The city in the hut
In the middle of Berlin, on a wasteland behind the Nordbahnhof, the outlines of new building ruins and churches can be seen far away. The city appears unknown from this perspective. Only the top of the television tower looks familiar. A small hut stands on the meadow, assembled from materials lying around. The hut is dark inside, on the floor in the middle there is a bright surface on which, after a few minutes, when the eyes have become accustomed to it, a picture emerges: A bird flies by, the panorama of the city in the background, an aeroplane holds course for a skyscraper, a skater passes by. These are snapshots in real time that are projected here.
The situation is unreal, the colours of the projection are pale, the sounds of the city only penetrate the hut in a muffled way. As soon as you open the door to compare whether the reality outside matches the projection inside, the incoming light destroys the image. The hut functions as a camera. The light is captured by a movable tube in the roof, bundled with a lens and projected via a mirror onto a white board inside. In this way, the hut can be understood as an optical apparatus and a sculpture at the same time. It takes possession of the urban space, reflects it and shows a strangely enraptured and unknown image of Berlin, ruin-like, ghostly and yet alive.