Kirk (not to be confused with the composer Richard H. Kirk), the symetric "Devil's Caravan“ by a certain Gothic Hangman, and the death metal-like fantasies of The Ring's make-up artist Chet Zar, who contributed some canvas work – something monstrous with a strangely humorous twinkling of an eye. Another prominent figure from the movies is special effects bigwig Cliff Wallace. Confronted with his „Penitent“ and „Lamia“, my companion and I had the same association with Pan's Labyrith, and indeed Wallace collaborated with Guillermo del Toro before. 

Scott Radke's almost decorative mixed media work, the human faced "Snowflake“, leads us to a neo-baroque focus that is chiefly represented by some wondrously strange dolls whose charisma ranges from shy eroticism to an implied mental derangement that is hard to describe. Some of the dolls are way sweetish in their melancholy appearance, like for instance Marina Bychkova's porcellain "Agnetha“. Others, such as Virginie Ropars' "Alba“ or Beth Robinson's "She Caught Her Stallion“, which is made of clay, fabric and human hair, are rather recommendable to those who seek the morbid side of a decadent baroque scenery. Highly influenced by this period of cultural history is also art's most (in-)famous dog Ray Cesar, whose ultrachrome print "French Kiss“ has been on display since last year's "Magistrates“ show, from wich a number of exhibits are still hanging. It's impressive how his works combine schemes of childlike characteristics with a touch of fastidious audacity and sometimes even wickedness. 

When it comes to facial features, these childlike aspects inevitably evoke associations with the world of Japanese anime and manga art with its saucer eyed girls of willingly simplified design. This elements, however, have an independent tradition in Western lowbrow art in general. It is obvious in works of painters like Mark Ryden, children's book illustrator Nicoletta Ceccioli as well as in Leslie Ditto's „Rusty Memories“, which also shows her influence from hot-rod street culture. The anecdote says that some of her first artistic impressions came from helping in her family's Harley Davidson shop, where she could watch her father painting the gas tanks and other parts of bikes with popular fancy images of powerful, sexy women. Many of her paintings represent a somehow melancholy side of rock'n'roll, show vital yet desperate scenes. Less melancholy are the lively pin-up variations of Berlin based digital artist and illustrator Mimi S., whose work derives from traditional animation and found various usage in poster-artwork and other music related stuff in the last couple of years. Graphics like these build a bridge to another kind of cult movement of 1950s popular culture – the funny and brightly colored phenomenon of Californian Tikki bars with their South Pacific flair that were highly fashionable at that time and can look back on quite a few revivals since then. In some corners of the gallery you'll find pieces from a former show devoted to that subject: handpainted and artistically modified ukuleles, prints, sculptures and more.

There are also pieces that lack the vintage element that is very much in the focus of the selected work. Another local hero for example, "Jack“ from Manuel Cortez' foto book "Berlin Calling“, is mainly rooted in contemporary urban art. The candy coulored plastic world of Michael Frojman aka Bijou, a French designer and DJ, may transcent the daily "here and now“ in the opposite way and plays with the stereotypes of a bubblegum fun society, apparently not disagreeable to the artist. It would be too much namedropping to mention all the other contributors, too much talking theory on subtle otherness and a new historicism without regress, too much cliché to go on babbling about weirdnes and joyful morbidezza. Needless, however, to say that I was excited and that I recommend you to drop in.

7 Year Itch. Anniversary Group Show featuring over 60 artists
Opens February 12th at 7 pm.
Exhibition runs until March 7th.
Opening times: Thursday - Sunday 12 noon – 6 pm
Strychnin Gallery
Boxhagenerstr. 36
10245 Berlin
www.strychnin.com"

Mysterious Saukerl - Alexander Knopf Präsentiert

Fun Club's exchange program with Ruprecht-Karls-Universität Heidelberg continues. Talented young scholar Alexander Knopf agreed to join the jury of our upcoming Literature Award. On top of that he delivered a thoroughly fascinating and mysterious "review". For the first time ever in Fun Club history, we felt obliged to leave words untranslated.

After making a fortune as a real-estate agent, Alexander Knopf decided to squander his money as a backpacker. He traveled the world and picked up pretty much every language he came across. When he finally returned to Eastern Germany, the wall was already gone, so he went to Heidelberg and enrolled as a literature, history and ethnology student. He has been published in countless magazines, journals and newspapers and has a very particular skill set if it comes to editorial practices. Some of us might remember his magazine "federlesen", others have benefited from his contributions to the Hebel edition. These days he's working on a PhD on Georg Friedrich Philipp Freiherr von Hardenberg, also known as Novalis.

In the picture below you find Alexander Knopf in a weird position. It might be hard to believe that it's really him, yet this might prepare us for what's coming.

"IN DEN BÜCHERBERGEN, die nach 1989 von Ostberliner Antiquariaten unter dem Etikett „ideologisch kontaminiert“ verramscht wurden, findet sich noch heute, bei geduldigem Graben, manches brauchbare Druckerzeugnis. Aus dem Jahre 1955 etwa stammt das völlig vergessene und tatsächlich nirgendwo mehr auffindbare Büchlein „Der Stellvertreter“ [Заместитель], verfasst von Ivan Golz, der es auch vom Russischen ins Deutsche übertrug. (Fischer Verlag Jena) Golz, seinerseits persona incognita, gibt wenig Informationen preis. In Lemberg um das Jahr 1900 geboren, verlebt er eine nirgendwo bezeugte Jugend, bis sich ein Lebenszeichen erstmals in den zwanziger Jahren in Petersburg findet. Majakowski berichtet von einem Zusammenstoß mit dem „Saukerl [мерзавец] Golz aus Lemberg“, der sich nach einer Lesung seine Gedichte ausbat, um einen Hering darin einzuwickeln. Offenbar hatte sich Golz nach der Revolution nicht nur dem antibolschewistischen Widerstand angeschlossen, sondern auch für Futurismus nicht viel übrig. Es ist nicht unwahrscheinlich, dass besagter Golz mit jenem identisch ist, der nach Auskunft von Sinowjews Tagebüchern das Dekameron so gut übersetzt hat, dass er, Sinowjew, es trotz Stalins Belletristikverbot (mit gleichzeitiger Empfehlung seiner eigenen parteipolitischen Schriften) nicht aus der Hand zu legen vermochte. Nach dem Kronstädter Aufstand, in den Golz – wir wissen nicht wie – verwickelt war, floh er nach Berlin. Dort verliert sich seine Spur rasch und unwiederbringlich. Nicht mit letzter Sicherheit steht fest, ob das Couplet mit dem Titel „An den traurigen G.“ des in den Berliner Cabaréts der späten Zwanziger nicht unbekannten Erich Kleinwiegel auf Golz anspielt:

Kau nich auf deinem Bleistift rum, 

Der is doch nur von Holz 

So wie dein Kopp, den trägste stumm 

Tagaus, Tagein. Wat solls?

Mit deine Ohren hörste nich, 

Schmierfinkenkomsomolz, 

Dabei sing ich det nur für dich. 

Undank ist… ach, wat solls! etc.

„Der Stellvertreter“, Golz’ einziges auf uns gekommenes Werk, ist ein Kammerspiel. Gumbrow, Insasse eines Irrenhauses, sieht sich gezwungen, seine Zelle fortan mit dem soeben eingelieferten Lemski zu teilen. Für Gumbrow eine Katastrophe, denn der Grund seines Aufenthalts im Irrenhaus ist der freiwillige Rückzug in die Psychose zum Zwecke eines ungestörten Bücherlebens. Ein „geschmackvoller Coup“ habe ihm, wie Gumbrow selbst sagt, dieses Privileg verschafft. Anlässlich eines Besuchs in Uppsala, bei dem er sich den Codex argenteus vorlegen ließ, begann er vor dem zur Salzsäule erstarrten Bibliothekar, Seite um Seite auszureißen und sich in den Hals zu stopfen, nicht ohne eine Silberintoxikation mittleren Grades zu verursachen. Es ist klar, dass ein Buchstabenmensch nur das Buch der Bücher verspeist. Aber hier geht es um mehr als gelehrte Allusion auf Johannes. Mit einem einzigen Akt der Gefräßigkeit zeigt Golz, was beiden, Religion und Literatur, von seiten der stalinistischen Kulturfunktionäre blüht: Das Verschwinden im Schlund der Revolution als Apokalypse selbst. Droht einer der Ärzte („Ingenieure der Seele“?) Verdacht zu schöpfen, verleibt sich Gumbrow ein weiteres Buch ein.

Die wechselnden Störungen, die Gumbrow durch die Emigration in den Wahnsinn ein für allemal auszuschalten gehofft hatte, stellen sich nun in persistenter Gestalt Lemskis ein. Lemski soll, so hatte ein Gericht geurteilt, gar nicht Lemski sein, sondern wahnhaft die Identität eines andern in Besitz genommen haben. Bis zum Schluss steht der Leser vor der Frage, ob Lemski das Opfer einer Verleumdung oder tatsächlich irre ist. In dem Gespräch, das einen Großteil des Buches einnimmt, schildert Lemski den Verlauf der Gerichtsverhandlung. Er sollte vor Jahren das Angebot eines Unternehmens angenommen und die Stelle des Inhabers besetzt haben. Dieser sei, so hatte ihm der seinerzeit verhandelnde Sekretär erklärt, „des Lebens wahrhaft müde“ und wolle „mit dieser Welt nichts mehr zu schaffen haben“. Lemski sollte keinem anderen Willen als dem eigenen unterliegen, sei aber verpflichtet gewesen, in allen Angelegenheiten des Unternehmensinhabers – sein Name ist natürlich Lemski – nicht nur als dessen Vertretung, sondern als dieser in persona zu erscheinen. Er sollte stets und überall auf seinem neuen Namen beharren, solange bis die Welt sich mit der Tatsache abgefunden hatte, erfahrungsgemäß rasch. Lemski, war der Sekretär fortgefahren, habe sich mit einer Sicherheit in seiner Rolle bewegt, dass der Tausch nicht nur im allgemeinen Bewusstsein, sondern auch in seinem eigenen bald in Vergessenheit geriet. Irgendwann habe er nicht mehr nur dienstliche, sondern auch gesellschaftliche und private Verpflichtungen wahrgenommen, bis sich selbst Madame Lemski in die neuen Verhältnisse fügte. Madame Lemski hatte die Aussage bestätigt. Sie hatte sich erst mit der Nachricht vom Hinscheiden ihres Mannes, das ihr eine gewaltige Hinterlassenschaft in Aussicht stellte, des seltsamen Abkommens wieder erinnert und sofort einen Prozess angestrengt.

Es ist klar, dass Lemski nicht nur einen Andern vertritt. Er vertritt die Andern, den „neuen Menschen“, die „toten Seelen“, die ihrerseits als von sich entfremdete Parteischablonen nur noch eine homogene Marschiermasse abgeben. Zugleich aber muss Lemski der Gegenentwurf zu dem Privatmenschen Gumbrow sein. Denn auf gewisse Weise reizt Gumbrow, jeden Nexus zur communitas kappend, beständig zur Frage: ‚Was gehen uns Privatidiosynkrasien an?‘ Die Ironie will es, dass Marx selbst die contemplatio verurteilt hat. Sie ist als unangemessene Reaktion abzulehnen. Freilich ist der Gegenentwurf nicht optimistisch. Es gibt keinen Optimismus in Golz’ einzigem Manifest. Das Irrenhaus ist der letzte Ort, an dem sich leben lässt, aber nur ein falsches Leben, denn es gibt kein richtiges im falschen etc. Dass Gumbrow letztlich nicht Gumbrow, sondern eben jener Unternehmensinhaber Lemski ist, zeigt nur, dass auch der Rückzug ins Papierleben durch Verlust des Selbst erkauft ist, während die Einsicht Lemskis, tatsächlich nicht Lemski zu sein, ihm den eigenen Abgrund offenbart und in den nun auch begründeten Wahnsinn stürzt. Zum Glück, kann man sagen, befindet er sich am rechten Ort."

Volksfeinde - Just A Book Review

I doubt the intelligentsia ever believed that "the internet" would destroy "the book", yet I grew up surrounded by such portentous prophecies (coming from screens). Perhaps it was just a mean grown-up joke that I wasn't supposed to get, a joke with "esprit". However, most prophecies become true in unforeseen ways. While the intelligentsia of the early 90s had pointed towards a war of media, it was all about the content they offer. The fact that most readers don't read anymore doesn't need much of an explanation. Why would anyone read a book when they can watch "The Wire" for 60 hours?

I personally did read quite some books in the past, but I also studied philosophy and literature plus I didn't have any internet connection for many years. When I finished school, I went to 1&1 and got myself hooked up, ever since then I haven't read anything but my own fragments, yet they shouldn't count as books: they don't have ISBN-numbers.

However, I decided to read again. And just to anticipate the "trace of honesty" that attracted myself to what I'm about to review, my decision was based on the following two reasons: 1. The Fun Club needs to publish book reviews to strenghten its position as party intellectuals' darling. 2. Since I don't collect vinyls, I should at least be a book nerd given that my technical skills are not very much advanced. There is nothing preposterous about neither 1 nor 2, everything that ever became (perhaps too) important to me, was forced upon myself by myself for "false" reasons.

 
I can be somewhat "extreme", so they say, and that might be why I picked  two books at the same time, both of them written by men with whom I entertain strong love-hate relationships, none of them mutual of course. So I first chose the "Josephstetralogie", apart from "Königliche Hoheit" what's missing to close "das Buch Thomas Mann", how the fuck did I make it through all these pages, and then decided to read "Ennemies publics" on the side. As you might know, I'm Berlin based now and somewhat eager to improve my German language skills, so I picked the German translation "Volksfeinde" published at Dumont in summer 2009. 

In "Volksfeinde" we find Bernhard-Henri Lévy and Michel Houellebecq exchanging letters - and how I love letters! Their self-proclaimed "Bekenntnisliteratur" initiates itself in terms of an understated confession: their correspondence is the result of an "idea" they had over dinner. It seems somewhat important to keep that in mind, although I'm not quite sure if anything should be derived from it. What I am sure of is that Michel Houellebecq, a man with whom I've been struggling with for almost ten years now, has to be approved. Point.

[to be continued]

We Deny Everything But Good Art

It is about time to introduce our "creative tool" Peter Rings, also known as Peter Ringo. Right now he's sitting crossed-legged in the FUN CLUB studio working on a (hopefully) three-dimensional FUN CLUB logo. A few minutes ago he sent us the long expected 19,99 € Award slogan via text message: "We deny everything but good art - the 19,99 € Award." The brilliant slogan was followed by some rather unfriendly mumbling a bit later on the phone, I guess you all know how artists can be since you all consider yourself artists anyway, however, Ringo said that he didn't have the time to design the 19,99 € Award Logo/Flyer around the slogan, so we're now looking for another intern to do the job. Anyone? 1,2,3.

There's no reason to pronounce the first syllable of "weekend" since it in fact just ends. However, we're grateful for the chance to finally officially dislike something, the Fashion Week After Party at Warschauer Str. 34 was just insanely pale and all things considered dispensable. A bunch of dressed-up rowdies from the suburbs prancing around like they haven't been laid for too long and perhaps they played some music there, but I really don't remember. We feasted on the open bar till it closed, then we met friends and discussed  The Mystery Method.

How beautiful in comparison was our Saturday afternoon at the Heroes. We really have to review this unobtrusive gem more thoroughly, since it just always allures us to stay happily ever longer than our tight schedule commands. Perhaps it's the cuisine, aah, one sweet taste parade, on Saturday we went for the "cake rumble", tomorrow we'll attend the Cantine du Jeudi for the first time, this week they offer Lasagna.

The beautiful lamp you see above is designed by French designer, artist and wood master Romain Houssais and to be found at the Heroes.

Oh, it is almost time for our late night photo shoot with Susan, so we have to tell you about the spectacular robot performance at the Sunday Extraordinaire another day.

Skinless and Cruddy - A Review

How we were surprised and excited when ingenious bilingual Heidelbergian writer, translator, art critic and theorist Nina Dentata finally replied to one of our many letters. Our chief executive Tony Abstract had been courageous, yes fearless enough to ask her for contributions to FUN CLUB, he had even sent her a detailed list of books, comics and tunes that he would love to have reviewed. Most of the works he listed would still be unknown to him if it weren't for the profound knowledge and peculiar taste of Nina Dentata, well-established connoisseur of the anglophone underground. On top of his list were Diane DiMassa's adorable superhero comics (with a particular mention of the behated as well as beloved "skinless and genderless man") as well as Lynda Barry's fascinating novel "Cruddy". We were speechless when we saw that Nina Dentata had answered two of our prayers at the same time and say thank you kind...

"If one of my favorite fellas in the world, a guy called The Skinless and Genderless Man, were to name his least favorite book, it would be Cruddy by Lynda Barry. Mind you, Skinless isn’t the brightest star in the universe. He’s more of a lovable but very dumb brother. What he wouldn’t like at all is all the gender-bending going on in the novel. “What’s all this Clyde-business about?”, he’d ask, eyes wide open as always. Skinless lacks in various departments of anatomy, not just skin and sexual organs; his eyelids and sockets are also missing. I’m not even sure if he has an actual skull. He just has a head. He’d definitely like the shootin’ and the swearin’. Most of the shootin’ and swearin’ in the book comes from the Father. The Father’s the kind of guy who likes to lay down the law to little Clyde, who is also and actually (maybe) Roberta. Roberta Rohbeson makes a very cruddy effort of telling the very fucked-up tale of her life, maps detailing her cruddy journey through a cruddy existence - which of course ends in her suicide - and including awesome illustrations so as not to leave you in doubt about the very cruddiness of things. Skinless isn’t into painting too much unless it involves his skinless heterosexual girlfriend undressed and draped on a chaise longue much like Kate Winslet in “Titanic”. Therefore he might get downright pissed at the quality of the images in Cruddy. “That shit is ugly”, he’d be likely to comment and put the book down. (There’s no way of knowing why he may have picked it up in the first place.) Skinless isn’t one to dig any deeper than he absolutely has to into questions such as “But when the thing that is scaring you is already Jesus, who are you supposed to pray to?”. There are moments of melancholy beauty in Cruddy that Skinless would simply not be aware of, even if you slapped them in his lipless face. Skinless isn’t only skinless to slip racial categorizing, he’s bereft of sentiment (or put in a more obvious manner: nothing gets under his skin because he has none). One could assume that he might get the broader message conveyed in the novel, but, alas, in vain. The message is “Truth plus Magical Love equals Freedom” and the Skinless and Genderless Man is a bonehead who will never get it but he’s a cuddly guy nonetheless. And if YOU read Cruddy AND wrap your head or your heart around it, you’re IN."

Meeting Jacques By Accident - Traffic Magazine

There I stood on the corner of Gormannstraße and some other street, wrapped in dirty white, just another animal stuffed in natural darm, trying to look like a venturous, yet unpretentious snowmonster. I would die to say that I was wondering how I got here, since it reads like the beginning of a book that would sell pretty well, but I remembered every single step from my trashed desk to the front-door, how I rolled my cigarette and how I almost dropped it because I thought I saw a snowmonster, but it was just my reflection in one of the gallery windows. At the time in question I wasn't really wondering about anything, I just held on to the thought that I would invest in spaceships as soon as I had made my fortune with AdSense, just in case one of Emmerich's visions should become true. And then out of nowhere Jacques appeared in front of me, a huge paper roll between left arm and torso, we shook hands.

He was on his way to the printing shop, the paper roll being the third issue of "Traffic", he seemed happy. I said: "Ah, traffic, saw something 'bout that on facebook, so that's your magazine?" He said "yes", I complimented him on the layout, he highlighted the content. Before we went separate ways, Jacques handed me a copy of the first issue, so I could find out for myself. Since the magazine is subheaded "news to go", it seemed like a good idea to read it in the subway, lucky as I am my train got stuck between Janowitzbridge and Heinrich-Heine-Street for a while, so I had enough time to get a first impression. The editorial stuff of "Traffic" proves to be impressive, there are quite a few figures whose background show the peaks of German Feuilleton. I'm not even sure if there's a proper word for what the Germans call "Feuilleton" in the English language and I think the French would rather address it as "rubrique littéraire", while associating "le feuilleton" with something that's on TV, I wonder what went wrong when the Germans conquered the word, or rather got stuffed with it like an adipohepatic goose, one shouldn't blame them for everything, they have enough shame to carry as it is. However, the names read big shot and the words seem to keep up, I don't speak German too well, but I didn't feel awkward reading it which doesn't happen too often. I was happy to find a section on man perfume, which is really encouraging, up and till now I always felt the need to hide it or to pretend that I bought it as an emergency liquor supply. I also learned how to adjust a bow tie, how embittered Daniel Richter really is and that I rather shouldn't write a novel on Dubai, well, the latter I already knew. However, these are all things that I like to read (for free).

Nuclear Sweat - Plateau Repas

Last night we sent our intern Ronny to the Schwuz (Berlin, Germany) to shoot us some maidens from hell. As you can see he is quite new in the business. The footage he retrieved is so raw that we don't want to embarrass ourselves by even trying to polish it. Ronny claims that the material he recovered is somewhat representative for the eruption of loins he experienced. We whipped him hard, but he couldn't care less, repeatedly exclaimed in delight that he finally had an idea of how it must feel to fuck your favorite book up the wall, feeling the thrill of its back being smirched with cheap ink, while the phone number someone had left on the very same wall fades away with increasing pleasure.

Ronny is a crazy cat, no doubt about that, however, we cannot help ourselves but believe that Plateau Repas once again set new patterns for whatever the hell it is they're doing to us. We hear that they introduced a new song, supposedly a song of crisis, in the most honest, yet optimistic sense. We will try to find out more and keep you posted.