Art in Israel: When the beach becomes a trap
It is a reinterpretation of what we are accustomed to and live in. The beach, usually a place for relaxed pastimes, becomes the end of the line for failed hopes, while the comfort of living space becomes surreally claustrophobic. Gregor Schneider is showing his beach installation 21 Beach Cells and the exhibition Haus u r in Herzliya near Tel Aviv. By Georg Blochmann
“It certainly is different than ours three years ago,” says Australian patron John Kaldor at some point during the opening of the installation Beach Cells by Gregor Schneider at Accadia Beach in Herzliya. What was different at Bondi Beach in Australia? The light especially, because in Israel the sea is to the west so that guests to the opening are always a little diverted by the sunset. It is more familiar a sight than Gregor Schneider’s unsettling beach cages.
 Gregor Schneider in Israel
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They are reserved; seem afraid to enter – and that is something actual very un-Israeli. Then they dare it. The first beach-goers also come closer. The ice cream vendor is completely perplexed, but takes it with a sense of humour. Small groups of talking people form within the individual cages and all of a sudden we see that they are talking to one another through the bars. Then the subject is changed and thoughts turn inward to oneself and the unfamiliar experiential space, still torn between the breezy serenity of the beach and the rigid structure of the cells.
Schneider divided up 21 lots on the beach of Herzliya with construction fences. Each is identically furnished with a sunshade, a beach mat and refuse bin, so that the installation awakens associations with images from Abu Ghraib or refugee camps. The freely accessible beach is thus radically reinterpreted: it is now a trap. Originally designed for Bondi Beach in Australia, the reinstallation of the project 21 Beach Cells here at the beach of Herzliya adds an additional, political dimension to the work of art: only 60 kilometres lie between Herzliya and Gaza.
At the same time, the Herzliya Museum of Contemporary Art is showing an exhibition conceived by Schneider called Haus u r. In videos, photos and sculptures it documents Schneider’s magnum opus, his house in the German town of Rheydt, which he has been continually rebuilding since 1985. He installs double floors, makes entire rooms rotate almost imperceptibly and, with artificial “daylight” creates illusory times of day. In this way, Schneider sets the ostensibly familiar setting of cosy living on its head and transforms it into a feeling of unreal claustrophobia.
The artist explains nothing
Barefoot – it’s best to take your shoes off on the beach even if you’re wearing a suit – we continue on to the second part of the presentation at the museum. A video conveys the experience of the space of the claustrophobic installation, which is documented in the large hall of the Museum of Contemporary Art in hundreds of small-format, framed photographs. Again we are unsettled by the objects arranged in a precise grid on the floor. Every visitor catches their breath upon entering the room flooded with homogeneous glittering neon light via the stairs.
Here, the unique quality of Gregor Schneider’s manner of working is revealed. “I am not a political artist,” he has said frequently during conversations the previous week, “I am a sculptor.” Nonetheless, the visitors look, search; markedly creating their own narrative from what they see. The artist explains nothing, neither through his work nor in person. Somewhat ill at ease.
The artist does not enter his installation space on the opening night in early June. At the earlier reception he calmly talked about how much he enjoyed working in Israel, especially Tel Aviv, but that Jerusalem is also a beautiful city. The exhibition will remain in Herzliya all year – and Gregor Schneider plans to return.
