«Das Loch» is a hole (neutered, lough). It is a lake, a pool of liquid shimmering itself into multiplicity and splicing reality. Myth is a reflection. The mirror is a portal to a realm that can be seen but not interacted with. If you find yourself in a hole, stop digging. When you stop digging, you are still in a hole. The hole is something deeper, a place of healing and not explanation. Break yourself into little pieces, so that the little splinters left behind can’t even be called art. Can you bury something without digging a hole? Dig a hole to scream into: an empty reflection, reflecting upon reflecting upon reflecting the houses and trees: sensing the environment. It’s sad that we hold down the empty. 

Untitled (hole) is an unburial. It is the inversion of the earth into the earth, laden with bricks and plaster, a promise of undetonated bombs from the Second World War, history where the sky lays flat over the former West Berlin. A process-based work, it remained in the land for a couple of weeks, fallowing the dead dirt.