About the things by Pilsinger/Pulse

Something blocks itself – but without blocking us out. It is about a thing. Not chiefly there for us in the outer world it can be a block in reference to us. Though we stumble upon it, it also encourages us to sense what it is: by seeing, touching, smelling, and hearing.

Something moves: towards a wall, which does not move, also as a sort of image. Moreover: it moves around a second wall that is resonant with undulating tones – like a wave. It vibrates around the wall as well as itself. At the same time, it longs for the visible wall so that:
the wall sounds the way: the bridge rings. The wedge sings.

As a sound film running in the mind of the spectator standing before both walls or walking between them or erring into them – as he does into all other essential things such as the bridge and wedge. They too are like the wall: objects – produced with the reserves of art.
They are to be seen, heard, traversed or comprehended as Pils/Pulsinger’s pictures, objects or music pieces.

This kind of comprehension can also be understood as a form of understanding: not just having a grip on something but much more about grasping it. Which is no less about seeing, hearing and speaking. It is in communion with the senses that things and their use attain meaning, that they liberate themselves and their use. It is in this sort of free space that is both a block as well as fluid that they speak a language – that of art. Their speech crackles. Loud and low, sweet and low, too. It rustles by what is proper, in fact, it even has a nice defect. It is neither trying to be effective nor the following: “I’ve got you now, now get cracking and fall in line with my world view.”

So, let us rise to the challenge of the free power-of-imagination- game and imagine why the things out there (and the way they are handled) are so different from the things that are deep down within us.

A dialogue emerges. From it follows a speech in dashes, sounds and thoughts. A form. I and it. We and it. I and you. The dialogue as a speech between the things and their forms is set in motion by these, and opened – both without and within.

The language of the things, as mentioned before, stumbles even though it is elegant and fluent. The seeing experience sounds, the hearing person experiences images. What else? Flat Actionism is not enough after all – therefore:

Perception can mean sensation once again. Sensation challenges anew the perception of what already exists. In the course of this challenge, a new game of experience emerges between the stages of sensation and perception. This is the true art of giving and not just taking. What is seen and heard emerges from the things themselves and these are seated in the confused head that passes on functions to them anew. This heightens the old functions to the point of madness or the new ones to the point of nothing.

Crying, “I don’t get this!” would be much too easy. The experience is not “true” because as art it is too deliberated and seems a bit out of tune, so it vibrates, narrow range, soundless echo, a hedge or wedge.

It is fermenting within us, we who stumble upon the blocks that Pils/Pulsinger have implanted in our ears so smoothly and rubbed into our face as a prank – all the way from the iris of the eye upto the shell of the ear to all that thinks and believes:

In our consciousness where, as mentioned earlier, the free power-of-imagination-game wants to mature what is already fermenting. Whether this maturity occurs so voluntarily could perhaps be the question. Preoccupation with the things as a form of investigation could provide an answer:

The restricting construction liberates the thinking eye. What we do not get to see through the passage between the wall and the picture despite the various objects in the picture is a single object of the picture at once; we see the whole in the detail (like the tree despite the woods).

The very dimensions of the things cause an irritation. The subtleness of the sound oscillates along with the coarseness of the bridge or with the little in the picture. This is a lot. The borders between work, music, painting or sculpture are neither lifted in the things themselves nor in the individual viewer. Nevertheless, it seems as if it is possible to quench the desire to constantly overstep exactly this inexact border. It can be quenched by a constantly impending but never ceasing amalgamation of the whole comprised of music, painting, sculpture – a pleasure derived from perception and sensation, which comes from the senses, in the heart of the head.

The senses are taxed, listened with, and brought in tune: sound of image, image of sound. This is possible due to changes in the traditional notation of music but not possible in painting, which is a different system in the arts, yet where it is attempted by changing the perspective and the usual frame. This means:

No frame, perspective centrally disturbed, the loss of centre equilibrated for that very reason – a handstand on a tilted plane so performed that neither turn[er] nor tumbler results, nor is mounted as a result!

And so the end at the start means an ever-new beginning. It is, however, not a random game of conscious resistance introduced into the things or the break from the expectation of what is to be expected, which in turn makes the things what they are: art works, art. Even outside my own: bridge, wedge, wall. They are truly no copies of reality. And such a damned thing is enough.

All of them do exist on their own, but it is the eyes and that which is on a level above them that determine the way all of them appear, and turn them into the things in art (also those by Pils/Pulsinger):

If the object is common then it is the sensation that must be turned into something uncommon. In its unique way, sensation is not transferable to others, nor is what and how it triggers this inside me. As wedge, as bridge, as wall that are not wedge, bridge or wall at the usual place – neither in the world of nature nor in that of the museum. Whatever connects them, separates them, transmits or wedges them becomes the object of dissolution through the will to change.

We do not see with the eyes but with the brain. This must be digested by taste and historical conditions that determine seeing as well as what must be seen. Or what this seeing brain must relish; a true feast, or perhaps not, whatever be the case. What is heard as well – note for note; it is all saved in memory. After all, everything can be brought to mind since everything inside us and around us must function smoothly. And being deeply moved is part of it, we always ask for it.

But we could also do it differently. Cool memory, cool manifesto – it was very well conceived, but now we’ll warm up into action. This means that we must first be cool, inside out. Mutual change is called for – both in the head as in the thing on site.

Without question: the things by Pils/Pulsinger sharpen perception – not just that of the things but also of the very place they come from, the place they are in, that is, that of their consumers. This means, our place, too, and the gaze on it. This place in society they will not tell us. We will not tell. I will not tell.

How do I as their consumer read these things? Should I read them as an innocent reader or should I read as author? Should I see as an innocent sighted one or should I see as artist? Should I hear as an innocent listener or should I hear as an artist who reads, sees or hears less in set tracks than the innocent one? He who reads from the tiny field of his diction and perception of sight and speech sees and hears. And believes he feels differently?

But the dream of the eye in an immaculate original state remains a dream. Nevertheless, I still hope to have it painted for me by seeing, hearing the things presented us by Pils/Pulsinger. I am sensitised by them in a controlled way of the uncontrolled. I love the arrival of the unexpected, I cry when I laugh, I walk over the bridge when I stand before the wall; I hear pictures and see music when the wedge is driven in. Everything is the way it will probably have been. This is what makes it and me and us move on.