Stadtschichten

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stadtschichten

The backyards of Kiel create a space in which the organized city blurs with the everyday pragmatism of usability – in which the life of the inhabitants unfolds freely – in which private and public coexist in hidden juxtaposition.

»stadtschichten« (levels of city) translates these in-between-spaces into an experimental editorial concept – the city becomes a book through which the reader can stroll: The perceived emptiness of the pages reflects the familiar blend of the street, while the hidden world of the courtyards lurks through the paper. These have to be explored by the reader by unfolding the numerous flaps of the pages opening the space of the book into reality and revealing fragments of the found places. Abstract photographs and texts can be combined and varied through this process and built countless variations of the puzzle of the city. The impression always stays individual, bound to the specific reader like everyone perceives their own world differently.

»Und ich träume von anderen Welten –
versteckt zwischen den Fugen der Stadt.«

»I’m slipping through cracks in the city
pretending to be in another world.«

There are twenty-four tears in the wall – soft zigzagging lines running in parallel – suggested connections between the sun-warmed ground and the deep blue of the afternoon sky. For the ants on the whitened wall they are canyons – some just shallow seams, easy to cross – others are quite the hike. Looking from left to right alternating between the black earth and the glistening light – funny to imagine that the sun stands sideways.

How do you define a court? You could ask a place: »Are you a court?«, and it would answer: »Yes, of course! Don't you see my buildings? On three sides of my existence people unfold there lives to me: sunbathed hours on the balcony – an open window while vacuuming – ripped conversations – the laundry swaying in the wind – soft dripping of flower water on the the pavement. Here stand their bikes – an open garage hiding the beach toys of the litte ones – in the neighboring yard a painters workshop – cars, people, packages come and go … and above all scatter the leafs of my trees.« But I would say: »What about your forth side? Here screams the city.«