"Meedan Latschare"

curated by Markus Selg und Astrid Sourkova

artists: Quirin Bäumler
Humberto Poblete-Bustamante
Adam Holý
Joe Neave

Text by Andrew Gilbert

A square. A square surrounded by carrot trees. The square is coverred in tiles in a geometric pattern. They are handpainted and show scenes of peaceful beasts that sometimes eat each other. There are Cauliflours laid upon the tiles. From the caulilours rise penises that constantly spurt. They say that when this place was bombed the craters were so deep that they connected to the testicles of God. Fountains of energy. The Romans will later name this place Cologne after the Cola Fabrik up the road. The sky above is covered in Mothers' Breasts. They built a large tower here later to reach the breasts, but the Zulus pulled it down when they decided European culture was weak and degenerate.
Anyway this is earlier. In the centre of the square is a table. Markus has carved it. Habima Fuchs has set the table, with handmade bowls and gauntlets from the finest Uzbek clay. I am an owl at the centre of the table impaled. Soon i will fly away and be quiet but for the moment I have grapes hanging from my wings for the guests. There are four wooden chairs, Markus has carved them from the wooden stags he hunted in Noorwoo.
A strange horn with eyes sounds or shrieks as the four guests approach the square.
From the North comes Joe. He carries a Teapot full of H.P Sauce mixed with perfume. The teapot is handpainted by the finest hand I have ever seen. His pockets are full of drawings, on which are woman more beautiful than mine, but tell no one i said this. His drawings are treasures akin to the great Persian miniatures in their fineness and colour, yet there is a humour and lightness of touch that breaks all empires and shatters ivory towers. The owl smiles as it sees Joe approaching. Joe understands owls and waves.
From the East comes Adam, the first Man, the last drunken Caveman forever preserved in an outdated Mexican Museum. His eyes are full of woman in underwear and fake fruit. Temptation, beauty and murder in an artificial setting. Church relics and Museum displays are one in the pile of photos he carries. The owl smiles as it sees Adam approaching.
From the South comes Quirin directly from a Bavarian woodcut. He drags a wheelbarrow full of plaster. His fingers are bone in skin bags that burry deep into eyesockets, moulding animals and idols deep in to the womb of the Virgin. Like a fox hiding from Winter he burries so deep in to the clay, in to the stomach of the earth that his idols are unborn, preserved between life and death. He shows things that are not ready to be seen but must be seen, screaming in their silence. His wheelbarrow is very heavy and creaks slowly up the road, and the owl smiles.
From the West comes Humberto. The owl gets too excited; Shaka Napoleon the cleaning lady will mop that up before the guests arrive. His journey is the longest, he carries so many paintings that many fall behind him along the road. The canvas is covered in layer upon layer of paint and sperm ¨Oil you need is love¨ he sings as he approaches. His paintings are alive and wet with sunshine and love making beneath trees full of fruit. The Bull is rampant, the Bull fighter is shriveled, white and defeated, Europa is raped and satisfied. He tips his hat to the Birds. The guests have arrived...
Arab spices and German soil for the guests, spinach and camel eggs. The sweetest wine gushes from the wings of the owl. Habima Fuchs and Markus welcome the guests.
¨The chicken tastes very good , turn up the African Wagner, we want to dance¨ and the owl flies away.