The Hebrew word ‘miklat’ means bunker or shelter. Those who roam the streets of Tel Aviv attentively will stumble across this word here and there and reflect on the fact that in Israel a shelter is not a relict from the past [like the bunker in Vienna where this work was first installed, then squatted by the Museum of Applied Arts] but a space of the present and an ever current sign of new conflict. Anderwald + Grond have adopted this space as their own and deliberatly relocated their newest installation Camera Solaris from the Tel Aviv Center for Contemporary Art to a nearby shelter, deep under ground. Narrow concrete stairs lead the way down into this darkness, into the inside of the city, surrounded by rugged walls whose only arteries to the outside world is a web of iron pipes. In this sense, Camera Solarisis in itself a reversed image of the outside world, which as a film projection hits the bleak concrete just like a retina.
What brought this about was a solar eclipse over the Turkish Antalaya, captured by the two artists with a 16mm film camera and realized through digital montage in an infinite loop, in which solar eclipse and frames from the surroundings complement each other, forming a musically organic rhythm. A monotonously rattling 16mm projector in the background casts these black and white images onto a matt screen, whose own sievelike permeability in turn casts image spots onto the inside of the shelter. The dead space transforms into an organically pulsating life of light, a light from a solar eclipse, caught in a medium in which the materiality of light still belongs to the structure of the picture. And it seems as if the permeability of the projection screen affects the impermeabilty of the bunker wall, like a drop wears the stone or like an impression carving its way through the retina into one’s memory.
Film installation with Camera Obscura, 2008 – 2012
︎ Ecole cantonale d'art de Lausanne,
︎ Museum für Angewandte Kunst, Vienna
︎ CCA, Center for Contemporary Art, Tel Aviv
© Anderwald + Grond
© Karl Michalski/MAK
© Maïa Wolf