
One of the first vivid artistic memories of my
childhood is an exhibition by the Swiss artist Jean Tinguely in the Zurich art
museum Kunsthaus. He put up a massive metal machine that could be fed with
volleyballs. The machine would then process the balls through its intestines
and spit it out into a safety net. I was amazed, excited and thrilled: art that
not only could be touched but also played it. Ever since then Jean Tinguely had
a special place in my heart. And still has as one of his masterpiece, Heureka
from 1964, is located in a park nearby where I live. Every morning when I go
for a walk on the lakeside with my little daughter I pass the massive, freshly
restored, machine without purpose. It is a monstrous, genial combination of
metal and electric engines that springs to life several times a day. And as
Tinguely, a true anarchist in art and private life, always pointed out
strongly: all his machines are useless, absolutely useless. And therefore as
beautiful as an ancient Chinese Celadon teacup or Tang dynasty tea jar.
Useless, beautiful and captivating.
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