10 - Morgen ist die Frage - Flora Leadley

This article was written and researched in November 2020

Berlin is facing new restrictions set to have a significant impact on its cultural scene.  This in itself is nothing new for a city whose history is marked by political oppression and cultural resurgence, but today it feels particularly urgent. Following government announcements the previous day, it transpires that this will be the last day of Berghain’s latest artistic venture, Studio Berlin, for a while.  Against this backdrop, I’m grateful to be slipping through the net in the nick of time, but downbeat that this celebration of Berlin and its artistic residents is soon to be curtailed. 

Approaching the imposing former power plant housing Berghain on a particularly wet and dreary Berlin afternoon, its ‘holy grail’ status could almost be overlooked, if it weren’t for an aspiring DJ throwing her music – quite literally - at unresponsive club staff. The venue has not seen its usual carousel of partygoers since March, but its prestige is undiminished. Despite the novel circumstances Berghain maintains its enigmatic entry policy, with a bouncer welcoming me in with a nonchalant shrug.

Studio Berlin, an artistic collaboration between the Boros Foundation and Berghain, exhibits work from over a hundred artists who work and live in Berlin. From large-scale installations to painting and video, 80% of the works were made or finished during the lockdown period, an eclectic homage to the world we are living in.

The exhibition’s dystopian feel is evident from the outset.  The first piece is Julius von Bismarck’s Mimic of Titus, a buoy suspended from the high ceiling, bobbing in thin-air as if floating. This buoy is linked by sensors to another in the Atlantic, off the coast of France, and imitates its tidal movement exactly. It evokes archaic feelings of survival, a man-made object manipulated by invisible natural forces, just as we are beholden to the unseen powers of the pandemic.

Von Bismarck’s Mimic of Titus

In another area, artist Raphaela Vogel has built a surreal cityscape from miniature models acquired from former 50s and 60s theme parks, a time when global travel was more limited and these artificial landscapes were offered up instead. The irony of it all is clear, the worn-out buildings tinged with the sadness of our new, limited reality. At the same time, you can’t help but laugh at the surreality of seeing a six feet tall Tower Bridge juxtaposed with the Statue of Liberty dropped, incongruously, on a Berghain dancefloor. This antithesis of joy and despair characterise the show throughout.

As a crossover between musician and artists, music forms the central pulse of the exhibition. The dancefloor is soundtracked with a composition by Nigerian artist Emeka Ogboh where lo-fi beats meet with field recordings taken by him in Lagos, an urban symphony with no clear end. In the Panorama Bar, the lighter-lit social hub of the club, a track by DJ Jessica Ekomane combines silent voids with sporadic and isolated musical elements, never allowing them to fully form. Beats build to a euphoric climax before being cut dead, a cruel snapshot of the sets that once played. Music remains fully at the forefront of the club but is distorted in reference to its current status.

Personal stories which tell of artists’ intimate links with the club can be found at every turn. In the Panorama Bar a huge flower opens in full bloom. The piece was submitted by the artistic couple, Petrit Halilaj and Alvaro Urbano, and forms part of their personal history, as it was here that they met and fell in love many years before. The warmth and intimacy of the piece is striking, a clear celebration of their union (it was intended for their wedding, which the pandemic postponed). Even the notorious Sven Marquadt, the stone-faced gatekeeper of Berghain, gets involved with a video installation filmed during lockdown which cuts between macabre still-lifes of decaying flowers and skulls.

Alvaro's 'Quince' at his studio 1

Despite the isolation surrounding their conception, the works share a sense of solidarity, or at least, of shared experience. An exception to the club’s ‘no mirror policy’ is made for an installation by Olafur Eliasson; a simple triptych of mirrors to reflect the work of his fellow artists. Foregoing his usual large-scale installations, Eliasson chooses instead to cast a spotlight on his fellow creatives, rendering their works in ways they weren’t intended. Eliasson turns the gaze onto the visitor and invites them to introspect.

For a club that has always resisted making statements, the one emblazoned on its façade is strikingly clear. Morgen ist die Frage – the future is unwritten. Will Berghain be here tomorrow? Will art and culture maintain their status in society? The spirit of ingenuity and artistic collaboration exhibited at Studio Berlin suggests there will always be a special place reserved for them in this city.