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About the Sky L.A. Galerie Lothar Albrecht Domstrasse 6 60311 Frankfurt GERMANY 
T: + 49 – 69 – 288687 e-mail: 22. November 2014 –24. Januar 2015 |
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 Oliver Boberg © |
 Sky IV, 2000, Dyptychon, je 95 x 148 cm |
At the end of the 18th century, artists became hooked on skies and clouds.
Clouds embodied the fleetingness of time, the relentless rise and fall as which they experienced reality. The sky is constantly changing and on the move. How do you capture that in a perfectly still picture? At the same time, the sky provides space for a myriad of moods and atmospheres, it is “the chief organ of sentiment”, as John Constable put it, himself a prolific painter of cloud studies.
In 1917, Alfred Stieglietz commenced work on a series he titled Equivalents. In more than four-hundred takes, he tried to create a system of visual experiences which referenced inner processes. Many other early photographers occupied themselves with the sky, such as Gustave Le Gray, Eadweard Muybridge, Heinrich Beck, and Alvin Langdon Coburn.
In our exhibition, we confront Julian Faulhaber’s sky pictures from Cairo with Oliver Boberg’s constructed sky diptych, Filippo Maggia’s night sky series, Irene Peschick’s cool gaze upwards, and other artists.
Stephan Berg wrote about Oliver Boberg’s Himmel in “The Construction of Reality” (2001):
If you could see this sky in actuality, you would have to hold your neck pressed back into the nape of your neck and look straight up. It would have to be one of those summer days that for once are neither wet and humid nor too hot, but just warm enough for a gentle breeze playfully caressing your skin. Only then would you see a sky like the one presented by Oliver Boberg in his ten-part picture series, of a dry, almost granular Hazy blue, with playful, soft and fluffy white clouds that are just solid and large enough to lend contour and structure to the restrained monochromy of the sky. It would be one of those days that lie ahead open and potentially endless, promising to let time fade away in a lazily doze.
Julian Faulhaber © Corona #III, 2014, 33 x 50 cm
