ريبيكا هورن
רבקה הורן
レベッカ·ホルン
레베카 호른
РЕБЕККА ХОРН

Unicorn

source: pagina12
La obra de la artista alemana Rebecca Horn tiene algo en común con el arte feminista norteamericano, algo, pero no todo. Lo suyo es una sensibilidad más europea, en el sentido de que está abierta a sutilezas y, sean cuales fueren sus referencias a las políticas del cuerpo, al humor. El trabajo de Horn es oblicuo, mágico e irónico y no tiene nada de ese tono de queja que hace de la obra de sus hermanas transatlánticas un lamento monótono.
Rebecca Horn nació al final de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, lo que la hace apenas un año mayor que Anselm Kiefer. Como Kiefer, fue influida por el veterano de la Luftwaffe Joseph Beuys y su doble convicción de que el arte podía cambiar la naturaleza humana y la performance era la forma en que el artista podía inventar las metáforas más evocativas y primarias. Más allá, Kiefer y Horn son opuestos: él es macho man, que se apropia de arquetipos, mitos, heridas políticas y de ambiciones espirituales a lo Gandhi. Ella, la mujer ladina; sus políticas son sexuales; sus metáforas, si bien espirituales, nacen del cuerpo humano, y sus máquinas, cínicas como una novela de Colette.
El trauma hila la obra de la artista y eso es lo que La Lune Rebelle transmite. Cuando Horn estudiaba en Hamburgo, por los años ‘60, utilizaba en sus esculturas fibra de vidrio desconociendo que esta sustancia era venenosa: de tanto aspirar terminó confinada en un sanatorio durante dos años, absolutamente aislada y con los pulmones destruidos. Fue para ella un tiempo fuera del tiempo. Y cuando le permitieron salir, comenzó a hacer performance y escultura cinética. Horn se encontró pensando imágenes en términos de aislamiento y curación –capullos, vendas, prótesis, plumas–. “Cuando te pasas mucho tiempo sola surge una ansiedad insoportable por comunicar, en especial por comunicarse a través del cuerpo”, le comentó al crítico Germano Celant. Objetos mecánicos que bombean vino y sangre; pequeños martillitos que reducen carbón a una pila de polvo negro; plumas de color borravino que giran lentamente; algunas nietas estilizadas de las pinturas mecánicas de Jean Tinguely de los ‘50 que arrojan pintura sobre las paredes o bien (con sugerencias más fetichistas) sobre zapatos; un piano suspendido del techo que cuelga tranquilo un momento, luego le saltan todos los resortes, como escupiendo sus tripas, y después lentamente se retrae, se realinea como si nada hubiese ocurrido. Se llama “Concierto para Anarquía” y fue creado en 1990, el año de la reunificación alemana. La Lune Rebelle contiene algunas de estas obras memorables.
Se dice que el arte cinético, limitado como está por sus programas y a diferencia de la pintura y la escultura, una vez visto no puede renovarse. La obra de Horn es una prueba irrefutable de que eso no es cierto.
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source: tateorguk
A grand piano is suspended upside down from the ceiling by heavy wires attached to its legs. It hangs solidly yet precariously in mid-air, out of reach of a performer, high above the gallery floor.
A mechanism within the piano is timed to go off every two to three minutes, thrusting the keys out of the keyboard in a cacophonous shudder. The keys, ordinarily the point of tactile contact with the instrument, fan disarmingly out into space. At the same time, the piano’s lid falls open to reveal the instrument’s harp-like interior, the strings reverberating at random. This unexpected, violent act is followed between one and two minutes later by a retraction as the lid closes and the keys slide back into place, tunelessly creaking as they go. Over time, the piano repeats the cycle. A mounting tension to the moment of release is followed by a slow retreat to stasis as the piano closes itself up like a snail withdrawing into its shell.
Concert for Anarchy is one of a series of mechanised sculptures Horn began making in the late 1970s. Dancing tables, a suitcase trying in vain to climb a pole, startled hammers pecking against their reflections: machines that mimic the mechanisms of desire, they betray the longings beneath the surface of everyday things. Often erotically charged, these works express anthropomorphic anxiety and sensuality.
Horn’s work is truly interdisciplinary. In addition to sculptures and installations her practice has included performance, painting, writing and filmmaking. Before it was adapted to make Concert for Anarchy, this piano was used as a prop in her film Buster’s Bedroom, 1990 (Tate T11851) set in a California mental asylum. Horn has described how, ‘having freed itself from the psychiatric clinic, [the piano] is now composing its own music, developing a new tonality’ (Rebecca Horn: The Glance of Infinity, p.250).
Horn takes the piano away from its normal setting, right side up, in a concert hall or indeed sanatorium, and gives it the means to create its own discordant recital. Its performance is visual and aural and introduces an element of delay to the full experience of the artwork. Horn has stated her intention that this work should ‘trigger a new form of interaction with the visitors of an exhibition’ (Rebecca Horn: The Glance of Infinity, p.15).
Horn is one of a generation of German artists who came to international prominence in the 1980s. While her work is indebted to Surrealism, particularly Meret Oppenheim’s fetishistic objects, Horn’s desiring automatons provide a feminine response to both Marcel Duchamp’s bachelor machines (see The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors, Even (The Large Glass), 1915-23, Tate T02011) and the kinetic art of Jean Tinguely (see Metamechanical Sculpture with Tripod, 1954, Tate T03823). There are also strong links between Horn’s work at that of Louise Bourgeois (see Cell (Eyes and Mirrors),1989-93, Tate T06899) who hints at a similar mix of eroticism and violence in her emotionally potent installations.
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source: artfortune
Her installations have been seen in the forbidding ruins of a prison tower in Munster, the Chapelle Saint-Louis de la Salpetriere in Paris, a Renaissance villa in Tuscany, the theatre of a Viennese asylum and an old primary school in Kassel. Born in 1944 in the southern German town of Michelstadt, Rebecca Horn alludes in her works to the mood of the space in which they are shown – be it a historic building, the neutral rooms of a gallery or a museum such as the National Gallery in London. When a retrospective of her work was held in New York’s Guggenheim Museum, she said she wanted her sculptures to make the secret music of particular spaces audible.
For her 1992 installation El node la luna {River of the Moon) in a former hat factory in Barcelona, the artist had mercury flow through long, winding lead pipes and pumped into metal chambers representing the ventricles of a heart. They contained the keys to seven rooms in an old hotel with rooms to let by the hour and where the other part of the installation was on show. Horn had modified the rooms only sparingly and transformed them into the seven stations of an ‘essay’ on love. Partly in poetic and partly in dramatic terms, she made tenderness, romance and light-heartedness, but also aggression and isolation, the subject of her installation. In the ‘Room of Lovers’, for instance, tiny motors drove violins that had alighted on the walls and furniture like mechanical butterflies; in the ‘Room of Air’, wings made of red feathers moved up and down; in the ‘Room of the Circle’, a metal nail several meters in length scraped the walls; in the ‘Room of Water’, a bed suspended from the ceiling dripped liquid into glass funnels; and in the ‘Room of Mutual Destruction’, two movable pistols that were aimed at each other were installed in untidy beds in readiness for a fatal duel, in readiness for the ‘Kiss of Death’.
As a student, Horn had lived for a time in Barcelona’s cheap Hotel Peninsula. The installation she produced decades later is typical of her work, which often makes use of personal experience, but also takes its inspiration from the work of Marcel Duchamp and Joseph Beuys, the literature of lean-Paul Sartre and Franz Kafka or the films of Pier Paolo Pasolini and Federico Fellini.
In 1972, she was one of the youngest artists to participate in documenta V in Kassel; even her early performances that she showed there were inspired by personal experiences. As a twenty-one- year-old student at Hamburg School of Art, she severely damaged her lungs when working with polyester and fiberglass and she had to spend a long time recuperating in a sanatorium. Following this period of isolation, she began to investigate physical and spatial experiences in performances for which she made special objects such as extra-long gloves, feather masks or fans attached to and operated by her body. She made films and videos of her performances and, in 1978, also started to make feature films, such as Der Eintanzer (1978), La Ferdinanda (1981) or Buster’s Bedroom (1990), in which she First used mechanical sculptures like the Peacock Machine or the tango-dancing table. Using electric motors, the artist gives inanimate objects a life of their own and has them perform actions that convey to the viewer the tension that exists between vulnerability and aggression. They are perpetual rituals of love, desire, hate and isolation.
As you look up at Rebecca Horn’s Concert for Anarchy, a grand piano suspended upside down from the ceiling, it suddenly drops, spilling out its keys with a clash of discordant notes. The piano slowly re-assembles itself, only to repeat the performance. Horn gives objects new life, assembling them in odd combinations, and animating them with motors. Her art develops out of that of Marcel Duchamp and Joseph Beuys in its marriage of objects and performance, and its play on eroticism and sensuality. But Horn’s practice is also informed by her awareness of her position as a woman artist. She has even made a ‘reply’ to Duchamp’s famous The Bride Stripped Bare by her Bachelors Even, (or Large Glass) (1915-23, Philadelphia Museum of Art). In her Prussian Bride Machine (1985, private collection) the separation and dominance of Duchamp’s bachelors is disrupted, Horn includes instead a ‘female’ group of white, stiletto-heeled shoes. And, unlike Duchamp and Beuys, the things Horn uses to make her work are often beautiful: musical instruments, feathers and butterfly wings.
Horn was born in Germany, and her work has been shaped by the legacy of the Nazi regime. In 1999 in Weimar she made a memorial to those who suffered and died in the concentration camps. Horns The colonies of bees undermining the moles’ subversive effort through time – Concert for Buchenwald Part 1 and Part 2 represented terrible loss, mourning and memory with columns of ash, broken musical instruments, a haulage wagon once used in a camp which careered around driverless, empty beehives, and glass shattered by falling stones. Horn has also made a work dedicated to the victims of the recent conflict in the Balkans. Her Tower of the Nameless (1997) was constructed out of ladders and violins in Hanover’s Kestner Gesellschaft.
Literary history has been the subject of several of Horn’s installations. Orlando (1988, Tate) takes as its title the novel by Virginia Woolf in which the heroine changes sex over the course of the centuries. While Mme Bovary – that’s me – says G. Flaubert (1997, Private Collection) consists of a glass case housing a copy of Flaubert’s novel about the reckless love affair and suicide of a bored young housewife in provincial France. Flaubert famously identified with Emma Bovary, and the piece represents his struggle to bring her to life. It is splattered with ink spots, vivid representations of the frustrations and false starts the writer experiences. Next to the book are binoculars, which could be read as symbolizing Flaubert’s acute powers of observation, and black feathers, which could be another reference to writing (the quill pen) or a reminder of funeral decorations and Emma Bovary’s death, one of the most agonized in literary history. Horn exploits the sensuous sheen and delicacy of feathers in many of her works, but she is also aware of their potential menace. Black Widow (1988), a bundle of dark feathers, springs open like a trap.
Horn has also made a number of feature films, with actors including Geraldine Chaplin and Donald Sutherland. These show her mechanical objects in motion, sometimes interacting with people. La Ferdinanda: Sonata for a Medici Villa (1981) includes a great mechanical fan of white peacock feathers slowly and elegantly unfurling in an empty room. Buster’s Bedroom {1990), the story of a young woman’s visit to the hospital where the movie star Buster Keaton was committed for alcohol abuse, features a wheelchair with the sinister power to pump whisky into its occupant. Some of Horn’s machines have even taken over the role of the artist, drawing or painting. The Little Painting School Performs a Waterfall (1988) is made up of brushes mounted on metal arms, which regularly dip into cups of acrylic paint, and splatter it onto the gallery wall.
Referring to her mechanized objects as ‘melancholic actors performing in solitude’. Horn summons up the pathetic aspect of objects that appear to be almost alive, but are trapped in meaningless movement, and of our own alienation in an increasingly mechanized world. Horn has often returned to the subject of the incursion of the technological and scientific into the biological. An early piece, Overflowing Blood Machine (1970), featured a naked man encased in lines of plastic tubing through which red liquid, symbolizing his blood, pulsed. And Horn has also linked her own practice as an artist, the magic she works when she transforms innate objects into moving things, with alchemy, by using the raw materials of the alchemist coal, mercury and sulphur-
When she began her career in the early 1970s {after training at the Hamburg Academy and St Martin’s School of Art) Horn was a performance artist. She used props to extend the body’s sensory perceptions: long artificial fingers enabled the wearer to touch two walls of a room simultaneously, a ‘unicorn’ horn worn on the top of the head altered the sense of the body’s height, and wings of layered feathers folded over the eyes, or enveloped the body. Like a number of other women practitioners of the time, Horn was interested in representing the experiencing body, and stimulating senses other than sight moving away from the representation of the female body as object or spectacle. The body of work she has built since then questions our understanding of our place in the world.
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source: blogetoilesblogspot
Rebecca Horn é uma artista alemã, e um dos nomes consagrados da arte contemporânea. Conhecida por utilizar materiais diversos como penas, chifres, espelhos, etc, ela consegue unir em suas criações contundência e sutileza, realismo e certa magia surrealista, utopia e erotismo, política e lirismo, o alargamento e diminuição da escala.
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source: ccaorgil
רבקה הורן נמנית עם האמניות האירופאיות החשובות בדורה.
היא נולדה בגרמניה ב 1947 והחלה כאמנית הצעירה בחבורת של אמנים הקונספטואליים בשני צידי האוקיאנוס – ובראשם וויטו אקונצ’י, ג’ון בלדסארי ו לורנס ווינר. כמוהם החלה את הדרך האמנותית בפיסול, מיצג ופילם. בהמשך דרכה פיתחה שפה ייחודית ומגוונת המשתרעת על מדיות שונות – פיסול, מיצב, רישום, קולנוע וסאונד.
לאורך דרכה האמנותית העשייה הקולנועית נשארה מרכזית. רבקה הורן הייתה הראשונה בשורת אמנים ארוכה שכתבה וביימה סרטי אמנות באורך מלא עם שחקנים ובאמצעים הוליוודיים (כגון שיתופם של דונלד סת’רלנד וג’רלדין צ’פלין).
מיצגיה של רבקה הורן העוסקים בפעולה של פסלי הגוף, תועדו על גבי סרטים, ובהמשך נאספו לשני סרטים באורך מלא: מיצגים 1 (1972-1970) ומיצגים 2 (1973). את עבודות הגוף שתועדו בסרטיה המוקדמים של הורן, ניתן לחלק לשתי קבוצות: סרטים הבוחנים את תפישתו העצמית של הגוף, במיוחד כאשר הוא מוארך באמצעות תותבים ונייחותו מועצמת באופן מלאכותי, וסרטים החוקרים תנועה, מרחב וחלל.
בעבודות כמו מאזני ראש (Head Balance), שלוחות כתפיים (Shoulder Extensions), שלוחת ראש (Head Extension), ומניפת גוף לבנה (White Body Fan) אנו עדים לתמורות גופניות המלוות בארכיטיפים אלכימיים: באמצעות קרניים, נוצות וכנפיים הופך הגוף ליצור מיתי.
אולם משמעותן העמוקה של עבודות אלה טמונה בהכרה עצמית, בתקשורת המחודשת עם העולם הסובב וגילויו המחודש – נושאים שבאותה עת היו הרי-חשיבות בחוגים הפוסט-מינימליסטיים משני עברי האוקיינוס. במובן זה, עבודתה של הורן עולה בקנה אחד עם המאמרים הקולנועיים של ברוס נאומן ועם המיצגים של ויטו אקונצ’י.
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source: art-directoryde
Rebecca Horn wird 1944 als Tochter eines Kaufmanns und Textildesigners im hessischen Michelstadt geboren. Sie beginnt 1964 an der Hochschule für Bildende Künste in Hamburg zu studieren. Ein DAAD Stipendium ermöglicht Horn von 1971 bis 1972 einen Studienaufenthalt in London. Zugleich gestaltet Rebecca Horn Performances mit köperbezogenen Skulpturen. Allen Aktionen gemeinsam ist das Thema der Körpererweiterung, – verlängerung, -einengung durch Masken, Aufsätze oder Stoffapplikationen, die am Körper der Akteure angebracht sind. So wie in ihrer erste Körperskulptur “Arm-Extensionen” im Jahr 1968 geht es Rebecca Horn bei den Performances um eine andere Raumerfahrung, um die poetische Vermittlung psychischer Zustände und physischer Eingeschlossenheit. Ihr vordergündiges Interesse gilt der Interaktion zwischen Objekt oder Akteur, Betrachter und Raum. “Es gibt nur Teilnehmer” (zitiert nach: Carl Haenlein, “Rebecca Horn. The Glance of Infinity”, Zürich im Jahr 1997, S. 49).
Der Betrachter dieser Werke ist in seiner äußerlichen Passivität ebenso am Geschehen beteiligt wie der Akteur oder später die Objekte (und Motoren) der Installationen. Die Skulpturen verselbständigen sich im Laufe der Jahre immer mehr ohne ihr zentrales Thema aufzuheben. So schafft Horn lebendig agierende Skulpturen, die von nun an ihr Werk prägen, wie der sich bewegende Fächer “Pfauenmaschiene” (1979-80), der sich im Blitz entladende “Kuss des Rhinozeros” (1986) oder der Geschichten flüsternde “Schildkrötenseufzerbaum” (1994).
Das Spektrum der künstlichen Medien, die Rebecca Horn nutzt sind vielfältig: neben Aktionen, Installationen und Kinetik ist es die Zeichnung, die Fotografie, das Video oder der Film, deren medien-spezifische Eigenschaften und Verflechtungen sie auslotet. Die seit 1989 an der Berliner Hochschule der Künste lehrende Professorin hat in den letzten Jahren Einzelausstellungen in bedeutenden Museen und Privatgalerien Englands, der USA, Frankreich und Deutschlands präsentiert.
Bereits 1972 ist die Künstlerin zum ersten Mal auf der “documenta” vertreten und erhält im Jahr 1986 den “documenta”-Preis. 1992 wird Rebecca Horn der Medienpreis des ZKM Karlsruhe verliehen sowie der Kaiserring der Stadt Goslar.