Simon Haenni – Cityzen c

Vernissage 16 avril 2015 – 18h,
exposition ouverte jusqu’au 16 mai.

Opening 16th of April 2015 – 6pm,
on view until May 16.

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A rather kinky tale of survival

Under a dying source of light : 

a: My heels are always always getting stuck in that mud ! This mud’s so close to silk, and this perfect balance between brown and grey…It makes me grin, like those pants you were wearing last Friday night you see ?

b: Haha come on, don’t tell me you’re not used to that system of corridors? At least with the mud, it’s so soft. Can’t you enjoy some softness sometimes ?

a: Oh please don’t make me feel like more of a schlub than I already am! Be sure I wouldn’t be walking every morning into that vault if I was looking for happiness.

b: Me neither sweetie or I’d be driving home at night in my old Volvo, listening to B & der Club of Gore while watching the skyline of Mülheim an der Ruhr3, like I used to do.

a. I lived there until 1989, at least partially. I know what you mean.

 

Soft-edged curvy corridors continue, 

While the heels slowly disappear in the mud : 

 

a:I had one major obsession during that period : Collecting as many one night stands as possible in those Ibis Styles.                  

b:I’ve been traumatized by the whole Sncf interior design for over a decade. Back in 1993, the company I was working for was mostly operating between Marseille9 and Grenoble2.

b:Add a bad and expensive shrink on the top of it and you get the picture. Anyway, he’s in jail now !

a:Just like some gallerists nowadays I’d say.

 

Tottering through the silky corridors

And continuously spilling coffee on their clothes :

 

b:But were you fetishizing the entire situation or were you simply focusing on details like the bed for example ?

a:Not really. I was mostly hooked by the light of these places and was always overreacting to it. 

a:Or maybe I was simply outnumbered by the massive amount of bodies ?! It’s such a blurry period. Can’t even remember the gender of those people haha

b:Fuzzy and funny, that’s enough for a memory.
 
Only a few drops of coffee left, the rest is dripping along their pants and their thin fingers. 
 
End of the mud, end of the corridors,
 
Somebody seems to wait for them on a stoop a few meters away.

 

Nathaniel Monjaret