> Articles|
A Visual Wonderland
Athena Newton The King of Trash, Jan Henderikses Alltagmytheng Cathleen Haff Grand Opening, Catalog Gerhard Graulich Exhibition in the Waschhaus Germany Inspirations with Jan Henderikse Renate Wiehager Brooklyn in Potsdam - Jan Henderikse im Waschhaus Die Welt |
Exhibition in the Waschhaus (Germany) It all started in the late 50s, after he trained at the Free Academy in The Hague. Henderikse says in retrospect: I am the founder of the Informel group! He brought Die Monochromen back from Germany with him and organized the first exhibition gallery in Delft. In this way, Henderikse provided the practical necessities for developing a programme for himself and four artist-friends. The Dutch Informel group included, alongside the youngest, Henk Peeters, who had suggested founding the group, Jan Schoonhoven, Armando and Kees van Bohemen. Henderikse lived in Cologne and Dusseldorf for three years after 1959. In Cologne I worked as an unskilled labourer, after doing all sorts of odd jobs illegally at first. After that I joined the Ford factory. I met Uecker, who shortly afterwards advised me to move to Dusseldorf. Gunther Uecker had been a member of the Zero group since 1958. It had been founded in the previous year by Heinz Mack and Otto Piene. They were united by a desire for art that was politically and socially autonomous. They created kinetic objects and images in which the phenomenon of light was addressed with futuristic enthusiasm, fundamentally agreeing that depicting, interpreting or psychogrammatic art were all to be rejected. Yves Klein and Lucio Fontana were important influences at this time. The five Dutchmen followed suit in 1960 and used the same name in their own language: nul. Then Hank Peeters organized a nul exhibition in the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam in 1962. In concrete situations the artistic closeness of the artists involved gave way to a strong sense of competition. When I heard that the Germans intended to change the way the exhibition was put together, I drove to Arnheim in my 2CV; they had a Volvo, of course . . . There was a that was ninety-nine per cent about the three other gentlemen . . . My beer crates, for example, could be seen from all the galleries at first. Well, when they noticed that, screens went up all over the place . . . The Germans were real ideologues, all three of them, but above all they were real Germans, unanimous, speaking with one voice. Despite all the involuntary humour of these sentences, you can imagine the angry furrows on Henderikses brow. The aseptic appearance of the pictures and installations was more or less alien to him. He was not interested in philosophical explanations of his work. Phrases like laughing is a waste of time, or even statements like creativity wears fine clothes were invented amidst shouting and yelling. From time to time this got on other peoples, and other artists, nerves. Henderikse was not very bothered about that. The others were fond of writing him off as a grumbler. He took things very seriously, and issued his polemics, saying just what he thought. As mischievously as he could. He remained subversive, and continued to prefer to look at the Netherlands from a distance. He lived in Curacao from 1963 to 1967, and then from 1968 in New York, where he still is, alternating with Berlin from 1987. When you walk around this present exhibition in the Waschhaus (Germany), you are surprised first of all by the compelling rigour of the design. And your surprise would be justified, as Dutch artist Jan Henderikse is more likely to be known for creating a sense of claustrophobia. There was no lack of material, as the artist, born in Delft - The Netherlands in 1936, changed his studios into stores that are now absolutely full up. This is partly because he is a manic collector. And he is also completely unable to part with anything that he finds and has incorporated into his constantly growing everyday collection. And so he needed the sympathetic argument and space-related skills of a competent curator, which Erik Bruinenberg has turned out to be on this occasion. Wolfgang Zeigerer, gallery-owner and long-standing connoisseur of Jan Henderikses work, was impressed by the clarity of the presentation. And he knows how difficult it must have been to wrest lucidity from this artist's work, as he had worked twice in a comparable situation in Kiel. The main feature is that the works shown convey his life's work in a very refreshing way. One discovers stages of his development that seem like charming references to his leisurely travels around the world. nul: beer crates take up a whole wall in Potsdam. This is a remake of the above-mentioned 1962 installation, which probably reconciled him with the past. Heineken provided the material on this occasion as well. That must have been an easy bit of sponsoring: in the Russian Hall you see dollar notes that have been shredded to make a lawn. On top of it sits a compressed monument in just the same waste paper. A jester's drama. Brooklyn: on the right and left of the devalued money are cheerful ranks of advertising flags from American supermarkets. They are singing the praises of fresh pork shoulder and other delicacies. But the advertising is no longer meeting with a response. The chest freezers are replaced with neon-lit wanted ads from American daily papers. And instead of checkouts, there is an altar with a triptych. Religious knick-knacks and lavish illumination for Christmas candles batteries enter into an unduly sugary liaison. All underpinned by the unredeemed droning of popular Christmas tunes. Touched and mocked by a long red laser finger. It is easy to see the artistic link with American Pop Art here, though this tended to remain third rate. He is a purist in his handling of the everyday. He does not aestheticize it, like Warhol or Manzoni. If he were interested in shit, it would not be his own. He is also not interested in the new design. He throws our normal looking habits out of rhythm. Changes of scale, enlargement and reduction of distance jolt our perceptions. Things that have long been overlooked because we wanted to forget there were there are put in our way. Just as they have got in his way. To this extent his will to design is essentially labyrinthine and floral. In the Waschhaus we are introduced to the delicate line drawn by a photographic lab technician when cancelling photographs, which Henderikse took over delightedly. Next to these are showcases containing shirts he has made by folding banknotes. Many people will remember the predecessors of these multiples, the cork reliefs. If you go on looking, Ellen O'Shaughnessy smiles at you 36 times. Pulled to and fro, as in a well arranged stockroom, you stride up and down, leaving one room and then coming back again. Sometimes it is just details that draw you back. You become intoxicated with the abundance, plunge into the rubbish without being revolted; you are led about carefully, without getting tangled up. There is a little bridge, from which you look down on an artificial landscape full of conifers and bushes. A setting that would make any model railway freakÕs heart beat faster. And to reassure us, Henderikse put up a banal photograph of a railway compartment window that the unknown photographer had taken from his compartment. These examples may be sufficient to convey the amusement that this exhibition can provide. I do just think it's a pity that the works did not have titles. It an open secret that Jan Henderikse retains his sense of humour in that department as well. |