Julian-Jakob Kneer “Gestalt” Blue Velvet Projects, by Blue Velvet / Zurich |

Now right here’s a lesson: “The only thing you got in this world is what you can sell,” utters Charley, one of many characters in Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman (1949), a basic takedown of the American Dream if ever there was one.^[1] Yet it may simply be a mantra for in the present day’s doomscrolling, fast-paced, rat-pack society. In Miller’s play, Willy Loman is the ageing salesman in query, more and more weighed down by the pattern case that he drags round with him from home to deal with, seeking the subsequent large order. His thoughts is beginning to slip away, however his unwavering perception within the energy of his allure and optimism to deliver him riches retains his momentum going. Yet he can’t escape the realities of life — unpaid payments, unfaithfulness to his spouse — so he turns to recollections and delusions to fight any emotions of failure, till he begins to completely lose contact with actuality. It’s a tragic story of an all-too-ordinary man, spurred on by the false promise of a greater life and a greater model of himself achieved by the powers of consumerism, a dream that he doggedly follows till it destroys him.

I believe again to poor Willy as I attempt to discern the contents of the 4 wall-mounted attaché suitcases that type the core of Julian-Jakob Kneer’s cryptically titled exhibition “Gestalt” at Blue Velvet Projects, by Blue Velvet, Zurich. Simply mounted, they punctuate the 2 flooring of the gallery, refusing to disclose something of themselves. Remembering that the present’s title comes from the German phrase for “pattern” or “figure,” and that it’s extra generally generally known as a psychological idea addressed towards a type whose which means is at all times better than the sum of its components, I take into account studying the present as a physician (or therapist) would a affected person. Easier mentioned than accomplished. As if additional wishing to dispel any try to penetrate beneath and past what’s given to see, Kneer has solely gone and coated the already opaque leather-based floor of every object with a paint so matte that it deflects mild.

Directly dealing with the doorway to the gallery, Briefcase (Attaché, Black) (all works 2026) hangs unlocked with its contents, if there are any, pressed snugly towards the wall. The solely telltale signal that any manhandling has taken place comes within the type of a faint handprint on its backside half. It’s giving half crime scene, half seedy intercourse. Around the nook, what seems like an actual duplicate, painted over with the identical boring black as its sibling, is hanging, however this time with its form stored totally intact, its innards underneath lock and key. The work record tells me that these two works are accomplished, respectively, by semen (whose? the artist’s?) and ethanol, whereas a Barbie-pink suitcase upstairs, in line with its faux girlishness, incorporates fragrance. I can’t verify any of this as both true or false, which leaves me feeling that both I’ve been had or that Kneer is channeling a Manzoni-esque degree of commodity fetishism. Given the artist’s penchant for exploring fame, artifice (or we may name it “make believe”), and the insanity brought on by believing all of it an excessive amount of, these would-be boîtes-en-valise are a projection display for the narrative of our personal selecting. 

Each sculpture is accompanied by its personal flattened picture, a large-format colour {photograph} that lovingly picks out the main points of a built-in mixture lock (Briefcase (Still, Brown)) or proffers a teasing half-glimpse into an equally pitch-black inside (Briefcase (Still, Pink)). Kneer is clearly taking part in on the innate human want to want and to need to be in management, to know, to be one step forward. This is a minimalist present, within the sense that there’s little to see. Instead, the artist opens up a taking part in subject for fantasy, one with none guidelines or boundaries or endpoint in sight.

^[1] Arthur Miller, Death of a Salesman (New York: Viking Press, 1949).