Aug 21

It is 4:15 in the morning. I have cleaned the apartment and packed my bags. Now I wait, trying to finish the bottle of delicious Ukrainian vodka Rachel gave to me. It is a little early/late to be drinking, I admit, but I want to be deep asleep 45 minutes from now. In about 20 minutes, I will leave and head to the airport. After three flights, with a connection in Barcelona and another in Newark, I will be safe and sound back in the States.

This evening I shared a lovely dinner (complete with cupcakes for desserts, of course) with Laszlo, Tom, and Laura at Tom and Laura's Schöneberg apartment. Unfortunately, I do not have much to say other than that I will really miss their company. I am so blessed to have made the acquaintance of these three wonderful people, and I hope to see them all again sooner rather than later.

So, bis bald... und nach Amerika!

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Aug 16

This week I made it to the Hamburger Bahnhof, the city's museum of contemporary art. The space is absolutely beautiful -- a former train station, with a glass roof similar to that in the Musée d'Orsay. Lots of natural light filters into the galleries through fogged windows and muslin shades, so the art doesn't have reflections like we saw in the Met (which was beautiful in its own way, but terrible for viewing the art). The façade of the building is decorated with fluorescent blue bars by minimalist Dan Flavin. (Is it not peculiar to decorate with minimalist art?) They had a room exclusively for Joseph Beuys, another for Warhol, and another for Cy Twombly. As I was alone, I decided to pick up one of the audio guides. I found it really helpful for the paintings by Rauschenberg (such as "First Time Painting," 1961) and Twombly ("Free Wheeler," 1955, "School of Fontainebleau," 1960, and "Thyrsis," 1977), neither of whom I have studied much. In the central gallery were several large sculptures and three-dimensional paintings by Anselm Kiefer, whose incredible painting "Athanor" in the Toledo Museum of Art I fell in love with this past year. In the central gallery of the Bahnhof, they have his "Volkszählung" (roughly, "Population Census") from 1991. The installation is a room, a library of oversized iron books sitting on oversized iron bookshelves. Three shelves, stacked on top of each other, reach about 15' high. Look at my pictures on Flickr to get an idea of the scale of the shelves and books in comparison, as well as their texture. Embedded into the pages of the books are thousands of little dots, little peas or seeds, perhaps to represent individual people not to be reduced by the act of conducting a census. I know I'm not alone, but I find Kiefer an intelligent, aware and most importantly, wholly sincere artist. Too many contemporary artists are obsessed with postmodern culture and can't produce anything of substantial merit; there is much to be learned from artists like Kiefer or Richter, theoretically and aesthetically.

There was another gallery showing works by Bruce Nauman and Matthew Barney, a couple pieces from Rachel Whiteread (the mattress, the underside of a table), several minimalist sculptures by Donald Judd.

The two special exhibitions showed sculptor Alicja Kwade (winner of the Piepenbrock Förderpreis, 2008) and photographer Wolfgang Tillmans (winner of the Turner Prize, 2000). Kwade's work impressed me very much. She questions the authenticity of what we consider something's "value" or "worth." For one piece, she took 100 pebbles and stones from the street, shaped and polished them like gemstones, and scattered them on a low, rectangular pedestal. In another, she took over a hundred bricks of coal and plated them with 24-karat gold. She also plates wall and desk clocks with silver, so that they are no longer functional (the time can no longer be read). One of the first pieces in the exhibition was a gracefully poured pile of sparkling green dust -- created by smashing and grinding bottles of champagne.

Tillmans's show was supposed to be the highlighting exhibition. However, I found it too self-indulgent. The show itself was too large, containing way too many pieces. I personally enjoyed the curatorial creativity with which some of his photographs were displayed. And the tables of collaged newspaper clippings and photographs. But too many of his photographs I found too... empty. In one of his statements, Tillmans said that he hoped through his work to reduce all the physical value of his subjects, to make clear that all objects have the same physical value, weight. While I admire this ambition and think his photographs accomplish this, I feel that this fact is also inherent in the photographic medium. I could make the case of a few artists who work with the opposite, who rely on their composition and color to create varying distributions of weight and form. But Tillmans goal has already been reached by many other photographers before him. He doesn't articulate it in a special way. Interestingly, I actually felt a void when viewing most of his work. It was non-photography -- but not in a provocative way. It sounds a little ridiculous, I know, but in my notes I wrote that "he should not be allowed to explore so many topics in one exhibition." There were some great works, but in this particular context it was too much work to seek them out. My favorites might have been from his "Lighter" series (2007/2008), in which the high-gloss images of color fields are bent and crinkled to reflect light and change the hues. These I found very lively and engaging -- perhaps because they were so glossy that it was impossible for the viewer to avoid looking at their own reflection. I also liked: "Tapestry" (2006), the series of the total solar eclipse, "Springer" (1987/88), "Faltenwurf II" ("Submerged II," 2000), and "Kneeling Nude, Dark" (1997). "Kneeling Nude" is a very dark photograph (as it was taken at night), and the viewer has to get very close in order to make out its subject -- a young, nude man wearing a mohawk and nipple pinchers, kneeling so that he faces the viewer, grabbing his dick. I also really liked the "Memorial for Victims of Organized Religions" (for the title, if for nothing else), which is a series of perhaps 48 dark, high-gloss photos arranged in a corner so that they reflected each other, forming a cross or some sort of wheel.

On one of the museum's walls was a quote of Kiefer's, taken from Isaiah: "Grass will grow over your cities." I fully support the truth of this statement. It also reminds me quite explicitly of Weisman's "The World Without Us," which I started reading on the cruise, have yet to finish, but am still recommending to nearly everyone I meet.

My visit to the Bahnhof led me to write up a list of my favorite artists. Here is how it currently stands: Hesse, Beuys, Louise Bourgeois, Claes Oldenburg, Rauschenberg, de Kooning, Sugimoto, Kiefer, Twombly, Rothko, and Cézanne (and Braque and Picasso and the other late 19th-early 20th century modernist masters, of course). There are too many, I suppose, as this list is already so long and yet still not fully comprehensive. And what about Cai Guo-Qiang, or Richard Serra, or all of the amazing contemporary artists I have only encountered once... I just don't know where to stop. How about right here.

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Aug 15

My mind is split in many directions, which means this post will either be incoherent or inclusive, depending on how you look at it.

In just a few days, I will hop on a plane (three of them, actually) to head back to Ann Arbor. Quite often lately I have been asked questions such as: aren't you going to be sad to leave Berlin? are you ready to face the life you thought you had permanently left behind?

And the answers are yes, of course I'm sad to leave Berlin. But the excitement I have about returning to Michigan overwhelms this disappointment. I have done much of what I was hoping to accomplish here, and I will never be done tweaking my life and creating new challenges. Returning to Michigan is my next step, and there is no rule saying I can never come back to live in Berlin.

Of course, there are some things from my summer here that I will not miss. Such as fighting to protect my prized fruits, vegetables and fresh bread from the plague of flies that recently fell upon my kitchen. Or smacking my head onto the wooden shelf that has been nailed next to my pillow when I wake up every morning. Or crashing into clear glass telephone booths when I ride my bicycle in the rain. Or sitting at my computer with a comforter on my lap in the middle of August. Or having nightmares nearly every time I fall asleep.

There is no one who can guarantee me that everything in Ann Arbor will be perfect. I am a rational woman -- I don't expect that to be the case. But, so far, plans are shaping up as well as I could imagine. I have a place to live, which happens to be only one floor below my last apartment. I will be living with a good friend of mine. I have a job -- for now. I ought to be able to continue my German classes. I have a renewed excitement for the arboretum, for Washtenaw county's yoga studios, and for the farmer's market and the co-op. And to see my friends again, even though so many of them have moved elsewhere.

Health-Kick Month began two weeks ago. Every year in early August, I start up a regular exercise regime and attempt a well-balanced diet. I like to ensure that, come my birthday on September 1, I am in the best possible shape I can be. And what are birthdays for, other than to celebrate that we are alive? It seems rather ungrateful to have birthdays pass while taking our health for granted.

Sure, I reflect each year on how I have grown emotionally. But like every other living creature, I also mature physically. And if I am healthy and in good shape, these changes can be welcomed as part of maturation. Otherwise, they are blamed on an ignorant and negligent lifestyle -- which is not nearly as sexy. I prefer to be conscious of what I am capable of, and how these capabilities change from year to year.

So this year I found a Bikram yoga studio here in Kreuzberg. It's a fast 15-minute bike ride from my apartment. For only 10€, I was given an unlimited pass to the studio for 10 days. I attended 7 classes, so I think I definitely got my money's worth. I never tried Bikram before this month, but I really, really enjoyed it. For those who don't know, the room is heated to 40 degrees (about 104 degrees Fahrenheit). I loved having sweat drip off my thumb onto my face during Trikanasana (the triangle pose). I loved having my shorts completely soaked by the end of our 90-minute session. I learned some very specific German vocabulary -- it would be foreign to me now to take a class in English. And after the first week, my flexibility had improved noticeably. I advanced particularly in the 5th (Dandayamana-Janushirasana), 12th (Padangustasana), and the 21st (Ustrtasana) positions. Hopefully there will be a similar course I can take in Ann Arbor. Unfortunately, due to the overhead costs, Bikram is pretty expensive. I will probably have to settle for pilates or another yoga course. We'll see what I can find -- and what I have time for.

The late-evening ride home from class became the highlight of my day. The roads were mostly empty, so I could cruise in the street and listen simply to the city at night. I would pass a beautiful cathedral which was lit up at night. The breeze dried my sweat by the time I reached my apartment.

On the days when I didn't go to yoga, I ran or rode my bike. I am not running regularly, but I have an average distance of 3.5 miles. I do not know how that is possible, but some time spent with Google maps has told me that it is. I have also discovered that if I eat a large lunch, I can manage to run in the evenings. If it is possible to keep that up, I will have a running buddy back in Ann Arbor.

Okay, more to come later. I have a picnic to search out.

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Aug 08

I don't know if I have taken the time to explain my love for Berlin. Before my move (and for the entire first month living here), I truly had no idea what about Berlin drew me in. I was initially interested because I heard it was cheap and alternative. Two Germans I met while vacationing in Barcelona last year made a hard sell, and I promised them I would see it for myself soon enough. After graduating from university, I needed some direction -- and it's my nature to make this a geographical direction rather than something metaphysical. So my attention turned east, and I made Berlin my goal.

Now that I have spent nearly three months living here, I have a much better idea of what the city has to offer. My experiences only begin to touch on all there is to do.

General things I have noticed and love about the city:
Berlin is incredibly colorful. I don't mean to reference its multiethnic population, but that also plays a big part of it. The streets, the water, the trees, and, of course, the architecture are so sensual in their colors and textures. Paris is always gray -- when it's sunny, it's a tranquil, passive gray. When it rains, it's a somber, depressing gray. When it rains in Berlin, it looks like pebbles under shallow water -- the colors and patterns come out even stronger. Of course, there's nothing better than the sunset in Kreuzberg, the golden yellows, petal pinks and cobalt blues doubling themselves in their reflections in the canal.

That said, it is very green. There are many trees and one doesn't have to go far to find a quiet park with benches, ponds, or bocce courts. People are free here to picnic, to barbecue, and to sunbathe nude -- to really enjoy the nature surrounding them.

In many of these parks, there are huge playgrounds with zip lines, climbing walls, and -- best of all -- water fountains in which the kids are allowed to play.

I think other cities could take a cue from Berlin and invest in some man-made beaches.

And bike paths.

The architecture is all over the place. There are Constructivist apartment buildings built of gray, red, and yellow blocks, which are seemingly balanced precariously on top of one another, situated across the street from towering Gothic (Revivalist) churches. Allow me to re-iterate. Especially the Altbaus (the old-style apartment buildings, built before 1949), are painted in every color. There is no shame in living in a lavender or buttercup apartment building. And if there is a free wall, it will be decorated with a mural or in graffiti.

It is just so international. This is globalization, folks -- and I would say, globalization at its best. The languages on signs, food options, lifestyles and cultural quirks from all over the world mesh and work together. From my personal experience, Berlin is less divided than any other city I have lived in. In my neighborhood, for example, I hear more Turkish and French than German, but it only takes a couple of blocks northwest until this changes completely. If I go even a half mile farther, or to the northeast toward Friedrichshain, I hear almost exclusively English. I haven't paid witness to many accounts of overt racism -- unlike in Paris, in Madrid, in Ypsilanti (of course).

There are many, many good-looking people. There are many young people. Still, Berlin has not yet chosen any specific style. It isn't Mediterranean, it isn't Scandinavian. You can get away with wearing whatever you want. Tonight, for instance, I went running (tank top, shorts I never would have dared wearing in Paris) and went I returned to my apartment, party-goers were gathering outside of my door (there is a club hidden in the alley behind my building, naturally). I stood outside for awhile, watching limos arrive, stretching and sweating -- and not feeling too far out of place. Sure, there are parts of the city where men walk the sidewalk in expensive, well-tailored suits and drive BMWs, but there are also corners (not too hidden) that house artist co-ops, squatter villages, and camps for alternative living (sort of like a gypsy camp, only with organic gardens and solar panels on top of the wagons). There is nothing that I would feel uncomfortable wearing in Berlin -- or not wearing. As I said, it's not unusual to find people sunbathing topless or entirely nude.

When I wake up early (or even not so early) in the morning, there are still people coming home from the previous night's parties. They know how to have fun here. And with the exception of smashed glass littering the sidewalks, the families and bio-fiends get on just fine with the party kids. There is a special race of modern hippies inhabiting Berlin. Many people carry monk bags, wear hemp, ride bikes, exclusively shop organic. There is a 5-story department store that carries only organic products. But there are also French gutter punks, Danish shopgirls, Swedish (and Spanish and Italian) architects, African cooks in the Turkish market, British booksellers, American gallerists... you get the idea.

It's just such a real city. Again, I compare it to Chicago, which is also both rough and modern, drawing (and holding on to) many different types of people. Paris is too fantastical; I couldn't find the romance of Paris because I was always too self-conscious of my surroundings. It felt like I was acting in a movie -- except that I was an extra in my own biography. Only the city mattered, the film flaunting the beautiful curves of Haussmann's lavish apartment buildings, historic architecture and monuments, baked goods, and high heels. I can understand what led to Godard's films and the French New Wave movement in general. The subjects simply are not the characters. Living in Paris made me feel so unimportant, useless, and weak. That's French existentialism -- leading me to reject the ego I previously built, which relied so heavily on my existence as a human being who lives in a particular city, and replacing it with the understanding that the city, the world, will go on just fine with me. The lesson to be learned is to enjoy yourself, to delight in the pleasures of the world: strong coffee, long debates, buttery pastries, and beautiful women.

In Berlin, it is much more of a mutual exchange. I feel like I own a physical presence in the city. I feel safe -- but I feel that if I fell down, I would skin my knee on the hard concrete rather than land in a cloud of cotton candy at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. It develops in me a certain existence that I cannot help but find inspirational. Of course, this existence is not entirely self-important. Berlin plays a big part -- politically, socially -- in the contemporary world and I am forced to be aware of it.

Cities like Paris and Rome are described as being like museums. In this analogy, Berlin is both a museum and a gallery. Riding around on my bicycle I see so much history, but also so much potential for a future. This is mostly derived from the incredible amount of public art -- and I do not mean only graffiti.

Berlin has no shortage of housing, so the city's planners can focus on other parts. Cultural development, or, for example, cleaning up the Spree and canal system. Currently, people can boat or kayak in the water, but it is not safe to swim in. They hope to change this and have invested in a project that will have it cleaned by 2011.

In spite of the high unemployment and poor economy of Berlin, the crime rate is surprisingly low. At least in the summer, many take advantage of their free time by lounging in parks and by the canal. I attribute this not entirely to the general passivity of post-war, guilt-ridden Germany. There are too many non-Germans here, and too many young people, for this to be the sole explanation.

In spite of the city's general lack of wealth, there is still a very strong local economy. When the American economy is under pressure, we hide inside our homes, basking in the glow of the television and eating unimaginable amounts of pasta. For less than 5 euros, I was able to purchase today fresh arugula, several tomatoes, peaches, a bunch of bananas, a generous hunk of fresh goat cheese, and a loaf of Arabic bread. Here there are just so many independent cafes, bookstores, galleries... And the rents are just cheap enough for them to survive on minimal business. For now, at least.

Take a look at this article, which I agree with on many points. (It even references Granholm's efforts to revitalize the Michigan economy by nominating and pouring the state's financial resources into chosen "cool cities.")

As a citizen (new, but a citizen nonetheless) of Berlin, I feel that I have a right to say that it is not hollow. It is exactly the opposite of that; I find it incredibly well-rounded. The problem is that internationals move to Berlin to play. They all fall in love with the city, but rarely stay for more than a few years. They have to return home, rekindle relationships with family and old friends, actually earn some money and develop a career. If this group was willing to make the commitment to stay in Berlin and to give back to the city as much as they have taken from it, it has the potential to become an even more incredible place. Presently Berlin is too dependent on these cultural leeches (I should be more sensitive, I am equally at fault on this point).

As I previously described, I think Berlin is the perfect place to raise a family (assuming that jobs are to be found, which may sound like a big assumption, but I know it is possible for those dedicated few). There are elevators in many of the subway stations. It is possible to own a car in the city, but also totally unnecessary. It is not difficult -- or expensive -- to find fresh, organic food and products. There is a new scene for international, bi- or tri-lingual schools. And of course, the water parks. Today I even found a mini-golf course.

I have already fantasized about investing in the city, in purchasing apartments or setting up gallery spaces. I hate to say it, but I suspect I am a few years too late. At this point, the city can really wane either way. I am almost afraid that the popularity of Berlin as a Western European and American art scene, an alternative New York, will make it too trendy and after a span of five years, it will fade away.

It has not been very long since the fall of the wall and the city is still adjusting. Of course, there are the naysayers, those who want the wall to be rebuilt. It is currently run in a very utopian way, which I love, but I cannot always go on being so naive. I do not think it possible for a city this large to continue exactly what it is doing and to win out in the end. Do not get me wrong, I would love to see it happen. First, it must stop being so dependent on its tourism, surviving solely as a cultural hotspot, in order to fill its economic holes. Berlin has depth. It should not be so modest; there is just so much more it has to offer.

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Aug 03

On the express train to Vienna
she writes in her diary
notes about Rome and Naples.

Ink marks like parthenogenetic aphids,
pages like blood smears
of homing pigeons.

She is alone, gray, reconciled,
a Leda long after the swan’s departure,
Odysseus retired at Lotophagitis.

Back home, in Maryland,
the notebook will be interred
in the archetypal drawer,

among the yellowed love letters,
among the infant hair curls,
among the dried adult flowers,

near the cushion where the castrated cat dreams
while Mahler’s forever forever forever
chokes in the green wallpaper.

It is her message to imagined little sons;
it is her membership in the club
of Swifts, Goethes, Rimbauds, Horatiuses and
deathwatch beetles.

It is her monument outlasting bronze,
five-dimensional reality, the last engraving
of primeval man on reindeer bone,

The last drop
of the fluid soul
before evaporation.

-Miroslav Holub, "Creative Writing"

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Aug 02

Well, this has been a very full two weeks. As I mentioned in my last blog, the time had come to really start practicing my German. That Monday I sat in on a course at PSP-Sprachpunkt, which is only a two- or three-minute bicycle ride from my apartment. I liked the class, so I signed up for a month's worth. Every weekday morning I show up at 9:00 for three hours of German grammar and conversation. I'm actually much better than I thought I was -- an enormous comfort and relief. In general, the class is a bit easy for me. It is technically at the level A2, which means it is the second-part for a beginner on the CEF scale. (First is A1 then A2, followed by intermediate/conversational levels B1 and B2, finishing with the advanced C levels.) They aren't offering any B-level courses during the summer, but it is great to just hear and read the language again. Plus, there are a lot of tiny grammar rules I had forgotten or never completely grasped last winter.

Two weeks ago I also went to the doctor to get my ear checked out. I suspected I might have had a middle ear infection (lots of pressure, muted sounds, strange buzzing), so Denise sent me to the emergency room. I didn't want to wait, the following day I went to an ENT doctor up on the far north side of the city. He couldn't find the problem and told me to wait it out. The pain is much better now, but I think I am going to be a bit more sensitive to avoiding the speakers at loud concerts and clubs.

Last Friday Laszlo and I made dinner (chicken tikka masala) and ultimately decided to go dancing at the Bang Bang Club. We didn't even arrive until about 2 am, but that's Berlin. We even ran into my friend Susi on the U-bahn, although, I admit, she was on her way home for the night. The club was really great; there were two floors, the main floor played "indie dance hits of yesterday, today and tomorrow!" -- from Bowie to Babyshambles and The Cure to CSS. The DJ downstairs played a lot of soul, '60s rock, Dylan, Cash, the Violent Femmes... really good stuff.

Saturday night I stayed in to make a couple batches of cupcakes. On Sunday morning, I went up to the flea market at Arkonaplatz to sell them. I managed to make enough money to cover the batch costs, but then the police stopped me. They said it was too hot for cupcakes (who has ever heard of such a thing!) and that I ought to find a cafe to sell them to, that I can't sell them in the market. Psh. So later that afternoon Laszlo and I napped in the park near Kastanienalle, and then that night I returned to the Lichtblick Kino to see "Stranger Than Paradise."

On Monday, I went alone to the Badeschiff. It was packed full of people and I didn't have much time before the sun moved and left me in the shade. But it was still nice to lie on some soft sand and read. Tuesday I finally made it to the Neue Nationalgalerie to see the Sugimoto retrospective. For dinner, I had a real hamburger (with ham?) at Kreuzburger on Wienerstrasse/Oranienstrasse. I caught a late showing of "Night on Earth" on Wednesday, and after I closed the gallery on Thursday I went out for a drink with Laszlo and Frederick at Gorki's, a Russian café. Last night we hid from the thunderstorm in a bar located in Görlitzer Park, where Stina and Dominick had rented a room to throw a birthday party.

Yesterday was the last (regular) day of my internship. I will join Denise later in August to help prepare invitations for the upcoming exhibition, but I have turned in my key and even talked a bit with the girl who will be replacing me. It was a really great opportunity -- I expected to spend a lot of time sitting, completely bored, in a big, white room, but they kept me busy. I did a lot of work translating and writing new texts, which in terms of scholarly work was actually a lot of fun.

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The Pit of Babel

Es muß ein Fortschritt geschehen...
Wir graben den Schacht von Babel.

Some progress must be made...
We are digging the pit of Babel.
(Franz Kafka)

I am Katie Sharrow-Reabe and I am interested in structural and social architecture. Linguistic and cultural translation. Progress through retrospection. Subliminal and subterranean connections. And I would like you to help me put these fragments into a hole.

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