It is said that through photography and technical reproducibility, things have lost their aura. At least that’s how Walter Benjamin analyzed it in his famous “work of art” essay from 1935. The fact is that even a mass-produced picture in a chocolate package can radiate an authentic, unique aura. This happens when someone associates it with a very personal, emotionally rich memory. At least that’s how Turkish Nobel Prize winner Orhan Pamuk sees it. And as impressive evidence of this, one could look at Pamuk’s 2008 novel “The Museum of Innocence”, the museum of the same name that he opened in 2012 and now also the Exhibition “The Consolation of Things” in the Lenbachhaus in Munich.
The show, which comes from Dresden and then travels to Prague, is closely related to that Museum of Innocence in Istanbul tied together. There are 83 display cases relating to 83 chapters in the novel. But not in such a way that things illustrate the book after the fact. On the contrary. Pamuk, who was in Munich for the opening, already had the idea of a museum in his head while writing. Among other things, he collected objects at flea markets, all of which also play a role in the novel chapters. These are not just a hodgepodge in the display cases. Instead, Pamuk worked with artists to create dioramas influenced by Dadaism and Surrealism. Pamuk also cites Marcel Duchamp’s ready-mades and Joseph Cornell’s magical “Boxes” as role models.
A total of 40 dioramas have now been recreated for the exhibition. There are also a few others with which Pamuk reacts to works in the Dresden art collections and in the Lenbachhaus. And then there are drawings, diaries and photographs as well as a video work by the Turkish artist Ali Kazma, who documented the writer’s everyday work in his house in Instabul. All objects are closely interwoven with the literary cosmos of the Nobel Prize winner. At the same time, they also show the many talents of the 72-year-old, who actually wanted to be a painter until he was 22. And who has been writing novels for 50 years now.
But even if, as he says, “killed” the painter in himself back then: Pamuk never let go of the visual arts. Instead, his colorful diaries show how closely writing goes hand in hand with painting. In the catalog for the exhibition written by Pamuk (the author also recorded the audio guide) it says: “In my opinion, as a novelist it is easier to write about things, people or landscapes if you have photographed or painted them in advance.” And: “Writing, like painting, is ultimately the art of identifying with what you are depicting.” This could be a seagull, several of which are hanging on the wall. But Füsun also paints seagulls in “The Museum of Innocence”. Which causes the levels to mix again.
Füsun is the woman because of whom Kemal builds his museum in the book after he lost her, his great love. So a broken heart is the engine. And touching the things that had to do with Füsun’s life is what gives Kemal comfort. A broken porcelain heart can be seen in one of the display cases, with a crowd of spectators cut out of photos behind it. And in fact it is Kemal’s grief that he publicly displays. In another display case hang a doll’s arm and a piece of wallpaper that came from Füsun’s family’s empty house. Another is called “The Death of My Father.” It contains a pill box, a photo of soldiers picnicking and an illuminated glass inspired by Hitchcock.
The dioramas responding to the Lenbachhaus include two fascinating explorations of Alfred Kubin. One refers to Kubin’s painting “Epidemic,” which depicts a huge, skeletal creature. For the diorama, the artist Kiymet Dastan transformed it into a bronze figure that now peeks through a wooden frame. In Kubin’s drawing “The Big Mouth,” war-enthusiastic people stagger into a maw. In his optimistic 3D version, however, Pamuk lets the people who have influenced him walk out of his mouth.
Two further dioramas respond to paintings by Paul Klee. This includes the painting “Archangel” from 1938. One of the Dresden dioramas is also about angels. Pamuk brings together a quote from Rilke’s “Duino Elegies”, an angel from a painting by Francisco de Zubarán and other angels from Islamic manuscripts. His insight: “The Christian angels are larger. They seem more like real individuals. And lead more dramatic lives.” The angels in Islam are less individual, more similar and mostly appear as servants. The mixing of worlds, of the found and the invented, the Orient and the Occident, art and everyday history, is what makes the dioramas so attractive, which are also reminiscent of old cabinets of curiosities.
What’s exciting about the images created for the novel “The Nights of the Plague” is how Pamuk visually develops literary motifs. Pamuk spontaneously captured moods in the Leporellos he created at dinner with friends. And there are photos that Pamuk takes every day from his desk for documentation. These in turn are united by the individual view. And, as Pamuk’s “Museum Manifesto” found in the catalog says, it should be about the individual in all museums. Not about nations. Museums shouldn’t be palaces, but “smaller, more individual and cheaper.” In view of too much nationalism everywhere and tight budgets, these sound like ideas worth considering.
Orhan Pamuk. The consolation of things, until October 13th, Lenbachhaus, Luisenstr. 33, www.lenbachhaus.de