Jennifer K
Dick
Left over—
6x4: White. Plastic.
Rectangles taped into place: barrier covering the absented storefront. Housefront? Peer, if to, into. What merchandise sleeps in the shadows? Whose
family lounges between velour flowers on beat-up sofas from the ’70s? What is
watched from inside? Out: 8 vertical Venetian blinds protect what is within
from view through a glass front door. Above. Rolled in tight. Awning: yellow,
white, light orange pin stripes. No words. Logos. Graffiti. Signage. 2: double-sided
ventilation grates form lungs screwed to the front façade below the large
panoramic window, close to sidewalk level, 5 horizontal ventilation slats, metallic
gills, breathe the inside out, the outside in. 5x2+5x2 slivers of air sucking
in and out of the space barely contained. Enclosed. Beyond the visible. Beyond
the visible banality of ½ of a parking spot on the right which leaves the façade
exposed to view. To viewers’ scrutiny. (Ours). Blueblack ⅓ of a car at left—trunk,
back wheel, tinted back window (protection from my gaze)—hides what stands
before the door. Base? steps? A stoop? A welcome mat? Sadness of emptiness in
the vacant lot longing. The parking meter is a staff with a plastic bird house
on top. If I put my 2₵ in and turn the dial, where can we go?
Esther Hiepler’s photos are on display at The Kunsthaus Baselland, Basel, until 8
January 2017.
For more, see Esther Hiepler's home site: http://www.estherhiepler.ch/ or http://www.estherhiepler.ch/index.php?lang=en&
For more, see Esther Hiepler's home site: http://www.estherhiepler.ch/ or http://www.estherhiepler.ch/index.php?lang=en&
.
