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Haus Hof Land
Read the text | Diaporama | Back to gallery

  • HHL 01, 1987-2017
  • HHL 03, 1987-2017
  • HHL 08, 1987-2017
  • HHL 13, 1987-2017
  • HHL 14, 1987-2017
  • HHL 16, 1987-2017
  • HHL 20, 1987-2017
  • HHL 22, 1987-2017
  • HHL 27, 1987-2017
  • HHL 30, 1987-2017
  • HHL 31, 1987-2017
  • HHL 33, 1987-2017
  • HHL 34, 1987-2017
  • HHL 38, 1987-2017
  • HHL 40, 1987-2017
  • HHL 41, 1987-2017
  • HHL 43, 1987-2017
  • HHL 49, 1987-2017
  • HHL 54, 1987-2017
  • HHL 55, 1987-2017
  • HHL 58, 1987-2017
  • HHL 60, 1987-2017
  • HHL 64, 1987-2017
  • HHL 66, 1987-2017

  • Brigitte Bauer’s images have no other artifice but intention. And a framing of which she alone holds the secret. Emotions, stories, the unspoken, revelations and sometimes an aspiration to an undefined otherworldliness seem to emanate from them constantly.

    After the book D’Allemagne, published in 2003, this new collection of unpublished photographs is presented under the title of Haus Hof Land (house farm land). This could seem more intimate and more personal. Nothing of the sort. Quite the contrary. Distance grows. Coyness develops. And detachment leaves room to the spectator who can read, even discover, their own journey. The eye slowly reveals.

    From images suspended without being immobile, full of breath and breathing, emerge these strange and sometimes rough emotions, the kind felt by the uprooted. Love and worry, detachment and attachment, the critical gaze and unconditional tenderness, the link with childhood which is different for each person, inseparable from a place, smells, tastes, colours that we have left behind, that no longer belong to us but which have made up who we are. It is impossible not to feel on a tightrope all the time, torn between what is the past and those future choices which have taken us elsewhere, between impalpable but omnipresent memories, old and new. 

    Some take their childhood with them. They stay attached to it. It serves them as a pendulum. They fall in line with a continuity which they pass on to their own offspring. Others are cut off from it. How does that affect the view we have of our own personal history? And in an even broader sense, what incidence does it have on the view we have of History? Are we automatically more adult having left behind us the traces, memories and attachments to childhood? Does leaving your community equal a rite of passage? 

    Childhood is supposed to form us. And yet. When we cut ourselves off from our roots, it’s our own experiences that predominate. We forge our identity precisely through the outlook which detaches us. Childhood thus takes on a taste both sweet and sour, even perturbing, and the link with childhood develops in this detachment like a battle between what we have been, what we would have liked to have been and what we would like to be.

    Brigitte Bauer offers us her sensitive perspective on this highly delicate and fragile process of detachment, of becoming adult and of growing into freedom. 

    From reference to traditions to the impact of the religious (whether empty or full), from tastes and smells of one’s land to spaces conquered by the force of dream, from the continuity of life with all its glitches, from the scrutiny without concession that nature subjects us to, everything is evoked and is rooted in our own emotions: liberty is a fragile space which should never lock tenderness and attention in too tight a stranglehold. 

    Annakarin Quinto, April 2017

    Haus Hof Land
    Read the text | Back to gallery

    HHL 01, 1987-2017
    HHL 01, 1987-2017

     formats et supports variables

    HHL 03, 1987-2017
    HHL 03, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 08, 1987-2017
    HHL 08, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 13, 1987-2017
    HHL 13, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 14, 1987-2017
    HHL 14, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 16, 1987-2017
    HHL 16, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 20, 1987-2017
    HHL 20, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 22, 1987-2017
    HHL 22, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 27, 1987-2017
    HHL 27, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 30, 1987-2017
    HHL 30, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 31, 1987-2017
    HHL 31, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 33, 1987-2017
    HHL 33, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 34, 1987-2017
    HHL 34, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 38, 1987-2017
    HHL 38, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 40, 1987-2017
    HHL 40, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 41, 1987-2017
    HHL 41, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 43, 1987-2017
    HHL 43, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 49, 1987-2017
    HHL 49, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 54, 1987-2017
    HHL 54, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 55, 1987-2017
    HHL 55, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 58, 1987-2017
    HHL 58, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 60, 1987-2017
    HHL 60, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 64, 1987-2017
    HHL 64, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables

    HHL 66, 1987-2017
    HHL 66, 1987-2017

    formats et supports variables


    Brigitte Bauer’s images have no other artifice but intention. And a framing of which she alone holds the secret. Emotions, stories, the unspoken, revelations and sometimes an aspiration to an undefined otherworldliness seem to emanate from them constantly.

    After the book D’Allemagne, published in 2003, this new collection of unpublished photographs is presented under the title of Haus Hof Land (house farm land). This could seem more intimate and more personal. Nothing of the sort. Quite the contrary. Distance grows. Coyness develops. And detachment leaves room to the spectator who can read, even discover, their own journey. The eye slowly reveals.

    From images suspended without being immobile, full of breath and breathing, emerge these strange and sometimes rough emotions, the kind felt by the uprooted. Love and worry, detachment and attachment, the critical gaze and unconditional tenderness, the link with childhood which is different for each person, inseparable from a place, smells, tastes, colours that we have left behind, that no longer belong to us but which have made up who we are. It is impossible not to feel on a tightrope all the time, torn between what is the past and those future choices which have taken us elsewhere, between impalpable but omnipresent memories, old and new. 

    Some take their childhood with them. They stay attached to it. It serves them as a pendulum. They fall in line with a continuity which they pass on to their own offspring. Others are cut off from it. How does that affect the view we have of our own personal history? And in an even broader sense, what incidence does it have on the view we have of History? Are we automatically more adult having left behind us the traces, memories and attachments to childhood? Does leaving your community equal a rite of passage? 

    Childhood is supposed to form us. And yet. When we cut ourselves off from our roots, it’s our own experiences that predominate. We forge our identity precisely through the outlook which detaches us. Childhood thus takes on a taste both sweet and sour, even perturbing, and the link with childhood develops in this detachment like a battle between what we have been, what we would have liked to have been and what we would like to be.

    Brigitte Bauer offers us her sensitive perspective on this highly delicate and fragile process of detachment, of becoming adult and of growing into freedom. 

    From reference to traditions to the impact of the religious (whether empty or full), from tastes and smells of one’s land to spaces conquered by the force of dream, from the continuity of life with all its glitches, from the scrutiny without concession that nature subjects us to, everything is evoked and is rooted in our own emotions: liberty is a fragile space which should never lock tenderness and attention in too tight a stranglehold. 

    Annakarin Quinto, April 2017