Submersed in the Secret Sorrow of Infertility (Crossroads Collection Book 2)

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The elasticity that both the installation and the book possess reinforces this determination to engage multiple layers of meaning, interpretation and experience. The installation provides the opportunity to discover things. You can flip the pictures, read the texts underneath them or behind the glass vitrine. You can if you want, but you do not need to. I wanted to preserve this element in the book, hence the different paper layers and sheet lengths. Clark did not just choose to be anyone; he chose to be a Rockefeller!

What he was after was status. For months he studied the Rockefellers thoroughly, and managed to pass himself off as one of them.

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People bought into his lie and invested in it because it was so charming. The same applies to photography. Images direct our attention towards their confined surfaces; it is their unique, privileged bond with the real that renders them so appealing. They tempt us to believe there is more beyond the surface. The condensed meaning palpitating in one single photograph allows us the space to imagine multiple universes, a life of different options. And yet, when the hour of truth comes, it is so hard to specify the path to the final meaning.

Charming and ambivalent, the Barthesian punctum resists being tied down to the norms of language. As does Clark. He becomes the punctum for Maierhofer: an exemplary subject avidly explored. A recollection of family pictures in the series shows him the way he was: blurry, unrecognisable, an awkward pose defying definition. Every time he had his picture taken, he would cover himself or make a face: he, the man of invention, chose to leave a weak imprint on film.

Clark is the man in constant rebirth. A series of chapters with Kafkaesque titles — The Promise, The Lie, The Transformation — allude to his duality and process of transformation, but also attempt to fully capture his complexity, to neatly outline him as the subject of a readable narrative. Maierhofer disposed of two portraits of him: a newspaper clip from the day of his arrest and the portrait of a smiling young man with sunglasses. This latter picture, which was taken in Germany when Clark was around seventeen, is the only photograph where we see him openly looking at the camera.

When he first landed in the States, he spent some time in Pasadena trying to succeed as an actor. But he failed. When you travel to the US you just expect everything to be like in a Hollywood movie. The whole country is a particular setting of reality and fiction.

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This is what happened to Clark. He got the message of the American dream delivered by him in his living room in Germany, went there and expected that he could be anyone he wished. As an ideal, charismatic subject, Clark remains mysterious and blurry until the end. Still, Maierhofer confesses that romance gradually faded despite her initial fascination with him. The gloomy part of the story prevailed.

Clark Rockefeller, or Christian Karl Gehartsreiter, is currently serving a sentence for murder in America. Sara-Lena Maierhofer carried out the project without meeting him; he never responded to her request. How would the work have turned out if he had said yes? He is an extremely intelligent man who knows how to play the game of seduction.

H.G. Wells

A con man is the perfect mirror. In our case, it would have been the same.

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Clark would have sensed what I want and would have manipulated me. Trinidad Carrillo: The Name from Mars. Dreams, Freud insists, suggest not lineal narratives but a rebus that must be deciphered element by element. The visual tales of Trinidad Carrillo Peru, put this thesis into evidence. Situated on the crossroads of a real and a fictional phantasmagorical world, they are diluted in the midst of the subconscious, drawing our attention to all that lies hidden deep underneath the surface of things — to all this bright, imaginative and perturbing at times underworld of secrets that constitutes our existential matrix.


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They pronounce a phrase without a beginning and without an end, in the same way that dreams insist upon us and then quickly dissolve in the first light of the dawn. International recognition came in The fictions they engage avoid any claim on universality. They remain strictly personal, strictly confided in an idiosyncratic imagery of infancy dreams, hallucinations and folk tales.

What Carrillo assumes and what ultimately becomes universal here is the essence of the journey: Each journey presupposes a new identity for the traveller. We buy new clothes when we move about out of the brackets of our domestic quotidian life. The journey may even be to another planet — name it Mars or whatever you like. And yet, our filter to reality remains the same — the same old camera, the same old lens, the same old eye. There are no rules to this universe. Its stories, piled up together from to , seem to interconnect organically with each other.

Old pictures are reassembled and edited as part of novel sequences and new ones arrive in order to form part of a single series that keeps reformulating itself.

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By means of this obsessive resorting to the image, Carrillo does nothing but remind us that behind every person there is an unresolved life-story. From childhood to adulthood it is the same mystic tale that incites us to grow and look for more clues, for more answers to unpronounced questions. Although the photographer prefers to elude words about the decisive role of her ethnic and cultural roots in her work she left Peru for Sweden at the age of eleven , this doubling of identity has played an intrinsic role in her biography.

As a child, she used to imagine a spaceship transporting her to the new place. Curiously, at the end of each reverie, the new lieu always turned out to be the old home but with a different stage setting. The spacecraft now is the camera, and the illusion of belonging to two planets at the same time is visually echoed in an incessant shuttling back and forth between two dimensions, the real world and the one beyond it. Science fiction has been one of the main referents for her, but she humanizes it. She integrates it into her own proper metaphysical vocabulary of playful re-enactments and masquerades.

A parade of extra-terrestrials, ghosts and wistful spirits provides alternative forms to envision the real and to speak about the invisible and cryptic aspects of the human existence; about its magic moments, uncanny suspensions and faded remembrances; about the way things are beneath the surface, beyond and despite external apparitions. Open-ended, cryptic and imaginative at heart, the narrative here is purposely devoid of any contingency.

The new protagonists are adult-like children and adults with childish faces, hybrid creatures with a double face, performing the self as somebody else. The bonds that unite them are here stronger than ever, as if they were all carriers of an old-age generational wisdom. And the play goes on. The natural world and its perennial circles underscore this constant journey between two planets and dimensions. By analogy with portraits, they expressively mirror this dual dimension of self-transportation and recognition. They remain concomitant with creating a double space, dislocated and spared, as if existence needed to be pulled towards the shore of fantasy and dream to obtain full awareness of its elemental somatic interdependence with the world.

A series of images of sleeping figures in a state of somnambulistic trance or unawareness operate as punctums in her story. Submerged into another world, these pictures expose the fleeting moment of live interior motion against a background of generalized immobility. They register, to say the least, all that lies before our eyes when the mists dissolve and the remote landscape of the dream falls apart under the weight of a desire that cannot be fulfilled in real life. For, everyday existence is unable to sustain the logic and order of the dream.

And so the language of dreams remains veiled. On the other shore, latent under the foggy horizon, faces and bodies slowly decompose. But the dream persists. In its ecstatic futility, it conjures a space that keeps the desire alive. Alexandra Catiere, Here, beyond the mists , Words 16 , Fall issue There is a subtle light burning in these pictures.

A sort of an intangible, frail, albeit persistent piece of memory that cannot be fully restored. In the photography of Alexandra Catiere, we encounter the remains of an agonizing perception, unfinished and rapidly consumed. Something that intrigues us to resort to her pictures again and again, relentlessly trying to recover now what is felt like before, and yet felt for the very first time. Like an abrupt flash-bolt, it announces a primal moment of photographic genesis, in which everything surges forth from the depths as never seen before, and yet, at the very same time, as familiar, universal and authentic.

Far from being instantaneous shots capturing merely the mundane aura of a city and its people in the style of the contemporary diaristic mood, they are loaded with a timeless dignifying gentleness that successfully bridges the space between wonder and understanding. In the image that introduces the sequence of the book, a truck abandons the set rendering as its sole protagonist a slender male figure. Ethereal, almost reduced to a black spot, this latter counterbalances the emptiness of the composition, while reinforcing, in its standing immobility, the impression that, in fact, all the meaning infused in the picture — essentially metaphysical at heart — is to be encountered elsewhere, outside the frame.

Perhaps no other scenery could better fit the dreamful but contained Baltic idiosyncrasy of Alexandra Catiere. Far from being mirrors of things, they are sparkles, fugitive apparitions, blank reflections of missing idols — of what we long for from the past but are unable to recover in the present; of something that, in its painstaking departure and absence, becomes properly ours. Loss is not the question here, nor is there space for drama or free melancholy. It is rather all about a sort of decaying vital information we carry in our genes and about what we can make of it.

Light burns everything in these pictures. Light as evoked in the darkrooms of the first pioneers; light as the mystic force of the first heliographic experiments and their alchemical processes — glass negatives, plates and contact sheets. Though a child of today in many respects, Catiere enjoys working in film. Being eligible for this residency has allowed her to expand and redefine her practice, adapt new approaches, as well as experiment with old cameras and various printing methods. It has fulfilled an element of sensibility that pre-existed her arrival at the museum, has made it grown and has contributed maturity in the direction of plastic properties and intuitive connections.

Even so, this young artist does not stick to the rules. Her prints do not seek perfectness. On the contrary, as if by a series of deliberate accidents, they push the medium to its limits in terms of contrasts, tonality and nuances, fostering an expressivity coupled with a very contemporaneous aesthetic.

As objects with material properties, they restitute the photographic desire in its ghostly archaic primitiveness and become utterly personal.