Die Zeit profiles Markus Lüpertz, a painter and sculptor who's in the news right now because one of his sculptures, on display in a park in Bamberg, were vandalized recently. (The police are still clueless.)
I wrote my MA thesis on a series of paintings of German motifs he made in the 1970s; his older painting is still interesting to me, this new sculpture much less so. But it seems to me that what really keeps him in the news is his persona, his dandy-ness, expressed through expensively-tailored yet clashing suits and marvelous turns of phrase like, "Ich entschloss mich, ein schöner Mann zu sein" ("I decided to be a lovely man" - caption under the photo accompanying the interview).
But perhaps more interesting are statements like this, in which he voices a longing for the old Federal Republic, pre-Unification, ruined as if struck by a "DDR-Virus:"
Die Bundesrepublik hatte zum Beispiel keinen Rassismus, das kann ich mit Fug und Recht behaupten, ich habe jahrelang in Kreuzberg und Neukölln gelebt.
(Right. No racism. And also, Kreuzberg and NK were, like, representative of West Germany at the time.)
He's a real charmer in general. I was going to pull out more quotes, but I realize that this is interesting mostly to me, because I was so immersed in his method for a time. Let me just summarize by stating that the interview depicts a man who feels he was born into the wrong century and who loves to hear himself talk. When I read these sorts of interviews I remember why I fume every time some newspaper refers to him as "one of Germany's greatest artists" (as here in Die Zeit, where the interviewers pose some pretty fawning, "artisty" questions). Although I know personality is not a measure of quality of work, in this case it's pretty hard for me to separate them.
From this week's Weekly:
[W]hen I look at the Pride marchers today, if I see anything more than a sort of multicolored St. Patrick's Day celebration, I see people celebrating being, on average, the most privileged people on planet Earth, free to do exactly as they please, absolved even of the implied injunction on heterosexuals to reproduce, to foster their offspring, to devote the best years of their lives and much of their income to providing for the next generation. I'm not saying that's not cause for celebration. I enjoy the same privileges as they. What I don't understand is why we call it "Pride," and why the hets are willing to let us disrupt traffic with our boasting.
(Emphasis mine, because I liked that last line.) While this passage is a little, well, rhetorically indulgent, the overall message sticks: The End of Pride
I finally put up some photos of Seattle, mainly of the parade yesterday in Fremont, right here.
What has to happen to keep the US in the World Cup? I found this handy summary.
Sheesh.
I don’t know who’s still reading this, but if it’s you, here’s a brief update. We moved to Seattle, where the Other got a job. It’s nice here. For the past month (two for Andrew), we’ve been living in Belltown. That’s the urban heart of the city, more or less. You know, lofts, restaurants and bars that change hands every month or so but no place to do grocery shopping. We’re going crazy because of the noise, but the apartment is neat: we can see Elliott Bay from the balcony, and there’s a roof deck from which you can watch the Olympics. Does one “watch” mountains? Whatever. Anyway it’s very nice. Just loud. Trucks and breaks and screaming drunk people, like living on Sixth Street, and did I mention the freight and commuter trains?
Next weekend we’re moving into the house we’re renting, which is far up north, still in Seattle but way out of town. It’s a lot quieter there, I get a yard and plants and a porch, and on clear days we can see the Olympics from the front steps. That’s cool.
In spite of the noise and the scary business of the night that happens on my street, everything else around here has been lovely. Especially the weather: it rains in the morning, sort of until lunchtime, and then it gets beautifully sunny in the afternoon and evening. My run is mostly through a park right next to the Bay, and there are dogroses (Hagebutten) all along the way. When you inhale it smells like fish and roses, just like an der Jade.* This morning the sky was black with rain, but didn’t really let go until I was on my way home. The climate, the light, and the plants remind me so much of Wilhelmshaven I find I’m almost eager for the dark, wet winter to get here. No I’m not, that was a lie. But not entirely: after ten years of Texas I’m ready for real seasons and what they bring with them. Even if it doesn’t really snow here, either.
*In Wilhelmshaven, on the northwest coast of Germany, where I lived in high school.
