Gregor Hildebrandt
Alle Schläge sind erlaubt
—
Images courtesy the artist and Almine Rech Gallery
The expression tous les coups sont permis (“no holds barred”) is as true of Gregor
Hildebrandt’s Berlin studio as that other old adage about everything in love and war.
The ancient war game of chess neatly makes the point that there are always rules
demarcating a field of endless possibilities, rules that provide the necessary basis for
all subsequent progress and development. Just as it does in life, the next step in a
game of chess will always follow on from its precursor. And until the game ends, its
outcome remains uncertain.
Gregor Hildebrandt has transposed this principle into his solo exhibition ‘Tous les coups
sont permis’. On entering this labyrinthine arrangement of opaque sound barriers
(Schallmauern, 2013) and diaphanous columnar screens of vinyl records (Schallplatten
Säulenwand, 2010), the viewer leaves familiar structures behind and moves step by
step through a many-layered world that has evolved with Hildebrandt over the years
on the basis of audiovisual mediums such as cassettes, videotapes, and records.
The titular work Tous les coups sont permis (2016) refers to the ornamental wall
covering of the captain’s room at the historic Jane Hotel in New York, where surviving
passengers of the Titanic were temporarily housed. Here the artist has created a
peacock feather pattern in fine dust and dirt on a seemingly transparent, off white
monochrome surface. With this image he evokes a ghostly, spectral atmosphere
recalling times long since passed.
The path leads to the monumental floor piece Hirnholzparkett (End Grain Parquet,
2015), its visible surface consisting of the thin edges of countless cassette tape
ribbons. Hildebrandt has wound them onto spools, cut them into orthogonal pieces
and cast them in epoxy resin to be laid as flooring. The otherwise continual flow of
these virtually endless tracks—which recall the grooves of a record or the annual rings
of a tree—has been interrupted by the working process and turned into labyrinthine
concatenations. The site-specific installation of this Hirnholzparkett interfaces with
the architectonic structure of the exhibition like a tranquil lily pond in a Japanese
garden, where a pond always symbolises the sea and where a crooked path, like a
labyrinth, stands for life’s unpredictability and non-linearity.
The black video tapes of the wall installation Orphische Schatten (Orphic Shadows,
2013) have all been populated with Jean Cocteau’s Orpheus (1949), a film that features
shadows as some of its major motifs. The four empty niches also act as shadows;
they suggest absent artworks through the apparent echoing of their mere external
forms. The duality of light and darkness is a fundamental motif in Hildebrandt’s work.
His Rip-Offs always involve positive and negative images that interlock and belong
together like the black and white squares of a chess board.
For his Schachbrettboden (Chequered Floor, 2016) Hildebrandt has combined chess
boards from a wide range of times and places. Despite their disparate origins they
all seem to fit together perfectly and merge into a single entity. Much like the
Hirnholzparkett and its apparently endless tracks of tape, in theory this work could
also be extended ad infinitum. The all-over structure that these two monumental works
have in common seems to be symbolic of some sort of perfect whole, albeit one that
is not all there at the moment, which could also be said of the pictures in the white
niches of the wall installation. This idea is present in much of Hildebrandt’s work.
The vinyl columns are a case in point; another is the monumental work consisting of
countless tiny leaves of copper—the parts of an audio cassette whose actual function
is to gently raise the piece of felt so that the piece of music or the story on the tape
can be played back. Their infinite number and vertical orientation on the surface of the
picture has the effect of reflective rain glistening in the yellows, reds, and brownish
tones of the copper.The luminescent shades of turquoise and blue in Hildebrandt’s Die immer
wiederkehrende Blaue Stunde (The Ever-Recurring Blue Hour, 2016) refer to the title
of Gottfried Benn’s melancholic love poem ‘Blaue Stunde’. The coloured leaders on
an audio cassette tape differ from the dark tape itself in that they are neither coated
nor populated, but entirely blank. They are located where one side ends and the other
begins. In this sense they symbolise a continuous and theoretically endless loop.
Hildebrandt has his eye on the bigger picture here too. His works often symbolise
the potentially conceivable possibilities of the given field; there are no holds barred.
At the same time they combine antitheses such as light and dark, black and white,
presence and absence. For just as it is impossible to play chess on a board of black
squares, so it is the combination of opposing elements which belong together that
makes development and progress possible in the first place.
Hildebrandt’s Berlin studio as that other old adage about everything in love and war.
The ancient war game of chess neatly makes the point that there are always rules
demarcating a field of endless possibilities, rules that provide the necessary basis for
all subsequent progress and development. Just as it does in life, the next step in a
game of chess will always follow on from its precursor. And until the game ends, its
outcome remains uncertain.
Gregor Hildebrandt has transposed this principle into his solo exhibition ‘Tous les coups
sont permis’. On entering this labyrinthine arrangement of opaque sound barriers
(Schallmauern, 2013) and diaphanous columnar screens of vinyl records (Schallplatten
Säulenwand, 2010), the viewer leaves familiar structures behind and moves step by
step through a many-layered world that has evolved with Hildebrandt over the years
on the basis of audiovisual mediums such as cassettes, videotapes, and records.
The titular work Tous les coups sont permis (2016) refers to the ornamental wall
covering of the captain’s room at the historic Jane Hotel in New York, where surviving
passengers of the Titanic were temporarily housed. Here the artist has created a
peacock feather pattern in fine dust and dirt on a seemingly transparent, off white
monochrome surface. With this image he evokes a ghostly, spectral atmosphere
recalling times long since passed.
The path leads to the monumental floor piece Hirnholzparkett (End Grain Parquet,
2015), its visible surface consisting of the thin edges of countless cassette tape
ribbons. Hildebrandt has wound them onto spools, cut them into orthogonal pieces
and cast them in epoxy resin to be laid as flooring. The otherwise continual flow of
these virtually endless tracks—which recall the grooves of a record or the annual rings
of a tree—has been interrupted by the working process and turned into labyrinthine
concatenations. The site-specific installation of this Hirnholzparkett interfaces with
the architectonic structure of the exhibition like a tranquil lily pond in a Japanese
garden, where a pond always symbolises the sea and where a crooked path, like a
labyrinth, stands for life’s unpredictability and non-linearity.
The black video tapes of the wall installation Orphische Schatten (Orphic Shadows,
2013) have all been populated with Jean Cocteau’s Orpheus (1949), a film that features
shadows as some of its major motifs. The four empty niches also act as shadows;
they suggest absent artworks through the apparent echoing of their mere external
forms. The duality of light and darkness is a fundamental motif in Hildebrandt’s work.
His Rip-Offs always involve positive and negative images that interlock and belong
together like the black and white squares of a chess board.
For his Schachbrettboden (Chequered Floor, 2016) Hildebrandt has combined chess
boards from a wide range of times and places. Despite their disparate origins they
all seem to fit together perfectly and merge into a single entity. Much like the
Hirnholzparkett and its apparently endless tracks of tape, in theory this work could
also be extended ad infinitum. The all-over structure that these two monumental works
have in common seems to be symbolic of some sort of perfect whole, albeit one that
is not all there at the moment, which could also be said of the pictures in the white
niches of the wall installation. This idea is present in much of Hildebrandt’s work.
The vinyl columns are a case in point; another is the monumental work consisting of
countless tiny leaves of copper—the parts of an audio cassette whose actual function
is to gently raise the piece of felt so that the piece of music or the story on the tape
can be played back. Their infinite number and vertical orientation on the surface of the
picture has the effect of reflective rain glistening in the yellows, reds, and brownish
tones of the copper.The luminescent shades of turquoise and blue in Hildebrandt’s Die immer
wiederkehrende Blaue Stunde (The Ever-Recurring Blue Hour, 2016) refer to the title
of Gottfried Benn’s melancholic love poem ‘Blaue Stunde’. The coloured leaders on
an audio cassette tape differ from the dark tape itself in that they are neither coated
nor populated, but entirely blank. They are located where one side ends and the other
begins. In this sense they symbolise a continuous and theoretically endless loop.
Hildebrandt has his eye on the bigger picture here too. His works often symbolise
the potentially conceivable possibilities of the given field; there are no holds barred.
At the same time they combine antitheses such as light and dark, black and white,
presence and absence. For just as it is impossible to play chess on a board of black
squares, so it is the combination of opposing elements which belong together that
makes development and progress possible in the first place.
Text by Tina Sauerländer