Perspective

My main aspiration when it comes to my own artistic work, my collaborations, and my own curatorial practice is to recognize in another being an equal counterpart, despite, or indeed because of, its otherness, without constructing a redundant hierarchy. Showing empathy in order to understand a situation from the other’s perspective leads to a deep understanding. Such an encounter can lead to a deep, essential relationship, which is urgently needed in this age of capitalistically driven egocentrism.

Such a connection not only changes your own outlook; it also gives rise to a deep sense of responsibility for yourself and the other. This creates an invisible elementary connection, which makes the life of the other being appear valuable and “worth preserving.” This inspiring vision of relationships based on empathy, respect, and attraction can be understood as an invitation to recognize the deep connectedness and vitality of life.

Since 2020, I have been working on an eight-hectare piece of land in Havelland, Brandenburg, to explore and reflect upon the methods and principles of nonviolence toward all forms of life with the help of artistic means. If we were to think that all creatures and substances in this place are equal from a human perspective, then what consequences would this have for our coexistence and our actions?

Nonviolence should not be equated with passivity or inaction. Conflicts should not be avoided; instead, solutions should be found through nonviolent confrontation or resistance. A decisive starting point is an empathetic and nonviolent perspective on the world and therefore also on art, which reflects the coexistence of all living beings.

Devotion and love are the extraordinary driving force behind knowledge processes. With this understanding, I am approaching the “research forest,” knowing full well that I will be powerless so long as I do not connect with my counterpart(s) on an equal footing. This journey begins and Eros moves the world.

The time has not yet come. There is still some way to go. So much is still necessary,

before the time is right. But we shall work endlessly to make it happen. Until it does.

Imagine how it is when we and Christl leave the forest. After half an hour,

the animals appear. As revealed by the photo trap. It is they who are at the center of it all.

Mobile animals and immobile plants. And as soon as we and Christl reenter the forest,

the animals hide among the vegetation. Seeking safety. The time has not yet come.

When you are in the forest, the forest is primarily a space. And a space is for the most part empty.

But in the forest, we can sense that this space has the potential to be filled. We perceive the forest

as something cohesive. The trees are not solitary but rather form a collective. Upon them and

between them, an abundance can erupt to fill the space.

That is the inherent living essence of the forest.

This space tidies itself, as we and Christl like to say. Whatever is left lying around will be taken

care of by the forest. Disorder comes from those who are not of the forest. For instance, a campsite can be found underground, beneath a thick layer of moss. Spread out in the forest.

Incommensurable. Archaeologically relevant for generations of archaeologists yet to come.

That is true.

What is also true is that we and Christl pay no heed to this. Even though she acquired the forest

for this very reason. The fact that this allows her to ignore those who are not of the forest would

itself appear to be her commentary on that which is foreign to the forest. Whoever wishes to

overcome needs something to overcome in the first place. It is unnatural to naturalize nature.

But it all revolves around life. Enabling life by enabling life.

That is the simple, clear, brilliant structure. The methodology, on the other hand, is versatile, multifaceted, intertwined in many ways, permeated by itself, constantly adapting,

sensing, stabilizing, considering, nurturing, prudently contributing to everything.

And so this forest grows to meet itself. The forest being is its living self,

consisting of an endless number of living beings that empower each other. The beings

come and go. The lives come and go. This is what sustains life.

Forests have been around for 300 million years. And yet for 300 years the forest has been unable

to cope without human management, or so they say. Forests need people.

Say those people who need the forest. We and Christl have taken that seriously. Too seriously,

in the view of the 300. That is their principle. It allows them

to return to the 300 million. At long last.

That is when the time will have come.

July 10, 2024

Martin G. Schicht

It’s winter and the freezing cold feels hostile. I want to see how far Christl has gotten with her preparations. She’s hired two students to transport the heavy materials for the exhibition in the Changing Room project space. There are still a few details to discuss and a nervous tension in the air.

The double doors of the Changing Room are wide open; the inside is just as cold as the outside. Christl and her helpers have been working tirelessly since early morning. The forest has to be scoured for remnants of bygone times, which they’ll bring into the Changing Room.

Wrapped up against the cold, an assistant stirs a steaming pot on the floor, a sticky mass full of grains, while a rancid smell wafts through the air. Layers of this substance are applied to a dead tree trunk lying across the room, dripping slowly onto the floor. I observe as the concrete darkens in slow motion.

We had discussed in advance that Christl would bring her forest project into the Changing Room in real time. But Christl wanted more than just a voyeuristic gaze. The forest was to be given a different status via artistic interventions, creating a dialogue without hierarchies, and it should be uncompromising.

This is one of the last exhibitions in the Changing Room and marks the end of my intensive process of curatorial experimentation in this space. Christl’s work addresses many aspects of what it means to be human in relation to nature. Her uncompromising approach has always impressed me.

Christl’s forest is an homage, a love letter, a struggle, and an act of defiance. Her work is marked by hard labor, risk, loss, and transformation.

The room is unrecognizable. The first guests arrive and no one remains unmoved. It’s cold, but everyone stays late. What is there here? Fragments of a society that leaves things behind, which now acquire an aesthetic presence. We see testimonies to what it means to be human and a crow who comes in to take some grain from a tree trunk.

The deinstall is as laborious as the installation. A huge grease stain has worked its way into the floor. We scrub and experiment for days. The stain fades, but cracks in the floor emerge. In buildings, it’s often the cracks that give seeds and sprouts a place to settle—from there, whole forests can grow.

The connection permeates each meeting and exchange with Christl, permanently changing its structure and content. Each time it feels like reaching a new level in a video game (without violence), where knowledge, strength, courage, and new skills develop to explore further stages of an open world.

We work in the garden almost every week. We have our own paths there; we know where the bird feeders are; we water, plant trees, observe, discuss, invent, read texts, and think about the upcoming project Nonviolence. Forest Research Platform. We sometimes find it difficult to dig out the garbage, our hands soiled by human actions against nature, yet we watch with fascination how animals have adapted to it.

The forest garden is a place for animals: the lettuce is for the snails, the leaves for the deer, and the blackbirds are keen on the raspberries. Her neighbors are surprised that she doesn’t pick the fruits for herself.

This forest garden is a utopia, a safe space for animal and plant species, where not even a tick feels threatened. Even after a tick bite led to chaos and antibiotics, the tick was released alive. She even considers making small blood bowls for ticks so they don’t need to feast on people. Everyone must be happy, especially the ticks.

This is this place inspires.

The excerpts are mostly shortened versions of texts originally published in Christl Mudrak: Eros (Hatje Cantz, 2025).