N.B.K. Berlin - Karin Sander

The Sky is a Landfill

There is a hole in the ceiling. The whitish light of an office space shines through, creating a new version of an indoors Pantheon. Then slowly, instead of the expected sunbeam or occasional snowflake, a sheet of paper falls down. It ends its way on the floor, sitting snug between other sheets of paper. They are not just sheets of paper; there is no empty one to be seen. They contain information, often read, often wrong, discarded for several reasons. Among the species of paper are not only sheets, usually A4 size, but there are also other forms. The envelope is quite common, whether it is white, with a transparent window, or in eccentric occasions colored to stand out from the crowd. It comes in different sizes, made to contain several sheets of A4 sized paper, or invitation cards (often A5 sized). Some of the species are in a worse condition than others. While some sheets of paper have made the floor in an excellent condition, others have been torn before making their way down. This tattered condition reveals itself in different ways; torn from one side to another, or from the top to the bottom. Sometimes it is torn in both directions, in several small pieces.
These unfortunate papers are not always together anymore, but lie scattered amongst the other species. They contain words, maybe sentences; but are barely fragments.
In the worst case, papers are crumpled up. This expression of a failed attempt upstairs might be a typical utterance of the fear of the writer to discard his or her written text. It could also be an attempt of the occupier in the office upstairs to aestheticize his or her trash.
Several rare items can be found between the more common papers and envelopes. Items like magazines or boxes, formerly containing pastry, strepsils, or office supplies such as elastics, paperclips or staples. Unfortunately more personalized species from the world above seem extinct. Waste forms such as used tissues, chewed food or post-it notes are almost absent. It seems like the occupiers of the office above have been thinking about where their discarded items will end up; in a pile on the shiny gallery floor, for everyone to see. Another snowstorm of words will soon fall down; the sky is a landfill.