// Alba D'Urbano
//
Main;
Projects() {
Esposizione Impraticabile();
Mare();
Der negierte Raum();
Hautnah();
Touch Me;
Stoffwechsel;
Il Sarto Immortale();
Die Wunderschöne Wunde;
Tra cielo e terra;
L'età dell'oro();
Venere;
Private Property();
Monitoraggio;
corpo_insegnante();
Natura Morta() {
}
Redden/Erröten; Son_no;
Airbag;
Collaborations();
Net-Works();
History();
Imprint;
Natura Morta () {
F i a t l u x ;
} // A fairy tale thriller by Paul-Hermann Gruner
Once upon a time—this time it cannot begin this way. Because the end
is always a beginning. And a thousand stories are found in this forest. That
it buries under leaves and under moss, leaving them in darkness. Due to fear.
And so there is this creature about which at least six honest and sincere
people can report. Their report is believable. They walked fearlessly into
the sea of trees. Dived into the darkness of the forest world. And escaped
it with only their lives, completely naked. And with but a few words on their
lips.
It began with the old woman from Moosbergstraße. After a little evening shopping at the supermarket, she had no inclination to go back home. So she took the path to Goethe Pond, swinging the plastic bags happily on her arms. She whistled answers to the twilight songs of the birds. One bird excelled among the others. He could even sing her name. Call it. She was pleasantly startled. The bird lured her deeper and deeper into the deepest underbrush. Until today, she has not talked about what happened there. Her appearance at the gate of the police station at the foot of Herrgottsbrunnenweg is on record. She appeared unclothed, scratched, with thorns in the palms of her hands, and requested candles. Yes, candles. Simple household candles. As many as possible. As many as the police had. To redeem her clothing.
The master glazier from Orangerieallee met with ill fortune. His way home from work through Bessunger Forest ended on a 234-year-old beech tree next to a monumental rock. He was found on one of the giant tree’s side branches that grew strong and thick as a young tree, bound by crude ropes, hung upside down. Stark naked. For thirteen hours the forest resounded with his frightened cries for help, which disturbed the peace of the patients in the nearby Marienhospital in particular. Released at dawn by the crew of a breakdown crane, he ran home, shaking and mute, only to return to the forest of his hanging carrying two old living room lamps with Biedermeier shades. To redeem his clothing.
The fourteen-year-old from Claudiusweg was riding her bike. She disappeared for three humid summer days. Her leather bag was found first. Her bike sometime later. Taken apart, crushed, and destroyed by an act of great violence. The bike’s handlebars, fenders, and frame were ripped apart like spaghetti al dente. The girl finally returned to her parents’ house, clothed in nothing but an oily bike chain hanging from her neck, and ultimately demanded both bedside lamps from her parents’ bedroom. To redeem her clothing.
Two elementary school children, siblings from Mendelssohnstraße, were reported missing for two weeks before they turned up—without school bags or clothing, dirty, and each missing an arm—at the door of their parents’ apartment, bleeding heavily. They bravely explained the loss of their upper extremities: it was hungry for young arms. And to avoid robbing one child of both arms, it had eaten up one of each child, chewed it away up to the shoulder. Who “Es” (It/Id) was—both explained this urgent question as if they had suddenly become solemn and grown-up—was of less importance. Two arms between the two, they disappeared again into the forest with an old suitcase full of halogen lamps, spare parts from their father’s basement workshop. To redeem their clothing.
The North American soldier from the Cambrai-Fritsch barracks has been under medical care since his return from the forest—without his uniform, without badges, but in heavy laced boots. Military doctors say that their patient is currently incapable of speaking. After intense research, they were unable to find any vocal cords in his throat. The U.S. military speculates that the enemy surprised and attacked their soldier while he was burying something along the Alten Bogenschneise. With the exception of an army spade, a dented packing case, and a few meters of videotape, nothing else was found. On the footage one could make out a soldier digging his own grave.
The student from Felsingstraße loved the short and intense steep slopes of the forest paths surrounding Herrgottsberg. Every week she trotted her training routes up and down, without failing to pay her respects to the conservatory on Ludwigshöhe. Only once—along the Alten Bogenscheise—did she run a different way. Three hours later, the young woman was seen jogging home naked on Landskronstraße. On her pale and firm breasts, round as apples, were the prints of two large paws. Or paw-like hands. Even without Nikes on her feet, the young woman moved lightly, fluidly, elegantly. She seemed untroubled. No sooner had she arrived at Felsingstraße than she trotted naked back up Landskronstraße, a pleasant, rising slope, the athletic achievement of which is enormously strengthening for the thigh muscles in particular. In her right hand, extended from her body, she held the living room chandelier that she had inherited three years before. She disappeared with it into the sea of trees. The same thing was sighted a day later. The exposed student ran down and back up Landskronstraße. This scene was continued on the second and third day. After visiting a hardware store on Heidelberger Straße, the young woman placed several one-kilo-watt spotlights in the forest. Together with extension cord and multiple socket outlet. No one stopped her. No one detained her. Perhaps because she looked so relaxed, so animated. Some even say: certain of victory. As would also befit the Greek god of victory, Nike. Everyone watched her go. But no one dared ask. About the prints on her breasts. About the whereabouts of her expensive running shoes, of the chandelier.
After the third day of transporting lights, the student was not seen again.
She just failed to appear. Even now rumors whisper through the forest. “Es” (It/Id)
now has enough lightness in its cave. It has sated its desire for light. It
has vanquished the darkness. It fell in love with the student. It ate her
up after making love to her. It thus incorporated the light of love. It now
glows by itself. It has become a lamp. Well, such are rumors.
The apartment on Felsingstraße has been rented again. Once upon a time,
it cannot end this way. Because a beginning is always lurking.