Two meet, one raises his hat politely, the other nods back affably. Someone is hurrying along the passageway and someone else steps aside: “Sorry,” “May I?”
The architecture creates the space for this choreography of togetherness.
A line winds around smoke detectors, over neon lights and past emergency exit signs.
In a barely audible whisper, like the snake Kaa, it utters:
The handrail develops a life of its own and winds its way invitingly through the passageway. Anarchy flashes in this stainless steel aesthetic of organization and security, one that interrupts the course of everyday life.
The line twists and turns into a “V” gesture, as if it were posing for the photograph.
What does this gesture mean in this place? Or rather: What does this place want to say to us with this gesture? That the insurrection was successful? And if so, which one?
Public space is a functional structure, an organizational framework. A playing field that is occupied, used, and defined by a variety of different players.
Subtle as it is aggressive, the silver line lays over the established order. Like a scribble, a spontaneous, free gesture, it exaggerates the functional geometry of the space.
The cold steel comes alive, begins to vibrate. Invisible forces take effect, redirecting the stream of consciousness, thwarting and distorting the established order and straining perception.
Baudrillard is passé, but his ideas shine through: reality is a simulation in which symbols and actuality have become indistinguishable. (Sub)culture intervenes through the insurrection of signs.
Recklinghausen Central Station
City of Recklinghausen
Text: Nelly Gawellek