Utopie und Realität

Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Utopie und Realität
Bei dem Titel meines Abschlussprojektes „Utopie und Realität“ handelt sich um die Leitfrage: »Stadt« – was ist das eigentlich? Und von was reden wir heute, wenn wir »Stadt« sagen? Die Stadt ist eine Gesamtheit einer ganzen Reihe von Dingen: ein Komplex der Erinnerungen, der Wünsche oder des Zeichens. Sie ist auch ein Ort des Austausches: von Waren, von Diskursen, oder von Gefühlen.
Der Begriff »Stadt« soll eigentlich nicht abschließend definiert sein. Allerdings verlieren die Großstädte heute mit der Modernisierung nach und nach ihre ursprünglichen Eigenschaften. Zugleich stellen die „Megastädte“ auf der ganzen Welt ein fortdauerndes, eintöniges Stadtbild dar. Die Städte wurden nie so stark verallgemeinert wie heute. Man charakterisiert sie vorwiegend nach ihrer Größe, ihrer Funktion, ihrer Bevölkerungszahl, usw.. Es scheint, je mehr sich unsere Zivilisation entwickelt, desto ferner bleibt die Traumstadt von uns. 
Wenn die Stadt, in der wir jeden Morgen erwacht sind, eine rationale Realität ist, dann ist die Utopie nur unser Traum. Auch wenn wir sie nicht finden, können wir nicht aufgeben, weiter zu träumen. Als Gestalter habe ich das Ziel, durch eine öffentliche Ausstellung den Zuschauer bzw. die Leute, die in den Großstädten leben, eine unterschiedliche, sinnliche Definition von der „Stadt" zu zeigen. Es wird auch erwartet, dass ein Nachdenken über die heutige Situation der Großstädte ausgelöst wird. 
Die Grundlage meiner Ausstellung basiert auf der Rahmenerzählung „Die Unsichtbaren Städte“ von dem italienischen Schriftsteller Italo Calvino. In seiner Erzählung werden 55 fiktive Städte in 11 Kategorien beschrieben, die sich jeweils mit einer geographischen, historischen, gesellschaftlichen oder menschlichen Situation befassen und jede ist mit einem Frauennamen benannt. Unter ihnen gibt es sowohl glückliche Städte, also Utopien, als auch unglückliche Städte, die deutlich unseren heutigen Städten ähneln. 
Von diesen Städten habe ich 4 ausgewählt: die Städte und der Tausch: „Euphemia“, die Städte und der Wunsch: „Zobeide“, die fragilen Städte: „Ottavia“ und die fortdauernden Städte: „Leonia“. Diese werde ich in meiner Ausstellung darstellen.
 
Trading Cities
Euphemia 
Proceeding eighty miles into the northwest wind, you reach the city of Euphemia, where the merchants of seven nations gather at every solstice and equinox. The boat that lands there with a cargo of ginger and cotton will set sail again, its hold filled with pistachio nuts and poppy seeds, and the caravan that has just unloaded sacks of nutmegs and raisins is already cramming its saddlebags with bolts of golden muslin for the return journey. But what drives men to travel up rivers and cross deserts to come here is not only the exchange of wares, which you could find, everywhere the same, in all the bazaars inside and outside the Great Khan's empire, scattered at your feet on the same yellow mats, in the shade of the same awnings protecting them from the flies, offered with the same lying reduction in prices. You do not come to Euphemia only to buy and sell, but also because at night, by the fires all around the market, seated on sacks or barrels or stretched out on piles of carpets, at each word that one man says -- such as "wolf", "sister", "hidden treasure", "battle", "scabies", "lovers" -- the others tell, each one, his tale of wolves, sisters, treasures, scabies, lovers, battles. And you know that in the long journey ahead of you, when to keep awake against the camel's swaying or the junk's rocking, you start summoning up your memories one by one, your wolf will have become another wolf, your sister a different sister, your battle other battles, on your return from Euphemia, the city where memory is traded at every solstice and at every equinox.
 
Cities and Desire 
Zobeide
From there, after six days and seven nights, you arrive at Zobeide, the White City, well exposed to the moon, with streets wound about themselves as in a skein. They tell this story of its foundation: men of various nations had an identical dream. They saw a woman running at night through an unknown city; she was seen from behind, with long hair and she was naked. They dreamed of pursuing her. As they twisted and turned, each of them lost her. After the dream they set out in search of that city; they never found it, but they found one another; they decided to build a city like the one in the dream. In laying out the streets, each followed the course of his pursuit; at the place where they had lost the fugitive's trail, they arranged spaces and walls differently from the dream, so she would be unable to escape again.
This was the city of Zobeide, where they settled, waiting for that scene to be repeated one night. None of them, asleep or awake, ever saw the woman again. They City's streets were streets where they went to work every day, with no link any more to the dreamed chase. Which, for that matter, had long been forgotten.
New men arrived from other lands, having had a dream like theirs, and in the city of Zobeide, they recognized something from the streets of the dream, and they changed the positions of arcades and stairways to resemble more closely the path of the pursued woman and so, at the spot where she had vanished, there would remain no avenue of escape.
The first to arrive could not understand what drew these people to Zobeide, this ugly City, this trap.
 
Thin Cities
Ottavia
If you choose to believe me, good. Now I will tell how Ottavia, the spider-web city, is made. There is a precipice between two steep mountains: the city is over the void, bound to the two crests with ropes and chains and catwalks. You walk on the little wooden ties, careful not to set your foot in the open spaces, or you cling to the hempen strands. Below there is nothing for hundreds and hundreds of feet: a few clouds glide past; farther down you can glimpse the chasm's bed.
This is the foundation of the city: a net which serves as passage and as support. All the rest, instead of rising up, is hung below: rope ladders, hammocks, houses made like sacks, clothes hangers, terraces like gondolas, skins of water, gas jets, spits, baskets on strings, dumb-waiters, showers, trapezes and rings for children's games, cable cars, chandeliers, pots with trailing plants.
Suspended over the abyss, the life of Ottavia's inhabitants is less uncertain than in other cities. They know the net will last only so long.
 
Continuous Cities
Leonia
The city of Leonia refashions itself every day: every morning the people wake between fresh sheets, wash with just-unwrapped cakes of soap, wear brand-new clothing, take from the latest model refrigerator still unopened tins, listening to the last-minute jingles from the most up-to-date radio.
On the sidewalks, encased in spotless plastic bags, the remains of yesterday's Leonia await the garbage truck. Not only squeezed rubes of toothpaste, blown-out light bulbs, newspapers, containers, wrappings, but also boilers, encyclopedias, pianos, porcelain dinner services. It is not so much by the things that each day are manufactured, sold, bought that you can measure Leonia's opulence, but rather by the things that each day are thrown out to make room for the new. So you begin to wonder if Leonia's true passion is really, as they say, the enjoyment of new and different things, and not, instead, the joy of expelling, discarding, cleansing itself of a recurrent impurity. The fact is that street cleaners are welcomed like angels, and their task of removing the residue of yesterday's existence is surrounded by a respectful silence, like a ritual that inspires devotion, perhaps only because once things have been cast off nobody wants to have to think about them further.
Nobody wonders where, each day, they carry their load of refuse. Outside the city, surely; but each year the city expands, and the street cleaners have to fall farther back. The bulk of the outflow increases and the piles rise higher, become stratified, extend over a wider perimeter. Besides, the more Leonia's talent for making new materials excels, the more the rubbish improves in quality, resists time, the elements, fermentations, combustions. A fortress of indestructible leftovers surrounds Leonia, dominating it on every side, like a chain of mountains.
This is the result: the more Leonia expels goods, the more it accumulates them; the scales of its past are soldered into a cuirass that cannot be removed. As the city is renewed each day, it preserves all of itself in its only definitive form: yesterday's sweepings piled up on the sweepings of the day before yesterday and of all its days and years and decades.
Leonia's rubbish little by little would invade the world, if, from beyond the final crest of its boundless rubbish heap, the street cleaners of other cities were not pressing, also pushing mountains of refuse in front of themselves. Perhaps the whole world, beyond Leonia's boundaries, is covered by craters of rubbish, each surrounding a metropolis in constant eruption. The boundaries between the alien, hostile cities are infected ramparts where the detritus of both support each other, overlap, mingle.
The greater its height grows, the more the danger of a landslide looms: a tin can, an old tire, an unraveled wine flask, if it rolls toward Leonia, is enough to bring with it an avalanche of unmated shoes, calendars of bygone years, withered flowers, submerging the city in its own past, which it had tried in vain to reject, mingling with the past of the neighboring cities, finally clean. A cataclysm will flatten the sordid mountain range, canceling every trace of the metropolis always dressed in new clothes. In the nearby cities they are all ready, waiting with bulldozers to flatten the terrain, to push into the new territory, expand, and drive the new street cleaners still farther out.