fourteenth floor

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Sunsets
The sun shines until late afternoon in the flat on the 14th floor. The view over the city. A panoramic view. Looking through the window in the evening, you can watch the sunsets, the city and the city’s northern outskirts with the motorway. The windows are dirty.
Sounds of the city: cars, the underlying noise of the motorway and aeroplanes that cut through the sky. Atmospheres: cool air, sunlight and the monotonous sound of the city, dusty streaks on the window panes that blend with the red of the evening sky.
Someone turns around. Picks up the camera. Perhaps from the desk drawer that is built into the wall cabinet. The colour film is inserted. On it there are already several sunsets and sky views with clouds. Then a photo of the armchair that stands by the window. From here, the view of the sky.
The city can only be guessed at when lying down. Aeroplane vapour trails show how near the city is. The view into the empty sky behind thick glass, soundproofed.
The light is sketched onto the surface of the armchair. Square shapes. Soft velour leather. A designer piece of furniture for looking into the distance. And still this loneliness. In the things that seem to speak of us, because we own them and need them. They reveal something, something of our existence.
Melancholy of the everyday kind. Unfulfilled desires for a different life. For foreignness in one’s own existence. A reclining armchair with a view into the empty distance on the 14th floor of a high-rise. Countless sunsets as the panoramic backdrop of a life. Birgit Szepanski

Shamanism in pictures
Leave behind an impression, really leave an impression, at least on upholstery; stood up from the armchair between two shadows, straightened up the summer sun and went into the kitchen and opened the afternoon wine and then quickly went up the stairs to the top to get down a book or the telephone directory or at least maybe the new esoteric guide published by Goldmann*, and looked down suddenly and imagined a culture where everything would depend on what impression one leaves in upholstery after getting up. A culture in which there were interpretations for traces and creases in couches and seating that had just been left, imaginative semantigicians who would apportion meaning or intentions to the random imprint of your body in an armchair, or at least predict your future from the left-behind geography of your shaise-long lolling on afternoons like these and the light and the play of shadow in the creases in any case. And that red cushion there would have a very particular meaning in this culture too and it would depend on the constellation, where and how it lay there in the temporary overall arrangement of the universe. Microcosm = macrocosm. And you would stand there up in the maisonette and look down and would imagine this picture as if from an endlessly long series of pictures in which you lie and dream of summer as there will be others who come after you who interpret the imprint of your body from generation to generation. And you would pick up this old Leica camera and photograph right into the centre of the openness of interpretation of the work of art down there. Shamanism in pictures! Rainer Totzke

*A well-known German publishing house of especially esoteric books.

 
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