"Vedute" lautet das italienische Wort, das in Anbetracht dieser Bilder ein wenig antiquiert erscheint, aber in dem, was es bedeutet und wie es unter gleichnamigem Stichwort in Johannes Jahns "Wörterbuch der Kunst" geschrieben steht, so trifft es eigentlich genau das, worum es sich auch hier handelt bei den Bildern oder Grafiken von Hendrik Voerkel. Die Alten kannten zwar nicht die genormte Fassade unserer Zeit, aber ein Haus war auch damals ein Haus, wenn auch mehr, als nur eine Behausung, wie es das heute meistens ist - wenn überhaupt. Umso aufregender, wenn auch das Genormte einen Meister findet...
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'The works of Hendrik along with the fascination of the light stemming from the city, invites to introspection, to the mistrustful look of one who senses the roughness of the way.'
I question the seduction of the daily as well as the sentimentality for a paradise overwhelmed by rules, rituals, signs, indications, spaces, delimitations and constructions.
The irresistible persuasion of an artificial world that shows itself calm but intense at the same time; clear with its ordinary and habitual façade; evocative and beautiful for its certain emotional load of being at the same time native land, origin and city.
Sentimentality and longing for a natural space we can instinctively perceive, threatening, alert, as if expecting to see the conclusion of an improvised interlude of spoiled actors who ignore the nobility of the work in general.
If we are conscient of being at a curious moment of our day-to-day lifes, we take note of the city’s here and now in which this forlorn questioner is set free in the everyday rush of the streets, corners and buildings: after blindly living a ficticious truth during hours, days and years we’re bumping into the nature of a silent but persistend presence opening up which to imagine is giving us goose pimples.
So we come to the conclusion that we’re living two truths, one ficticious and another real one that we barely come to live. The unreal dimension of the one and the too real of the other are creating the conflict. Any situation lived with depth is enough for losing any nexus between what we did think and what we believed to match our thinking.
It’s just like the passer-by losing himself at the length of the street, leaving the dilemma unsolved; resulting in ongoing conflict, because in the lapse since the expectation the passer-by drowns all assumed truth.
Any instant of living isolated in the city is enough, separated from all the interests we find ourselves trapped in, for sensing the falseness of all our behavior and understanding that the naturally profound truth of any situation is to be searched outside the city or underneath it.
What we inherit, we inherit it falsified by a touch of fiction, leaving beside reality a heap of truths, sacrificed by a collective eagerness to show, maybe, what we are not.
The works of Hendrik along with the fascination of the light stemming from the city, invites to introspection, to the mistrustful look of one who senses the roughness of the way.