Julius Linnenbrink "Dance Dance"
Duration: January 12 - February 23, 2021
BauSchau Düsseldorf, Brehmstraße 41
Öffnungszeiten
The exhibition is visible through the window. Considering the still applying distance and hygienic measures, visiting the exhibition is possible only by appointment.

Tuesday, Jan 12 2 - 6 pm
Sunday, Jan 17 2 - 6 pm
Sunday, Jan 24 2 - 6 pm
Sunday, Jan 31 2 - 6 pm

„[…] Spin, world, spin and
send Swifts back
and back and back
to us again!“ *

Step­ping out of the door for the first time is always the same move­ment — and yet every day uni­que — as I switch the apart­ment with the fee­ling of being out­side. In that flee­ting moment my thoughts are less important, for­got­ten. The last dream, the to do list, the news, all of that is repla­ced with a strong impres­si­on of affiliation.
Con­nec­ted to all others. They too are on their way.
A sen­se of belon­ging, to exist without any con­di­ti­ons that have to be fulfilled.
The dai­ly dose of vivid­ness in the morning.
The first tac­ti­le con­ta­ct with air.
Every day, in the gray haze and soft rain, or when the sun is out and the sky is clear.
Then embark down the street.
Hee­ding the trees, brea­king rules of traf­fic and final­ly fol­lowing up stream of the litt­le creek.
Music in my ears, along­side the wind that gets caught in my headphones.
The paper mill slow­ly bil­lows its white steam from the smo­kestack. For a short while It hovers over the roof­tops like a cloud that is drif­ting low­ly and even­tual­ly disappears.
A short glance at the church spire.
The first traf­fic light defi­nes the rhythm of the 5 minu­tes ride to the next.
Rota­ting pedals set the pace in which I elbow mys­elf through the wrong direc­tion of the one way street, dod­ging cars and cyc­lists that head towards me.
The way to the stu­dio is not that com­pli­ca­ted, almost defi­ni­tively straight.
My atten­ti­on is divi­ded bet­ween my phy­si­cal sur­roun­dings and my being.
The to do list is pre­sent again, the last dream reap­pears and also the crumbs of bre­ak­fast that are still sti­cking in-bet­ween my teeth catch my attention.
While riding I play­ful­ly lea­ve an ima­gi­na­ry trail on the pavement.
The­re are a few rules. Don‘t cross man­ho­le covers or road mar­kings and avoid cracks, dents and other dama­ges on the street. Like back in the days, when I wasn‘t allo­wed to step on the gap bet­ween the side­walk tiles. Only a bit dif­fe­rent. Faster.
I fol­low yes­ter­days trail.
In the blur­red cor­ner of my eyes the creek bank, pede­stri­ans, dogs, ducks, cars, the sports field, cars, the dra­gon, the park, cars and the trains under­pass fly by.
The second traf­fic light slows me down and for­ces me to stop. I‘ve never made a green on this one.
The inter­rup­ti­on of the ride shifts the focus.
Brea­the in, brea­the out, fee­ling the beat of the body and the slight tremb­ling of calves.
The dead­lock incre­a­ses awa­reness. Taking noti­ce of tho­se around me, wai­t­ing or pas­sing by.
The second traf­fic light is fol­lo­wed by the second church.
Approa­ching, I once more cha­se yes­ter­days trail.
Its always the same, dif­fe­ring only in a few varia­ti­ons, like the peop­le on the squa­re. They are always the same, dif­fe­ring only in a few variations.
Dia­go­nal strips on the ent­ran­ce gate, behind lies the courty­ard with the pine tree. The roof­tops of the sur­roun­ding houses frame the sky with only the second church pea­king into view. The clo­sing of the door lea­ves the out­side behind.
I flick the tiny gol­den switch on the spea­ker and a red LED lights up. Befo­re long I hear the music, that was pre­vious­ly play­ing on the headphones.

* Robert Mac­far­la­ne, Jackie Mor­ris, 2020, the lost spells, Hamish Hamilton