Once their eyes adjust to the dark, visitors to Christoph Girardet's up-current installation find themselves in an bizarre situation. They are standing on the edge of a hole looking at representational images which have no bottom or top, no spatial anchorage, In a room transformed into a vaulted, hovering space. The hole becomes a look-out, the need to get one's bearings a pressing necessity.
At first, nothing more than a spot of light on the floor In the middle of the dark room is perceptible. The spot turns out to be not only a hole In the floor but also a projection surface. Inside the hole is a triple-bladed fan, painted white, mounted upright. The three blades are level with the surface of the floor and span the width of the hole, rotating at full speed, whirling up the surrounding air. There is one light source: a video projector mounted on the ceiling. Its perpendicular and rotating beams project images onto the blades and between them into the hole below. To the sluggish human eye, the fast-moving blades merge to form a kind of transparent screen showing deep-reaching, apparently 3-dlmenslonal Images. The time and space of visual presentation matches the real, physical events, our perspectives are matched largely to the location of perception: images of turbulent water Interspersed with creeping insects. Birds, butterflies and plunging parachutists suggest altitude. The face of a drifting bomber pilot shown recurrently, made concrete only by his glances at the shifting positions.
1 video channel, 1 video projector, 1 ceiling fan, 2-channel sound