Atlantis – the lost continent, the utopian city created as a distortion of the collective memory out of an uncontrollable human need for exaltation, for perfection. Its true essence has been invented in the past, is absent in the present, but exists in the memory.
The first part is about the search for the loss: a journey of the memory, distorted and partly erased – a volitional illusion, a necessary illusion.
It is a self deception at its best to which we willfully surrender.
Atlantis does not exist; it was invented and never meant to be found, but the man needs it and, therefore, invented it like the flesh of the Leviathan awaiting the righteous in Paradise.
Rays of the sun breaking on the surface of the Atlantic Ocean, spread before the eyes of the viewer, erase a stretch of water, hide but also indicate an enveloping place that repeats 23 times while only the sparkles on the water vary.

Project Room: Alexandra Zuckerman

Klaus

A tough hour with Klaus Kinski – first thoughts on Alexandra Zuckerman's "Klaus"

The Klaus Kinski series demonstrates an image shifting from a status of a document to an appearance. Kinski, one of the biggest inventions of cinema, is reinvented by Zuckerman as an illusion, a speculation. Zuckerman repetitively spins Kinski's face while simultaneously unpicking it over and over again. Kinski is a form, Kinski is no form. He is a citation, a mistake. Zuckerman draws with lightness and confidence, but there is also an unrealized tendency for self-destruction, for image "plucking": every line is a wrinkle, every hair is a line.
Zuckerman is not trying to "capture" Kinski's image, on the contrary, she aims to stir it, to show its wild spirit. Through this image she creates an uncontrollable web. Zuckerman brings Kinski's image to life as an amputated organ that continues to twitch after being removed.
She returns to Kinski obsessively repeating his image, as though drawing is a summoning ceremony. Kinski is a traumatic event for her, an experience from the past that is not letting go. Zuckerman has sifted every indication of time and place or a sense of history. Holding to Kinski's image is like having something one cannot possess, something one cannot tame, something that is always on the run and persistently escapes. Zuckerman's Kinski is an animal, almost a beast. He is a ghost – threatening, inaccessible, vulnerable.

Ory Dessau