11.04.2016

A tire that spins against a wall and deteriorates more and more with every sideward glance cast upon it, a tree that circles itself and drags its branches along the ground ad infinitum while its leaves fade to a dusty and dehydrated brown, popcorn that pops into a room filled with ten year-old kernels that will only ever be touched by Tom Hanks and will never fill the millions of empty stomachs in the world. The Sammlung Boros Bunker “plays on the ignorance of the audience” by showing us things we think we know, expecting us to question that knowledge, and then revealing that initial knowledge to be true all along. Each piece is open to any interpretation that the viewer projects onto it by leaving the titles of the works as well as the artists responsible for them in a booklet at the front desk. Without a guide there is no hope of taking away any artistic intention from the pieces, and even less hope of being able to find the exit.

Claustrophobia reaches its ultimate peaks in this bunker, whether it comes from the size of your group that you cannot walk away from, or from the omnipresent bourgeoisie that looks down its ever-lifting nose at your laughable blindness in a room filled entirely with lights. What good is art if we are immediately deemed too stupid and too ignorant to understand it? What sort of knowledge did these collectors possess that we seem to inherently lack in the 21st century? It’s something that only Tom Hanks will ever understand.