We stumbled into the exhibition by accident. And as we didn’t have any plans, we decided to put our masks on and have a look around. The gallery showed a collection of installations and sculptures, mostly focussed on internet art, and the artist’s exploitation. When we walked through the rooms, passing by a giant print of Alex Tew’s Million Dollar Homepage, I saw it in a corner: A tiny desk with a laptop, showing the website learningtoloveyoumore.com.
Learning to Love You More was an interactive project by Miranda July and Harrell Fletcher that ran until 2009. The website listed a number of assignments that people could fulfill and send in their results, which were then exhibited on the site. 39: Take a picture of your parents kissing. 35: Ask your family to describe what you do. 66: Make a field guide to your yard. 5: Recreate an object from someone’s past. I knew this site! When we were teenagers, me and my friends did some of the assignments, and they can still be found online. I had totally forgotten about the site and how much joy these tasks and perspectives brought to me. Asking my parents to kiss for a picture was weird and memorable. I actually enjoy creating those kinds of moments. Rediscovering the website on the tiny desk at Kunstraum Kreuzberg reminded me about it.
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Right now, it’s 9.55pm, I am sitting in my living room. As I turn my stiff neck towards the window, I catch the blue hour; tinting the house across the street in a tender blue, almost purple color. It’s not going to last long, I can see it passing by. Like most summer evenings. Like me cycling through Weserstraße, on my way home from a dinner with a friend. That’s when I usually catch the blue hour, too. All this won’t last long: The people sitting outside their Spätis, drinking beers, the kids running around with their dogs, the warm air and me and my bike: This is what we longed for the whole winter, and realizing every year anew that it’s worth the wait — It’s an easy thought, and I like it. I like easy, sometimes.
One thing I already learned is that I don’t need to please everybody all the time (cool!). Now, however, I am scared that people might not like the new Me who doesn’t want to be liked by everybody. It’s a vicious circle.
On a bit more light-hearted note: I went looking for the best-designed watering can out there and wrote a little design critique (in German).
And to stop blathering about Corona in this newsletter, I wrote a Corona diary for German form design magazine, which you can buy here. The current issue deals with Crisis and Design, and I can highly recommend ordering it!
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Here’s my Learning to Love You More assignment to you: Educate yourself on your internalised racisms. Fight them. Keep on learning and strengthening your senses; speak up, and learn what to do next – Hire black illustrators, for example. Here is a list to get started with. In between, you can put the phone or computer away and go outside. Cycle through summer, because as we all know: It won’t last as long as we’d like to.
If you enjoy content like this: I send it out as irregular) monthly newsletter called Christel’s Corner. Sign up for it here.
Während ich es früher oft verwerflich fand, aktuellen kulturellen Trends zu folgen, habe ich letzter Zeit einen gewissen Gefallen daran gefunden. Deshalb habe ich beschlossen, mehr zeitgenössische Beststeller zu lesen, um mich schnell in Debatten zu neuer Literatur einbringen zu können. Zwar bin ich immer noch der Meinung, dass man nur das konsumieren sollte, was einem inhaltlich Freude bereitet – aber die Freude am Bescheid wissen und Mitreden ist nicht zu unterschätzen.
Das neue Buch von Leif Randt, Allegro Pastell, ist eins der Bücher, die meine sozialen Netzwerke in letzter Zeit sehr oft in ihre Instagram Stories gepostet haben. Der Konsens war immer: Tolles Buch, aber sehr schmerzhaft zu lesen, denn es träfe uns Berliner Hipster wirklich mitten ins Gesicht; es sei, als würden wir enttarnt in unserem etwas zu sorglosen, etwas zu konformen Lebensstil.
Tatsächlich wurden ich und mein Lifestyle sehr oft zum Gegenstand, den Leif Randt etwas zu genau und präzise beschreibt. Berliner um die 30, Webdesigner oder Autorin, reflektiert und vorsichtig, hin wieder sagt jemand »Blockchain« oder verschickt Sprachnachrichten. Die Berliner Schauplätze des Romans kenne ich alle sehr gut, obwohl ich selten ausgehe (sogar den Döner-Imbiss auf der Potsdamer Straße, der eigentlich keine sehr bekannte oder nennenswerte Adresse ist). Das zeugt davon, dass ich wirklich dem hundertprozentigen Klischee entspreche, das jemand über das aktuelle Gentrifikationsklientel der Stadt aufstellen könnte.
Ich fand den Roman aber nicht schmerzhaft, sondern wirklich einfach sehr präzise und unterhaltsam. Randt schreibt Utopien, die vielleicht nicht inhaltlich, aber sprachlich entspannend sind, weil sie so eine Ruhe und Sorglosigkeit ausstrahlen. Alles wird analysiert, aber die Analyse führt nie zu Panik, sondern immer zu Zufriedenheit. Das habe ich schon bei Schimmernder Dunst über CobeyCounty geliebt. Und die Utopie des Normalen ist vielleicht auch in einer Pandemie kein ganz schlechter Lesestoff.
Generell gilt ja: Alles, was im Namen „Design“ als Präfix trägt, sollte mit Vorsicht genossen werden. Diese Regel gilt besonders bei Alltags- und Haushaltsgegenständen. Auch renommierte Hersteller, die namenhafte Gestalterinnen und Gestalter beauftragen, toben sich unter dem Verkaufsargument „Design-Objekt“ oft richtig aus.
Ich habe neulich mein Zimmerpflanzen-Sortiment erweitert, und bin mittlerweile in ein Alter gekommen, in dem man die Pflanzen nicht mehr mit einer normalen Wasserfalsche gießen kann, sondern ein spezielles Gefäß mit schmaler, langer Öffnung und viel Fassungsvermögen benötigt. Als Ästhet kann ich aber natürlich nicht jede beliebige Gießkanne zu Hause haben – ein Designobjekt musste her. Hier die Favoriten meiner Recherche.
Alessi: Diva
Wie immer enttäuscht Alessi nicht, wenn es um abstruse Ideen bei Alltagsgegenständen geht: Der Entwurf der »Diva« kommt vom finnischen Designer Eero Aarnio, der vor allem für die ikonischen Kugelsessel aus den 1960ern bekannt ist. Mir persönlich gefällt der Entwurf zwar nicht sonderlich gut (zu plump!), aber who am I to judge.
Hay: Watering Can
Sorry, Shane Schneck, aber wie uninspiriert kann man eine Gießkanne gestalten? Bei diesem Modell wirkt es, als hätte man einen alten Krug von Oma um ein ungelenk angebrachtes Rohr erweitert, und weil das nicht gehalten hat, musste noch so ein komisches Dreieck zur Stabilisierung angebracht werden. Uff.
Born in Sweden: Watering Can
Wer sich den Charme einer Autowerkstatt ins Wohnzimmer holen möchte, ist mit diesem Modell von Pascal Charmolu gut bedient: Edelstahl und Silikonschlauch verströmen schon beim Anblick einen gewöhnungsbedürftigen Benzingeruch. Der Schlauch ist nur mit einem Magnet befestigt, kann also gelöst werden, und die Pflanzen kann man somit punktgenau wässern – gar keine so üble Idee, ehrlich gesagt.
Northern: Grab
Kanne ohne Henkel: Stine Aas hat diese beiden Rohre für das Label Northern kombiniert. Die Farben sind super, und die sehr minimalistische Form schön unaufdringlich – aber da sie keinen Henkel hat, musste sie sehr leicht sein, also auch relativ kompakt – mehr als 0.7 Liter passen leider nicht rein.
Eva Solo: AquaStar
Der abenteuerliche Name hat natürlich direkt meine Aufmerksamkeit geweckt, und auch bei der Formgebung ist nicht direkt klar: Handelt es sich womöglich um ein kosmetisches Gerät zum Dosieren von Cremes? Nicht ganz: Das Studio Tools hat diese sehr präzise Gießgerät entwickelt, und auch wenn die Form so absolut null Emotion in mir auslöst, scheint die schmale Tülle sehr praktisch zu sein.
Magis: PipeDreams
Natürlich mein absoluter Favorit: Hundespielzeug, Sex Toy, oder Fernsprechgerät aus den 1970er Jahren? Nein! Jerszy Seymour hat für Magis dieses kuriose Objekt entworfen, das wohl leider in der Handhabung etwas unhandlich, aber im Regal sehr erheiternd wirkt. Ein echtes Designobjekt eben.
There is this one incredibly strong memory in my head that, when triggered, makes be both very happy and very sad. It goes as follows: When I grew up, I had a big tomcat named Kasimir. He was a soft and gentle animal, and as we both knew each other from a very young age, we were very attached. He enjoyed being held like a baby; his arms wrapped around my neck, me gently swaying him—really, just like a baby. I remember his fur, his scent and flat face pushing against mine. His big paws. I remember everything. And the fact that I remember, even though he died about 8 years ago, gives me a lot of comfort. I might remember it forever. I hope I will.
Together with the comfort of this memory, I’ve spent the past weeks in my apartment, as probably most of you. Just occasionally I went went out to see friends with a distance. We walked along the canal, around Kreuzberg, looking at people and houses. I’ve enjoyed observing the slow progress of coffee shops and ice cream parlors re-opening, arranging themselves with the safety restrictions. Everyone has been extra-friendly, it seemed, and that made me happy. It should stay like that. I hope it does.
I also noticed that the activities I do with friends are a lot more active and thought-through. We go on bike tours, we explore unknown parts of the city, and we share more feelings. I tried making a list of what stays from this pandemic on an interpersonal level, and this should be one of the things. I hope so.
When I walk around my neighborhood now, everything seems to be back to normal. The bridges and parks are full of people, the smell of weed and take-away pizza is everywhere. I get invitations to gatherings; people are dating again; and when I hear loud house music from a party in the park, I want to believe that we can all relax and live summer as we were used to. But I don’t think I’m ready yet, to be honest. It doesn’t feel right. And so I stay here, with my memories and video calls and bike rides, watching cats on TikTok, remembering Kasimir, seeing one friend at a time. It will get better. I’m sure it will.
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I read Rachel Cusks “Outline”. That’s what it is; an outline; observations loosely tied together in a story. I tend to enjoy books where nothing happens, and this is one of them, but some sentences Cusk writes are just very on point.
I wrote a brief love letter to the Flurry screensaver, which you probably know from your Mac or from computers in movies.
The weekly (German) YouTube series “Social Distancing” by Hazel Brugger and Thomas Spitzer is the most wholesome thing to watch on a Sunday (or any day).
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What are your old memories that make you feel all the feels? Think about them for a minute or two. It’s a nice thing to hold on to. And in case you have a cat: Give him or her a big kiss and pat on the head from me. If you have a dog, please do the same. I hope you’re all safe and well and finding your way through these troubled times.
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If you enjoy content like this: I send it out as (irregular) monthly newsletter called Christel’s Corner. Sign up for it here.
You know it from the first MacBook you bought, or from your school library’s computers, or from the backdrop of a film you recently watched. The Flurry screensaver, shipped with every Mac since 2002, has become an acquainted digital surface in movies, offices and homes.
But screensavers are a thing from the past: We all remember the infamous flying toasters, the virtual fish tanks and mesmerizing labyrinths that covered our grey CRT monitors when our dads entered the room. Flurry was different: it moved away from trashy aesthetics and added a soothing, ambient quality to computer screens. And since its release, it hasn’t changed: A variety of light streams gently move around the black screen, spreading colored particles at different speeds and magnitudes.
Flurry was created by software developer Calum Robinson as a side project in 2002. Briefly after he published it online (you can still find it on Github!), Apple contacted him to include it in their new operating system, Mac OS X “Jaguar”. It complemented the eccentric Aqua interface with a dark and subtle appearance, still colorful enough to catch your eye.
Screensavers were made to protect CRT monitors from phosphor burn-in. If the phosphors glowed at a constant rate for too long, they left traces on the monitor’s glass surface. But we’ve moved away from that technology years ago. Today, it makes much more sense to simply switch off your display. No one would download and install a screensaver anymore, not even for fun. But Flurry is still there, moving its tentacles around empty offices, libraries, accidentally being activated through your Mac’s hot corners.
For me, Flurry is also a steady component of the creative work space. When Macs were not ubiquitous, but mainly a tool for the creative industry, a creator’s desk was immediately recognized by the light-stream covered monitor. Of course, Apple computers also had their outstanding Y2K hardware design back then, but Flurry was that one recognizable software component that said: This desk is a creator’s desk. They might be on a break right now, but they’re still around. Just like Flurry is today.
Dear Reader, I am sending you this from a newly discovered place within my flat: The dove-colored armchair close to the window. I usually never sit in it, because its actually facing away from the window, and it’s not as soft as the sofa. But it does have the perfect comfort level: It’s very good for reading, but not cozy enough to fall asleep in it. So I’ve just been sitting here for the past two days. The sun came out and I moved the chair closer to the window, with an ottoman for extra comfort, and I read through some magazines and sipped my coffee. The chair is too low to look properly out the window while sitting. But it’s ok, that way at least I don’t feel exposed to my neighbors. Anyway, I hope you’ve found some nice spots in your apartment, too. Sending lots of love – Christoph
Dort hinten, die Biegung
Da hab ich die Kurve noch gekriegt
Nur um ein Haar
Auf Biegen & Brechen und
Haarwurzelscharf und
Fast dran vorüber, aber
Ich hab sie gekriegt
Na ja
