Artists

Janis Löhrer

Press release

Following his exhibition in the basement of Galerie Martinetz earlier this year, Janis Löhrer is now unveiling new works across the gallery’s main exhibition spaces. OUTDOOR brings together objects we encounter every day in the city – trash cans, discarded tissues, abandoned clothing, drain grates, urinals, park benches. These set pieces from (semi-)public spaces, which Löhrer has recreated in glazed ceramic, reference places in the urban landscape that typically receive little attention or appreciation, and are often neglected, yet function as an alternative to the predominantly sterile cityscape while also representing vital spaces for queer communities – areas where desire and intimacy beyond traditional heterosexual norms can find a safe space and be fully expressed. Löhrer’s ceramic sculptures explore how these spaces are designed and “shaped,” seeking to capture their aesthetic through carefully selected elements and details. This is evident from the first piece encountered when entering the gallery: a trash can, similar to those found outdoors, overflowing with toilet paper and tissues, some of which have spilt onto the floor. What initially appears to be mere rubbish can be interpreted as an invitation to pay attention to everyday encountered objects that seem insignificant at first glance and to see what stories they tell. Both toilet paper and tissues are items that come into direct contact with the human body, as they are used to absorb fluids such as tears, nasal secretions, urine or semen. In this way, the bin becomes a receptacle for relics of human identities, their actions and emotions. In the gallery’s main room, two Brussels Art Nouveau-style park benches stand back-to-back, resembling a public square. Exposure and daily wear have left visible signs: rusted seats and backs, in places moss has grown over the silver surfaces, and scattered crumpled paper and tissues. Beneath the benches, a rose with some petals missing and a tin foil lie. This scene, echoing the opening of William S. Burroughs’ Queer, powerfully illustrates how love and desire, lust and addiction, are deeply connected, revealing what remains of euphoria and intoxication. Toward the rear of the space, the artist has recreated a men’s restroom setting. Four urinals, evenly spaced and lined up side by side, resemble those typically seen at highway rest stops. These urinals prompt questions about how masculinity—drawing on Judith Butler’s Gender Trouble (1990)—is performed in such pragmatic spaces, and how gender-typical behaviours are reproduced and internalised. Rest stops also serve as popular meeting spots for gay or bisexual men interested in cruising, often those not yet openly out, who seek potential sexual partners and wish to explore their inclinations secretly and anonymously. Against this backdrop, the tissues hanging between the drain grates and the objects scattered throughout the gallery—such as the pink cap and the black sneaker—can be read as attributes of this queer scene and as evidence of cruising culture. The grates, along with the urinals, function as thresholds or transitional spaces between inside and outside, thereby expanding the (imaginary) space. In the “back room,” the narrative comes full circle with more variations of the trash can near the entrance. They are also partly overflowing with paper and tissues. The dimly lit room, bathed in blue neon light and techno music, evokes a miniature Berghain—Berlin’s iconic club—and blurs the line between inside and outside. It becomes clear that the exhibition’s title—Outdoor—may refer more to an “outside” in the sense of “outside heteronormative spaces.” Janis Löhrer’s objects and installations transport viewers to cruising spots. With the human figures who forgot or left these objects behind absent, the works invite viewers to fill the void with their own imagination. One automatically begins to think about events and occurrences that might have taken place on the park benches or in the men’s restroom. Meanwhile, the ruined spaces, the apocalyptic atmosphere of the remnants, and the fragile materiality of the ceramics raise a question: Are spaces like these, where queer communities find a safe space, in the process of disappearing? Gian Marco Hölk