Grischa Lichtenberger

My studio is a depot of materials, metaphors and voices. an archive for my memories, found artifacts, collected riddles and questions. A dwelling, a wormhole, an exile and my home. A place to talk and drink with friends, a music studio and listening place. a wood workshop, printing facility, cinema, writers desk. shelf, table, bed, kitchen, toilet.

What I do in one sentence: I try to draw things in closer, that resist being seen.

Why I didn’t get a proper job: Uh… I don’t know. I never aimed at a “proper job” or money giving career, I guess. at the same time I never wanted to rely on art as a bread giver. from time to time I feel a huge envy towards people spending their time giving to other people, working for a simple, honest purpose – helping others, producing goods and so on. but at the same time art for me has a connection to something quiet ethical nothing else could maintain – that is to regard the forgotten, to give a certain hope to despair and confusion. But this process is always endangered by doubt – I guess this necessary doubtful process (necessary to get the forgotten in sight) is why one could say art is “not proper” and it is at the same time synonym to the freedom that allows the artist to stay in touch with something ethical, critical and transcendental.

An artwork I dream of and I would get accomplished if space, time and money were abundant: If space, time and money were abundant, there wouldn’t be anything like art. There is this character in Adams’ hitchhikers guide to the galaxy. an entity living forever, being so bored about eternity, it only found a purpose using its endless time insulting every living being in a special, singular way. Art is always about a certain noticeable resistant force. The material constraints, your limited body and mind. Every equipment that is build is not a perfect match for the purpose it has inscribed in it. But of course there are illusions, dreams. I always dreamed of moving from one huge office building to another. Working in a room for several days, doing an installation, or other work there, closing the door moving to the next office. Then having multiple houses like this all over the world.

Artists, I have on my watch list (and why): Kafka (for the erotic, humor and lust for life against the odds), dingn/dents, a South Korean collective/record label (a real musical eye opener for me, very materialistic, very free, abstract but not too ligeti, also very groovy), Gerd and Uwe Tobias, painters, artists redefining the possibility of the woodcut (for their composition of actually composing hard edged elements) and of course people closest to me, Sarah Ambrosi and my brother David for doing art in a very honest, direct relation to the world around them, working relentlessly on themselves.

I am afraid of being a burden to others. To disappoint, being insignificant, to not be able to explain. To not understand, to get lost. (And each of these are also a face, a motive of what I do I think: I aim to be a bit to difficult for others, I want to estrange and disappoint the prejudice of the others, want to signify the seemingly insignificant, deconstruct the explanations, differentiate understanding and empathy, get lost to find something I’ve not seen before…). I’m an idiot, I guess.

How I want to be buried resp. words I want to be written on my tombstone: This is absolutely up to the people or circumstances my death will be a part in (I won’t). It would be nice if there could be a place where people who want to remember me feel the possibility to do so. I myself have no certain fetish regarding my decomposing body.