Bert Rebhandl
PRINCESS ROOM IN THE TOWER HOUSE
About the film Tower House (2013) and the computer animation Studio (2000)
Architecture and urban living spaces are defining themes in the artistic practice of Karl-Heinz Klopf: An evening will be dedicated to some of his cinematic works next Wednesday at Mumok.
When Japanese architect Takamitsu Azuma and his wife were looking for an apartment in Tokyo, he was young and had little money. The 1960 Olympics had changed the city, thoroughfares had been built, many small, often triangular plots of land considered unattractive had been left behind. For the Azumas, however, that was the solution. Instead of an apartment, they bought a building lot, and in 1966 the now famous Tower House was built on it, a single-family house on a floor plan of 20 square meters. Karl-Heinz Klopf dedicated an hour-long film of the same name to this building, which is more than just a conventional architectural documentary. Tower House represents an attempt to match the spirit of the house through cinematic means. Circular movements in which Klopf explores the details, the lines of sight, but also a lot of unplastered concrete, have their seat in life in the spiral staircases that lead up to the top floor in the "Tower House". It was used as a nursery, the daughter of the Azumas was allowed to live up there as a "princess". And this Rie Azuma is now also the most important human presence in the film about the house in which her life began and which she now owns in its entirety - alongside the discreet, invisible filmmaker who adapts to the geometries of the building. Rie Azuma narrates the history of Tower House from off-screen, which is otherwise only present through sparingly used photography - and through the traces of time in the structures of the building. The film is entirely an "Inhabitation," to take up a possible translation of the title Inhabitations, under which the Mumok is showing a film program of three works by Klopf. Due to its length, Tower House is the most weighty contribution, and at the same time the one that is closest to conventional documentary formats. The two shorter works are much more experimental; the one-minute 60 Seconds in the Colors of My Shirt is a graphic play with colors and chronometry. In Studio, Klopf opens access to his workrooms in Vienna's Waschhausgasse. He does not show pictures of it, but an architectural sketch in constant virtual motion, a grid of lines in cubatures that never become complete. In their "spatiality," the artist's "life" reveals itself through e-mail messages that appear in digital script on the picture plane. With the eight minutes of this film, Klopf opens up an unsuspected multitude of worlds: Through the news, we become members of a world society that, between Delhi and London, is also thinking complicated thoughts about urbanity - a central theme of the artist; but we also become involved in a technological moment that, in many ways (the news graphics, etc.), has already become historical again; historical in the sense of rapid historicity in the age of new media. Living in transition. Klopf proves himself to be an alert observer of changes in the areas of living, life, and work. A change that is not least due to the expansion of spaces caused by the advancing virtualization. The Tower House, where the linoleum floor was never finished being cut because the builder was always too busy, proves to be an interface with far-reaching implications. There was basically no dining room to invite guests to, nor was there a study to retreat to. In both cases, nearby public spaces - a café, a restaurant - served as extensions of the apartment. A concept that almost anticipated digital bohemia.
(This text appeared in Der Standard on June 6, 2015 in connection with the film evening Inhabitations with films by Karl-Heinz Klopf at the Mumok Cinema, Museum Moderner Kunst Stiftung Ludwig Wien.)