Haraldur Jónsson (Iceland, born 1960, lives and works in Reykjavik) is a writer and visual artist who continues the Icelandic conceptual tradition that began with the SŚM movement in the 1960s. His works are hybrid permutations of text, sound, image and performance. Radio theatre – where silence plays an important part – is a favourite genre of his. The work presented here is a projection of Arctic Fruit (1999-2001) a series of slides of shining, many-coloured outdoor Christmas decorations in Reykjavik from the last two winters of the 20th century. When did the new Millennium start? Nobody seems to know for sure, so why not celebrate twice . . .
Annika Ström (Sweden, born 1964, lives and works in Berlin) offers a contemporary, “light” version of the Gesamtkunstwerk. Her videos feature herself and those close to her. A recurrent setting is provided by her parents‘ villa and garden in Helsingborg in southern Sweden. The videos function as vehicles for her own songs, which are also published on vinyl. In addition, she is an accomplished drawer. Her moving-image oeuvre includes The Artist Live, Artist Film, Artist Musical, Seven Songs and Ten New Love Songs, part of which was shot in the arctic outpost of Spitsbergen. These are the lyrics for three recent songs: “I saw a nice man.” “I get so sad every time I see you.” “I don‘t know what to sing, I just sing anything sentimental.”
Francesco Vezzoli (Italy, born 1971, lives and works in Milan) is a young artist with an ambitious, star-struck agenda. His collaborations with film and TV megastars of the last two-and-a-half generations have recently yielded pieces like A Love Trilogy: Self-Portrait with Marisa Berenson as Edith Piaf and The Kiss (Let‘s Play Dynasty!), which stars the author together with Helmut Berger. The work shown here, however, is the expressly “televisual” and neo-baroque Embroidered Trilogy, produced in collaboration with three established TV directors. In each of the sequences – OK, The Praz is Right!, The Dream of Venus and The End (Television Theatre) – the author is present as a silent, embroidering bystander.