Today: The Bootleg Series, Vol.
You should receive an email on Monday with instructions to redeem your download. Book from amazon. Photo by Howard Alk. Die Geschichten hinter den Tracks - Country. On sale Nov 5th. Jay Z wants to sell Tidal - breakit. Today: The Listeners' Jukebox!. Dylan in the grand Royal Albert Hall. It was the scene of some of his earliest triumphs in this country, but also matches the grandeur of his present music, a wonderfully upholstered country and western swing, played by men dressed to clean up this town.
June 15th, Now, Bob Dylan as Shakespeare. Where will it end? Salman Rushdie recites Mr. Thank you! Can a crow croon? Today: Bob Dylan and his trusty harmonica. Bob Dylan Can you tell which wise words come from which Dylan? Aderhold 2 - No direction home? Contact klantendienst sherpa. Sold out. French 4 - You know, I cant write like that any more.
Today: Bob's Boots: A walk through his official series. Amazon links soon? Book: amazon. Today: Bob in the Fall. Please only send me super relevant links. Thompson, Patti Smith, William S. Today: Bob's Working Songs. And Big Data? Pennebaker and His Amazing Auricon - Critereon from pete read. Erkmen, constructs a system of relations and more significantly makes it visible through experience of an audience as a witness and as a visitor. Her work for the Turkish Pavilion is one of the highlights of the 54th Venice Biennale. While Ayse Erkmen and I look for a place to talk about Plan B, her work for the Turkish Pavilion, a skinny girl in a silver mini skirt is teetering around on eight-inch high-heeled platform shoes.
But the daughters of collectors and gallery dealers sometimes dress this way. The girl and her companion find a table, and we are left with two lonely chairs. The work consists of a water treatment facility of the kind the German Federal Agency For Technical Relief brings to assist areas in conflict.
But the difference here is that the construction appears in Venice as a contemporary sculpture. Ayse Erkmen connected the water tank, ultrafiltration, and pump system with meter-long purple, red, green, and turquoise-colored pipes and expanded it in size. The facility draws water from the canal in front of the pavilion and deposits it each hour back into the brackish water of the canal, meticulously cleansed of salt, purified, and remineralized.
How did she come up with the idea for this useless, but large-hearted action? The Turkish Pavilion is the only room in the Arsenale that has large windows facing the canal. And because I come from Istanbul, a city that is just as defined by water as Venice, it seemed logical to make the water in front of the pavilion the point of departure for a site-specific installation.
Whenever I discover water at an exhibition location, I always have the feeling that I should work with it. The river divides the city there into two halves. That was why I shipped three passenger ferries complete with crew from Venice, Istanbul, and Japan on container ships to Frankfurt for them to resume their normal ferry service on the River Main.
Did she immediately come up with the idea to redirect the water into the pavilion? I wanted something to happen with the water, to transform it into something else. That was because the room very much resembled a factory hall with its leftover machine parts and electric devices. And so I wanted the space to become a production site again.
But why is this project called Plan B—and what was Plan A? But that seemed far too didactic to me. Visitors probably would have enjoyed Plan A. That seemed closer to the idea of art. By the way, last week, in a bookstore, I found a study on sustainability titled Plan B. Was this reference clear to Ayse Erkmen from the beginning?
The sculpture is a functioning system. The grid is indeed a byproduct of the necessity of the system. But the colors, at least? Violet seemed like a good color to me for the dirty salty water. After the initial purification stage, the water flows through red pipes. In the green segments, the water is already clean and can be used for showering or to do laundry. From the corner of my eye, I observe how the silver-colored girl and her friend leave theirs. But the energy it requires to change our seats now, in the middle of a conversation, seems too high. The extra-large bag, made from natural-colored cotton fabric, was designed by Konstantin Grcic, one of the most influential contemporary industrial designers.
At the same time, the bottom extends the life of the bag if it has to carry pounds and pounds of information material—as is usually the case at the Biennale. How did the collaboration with Konstantin Grcic come about? Each country and each artist here gets a bag to carry the catalogues. I wanted something special. If there has to be a bag, then it should be a part of the exhibition. I thought of Konstantin Grcic because I know him and because I knew that he always comes up with brilliant ideas for functional objects—besides which, although he has designed all kinds of things, he has never designed a bag.
A water purification facility is another challenge altogether, of course. How long did it take to transport it there and set it up? All of the components come from Germany, from a company in Celle, where the firm rented a space the size of the Pavilion to set up the facility exactly as it would be in Venice in order to test whether or not it would work. Later, it was packed aboard a small truck and transported to Venice, where it took us ten days to install it.
The canal water that is treated now in the Turkish Pavilion must surely be very dirty? As strange as that might seem. I also thought it would be awfully filthy. In one hour, the facility can purify 2, liters of water. After the end of the Biennale, it has to serve its original purpose again, of course, which is to generate hygienic water for areas in conflict.
Before it was set up in the Biennale, it was installed in a sausage factory in Germany whose production was endangered by a flood. Dies zieht sich durch ihr gesamtes Werk. Aber wer ist Ayse Erkmen? Ich benutze die soziale Ordnung, ich gebrauche sie als Element. Ich benutze Environment und Sozialsystem manchmal direkt, manchmal indirekt. Auch wenn es sich um eine dauerhafte Installation handelt, ist sie eingebunden in den Takt vor Ort.
Die Einbindung in die Umgebung kann auch formal ausgerichtet sein. Wie finden soziale Kontakte statt? Wer oder was dominiert Ort und Situation? Der Ort wird zum Knotenpunkt eines komplexen Beziehungsgeflechts, in dem sich sprachliche, literarische und kulturelle Ebenen miteinander verbinden. Ayse Erkmens Kunst zielt auf Konstellationen zwischen dem Werk, seinem Standort und vielen damit verbundenen kulturellen, historischen und psychologischen Aspekten. Am Anfang steht die investigative Auseinandersetzung mit dem spezifischen Ort, seiner architektonischen Beschaffenheit, Geschichte, Funktion und ideologischen Bedeutung.
Erkmens Vorgehen ist analytisch, reflektiert und sensibel zugleich. Durch Erforschung und den Versuch, einen Raum zu verstehen. Istanbul-Biennale beteiligte. Transportmittel und Transportweg verschmolzen miteinander. Man konnte ihn nicht betreten, sondern, von einem Seil museal auf Abstand gehalten, nur anschauen: ein manisch zwischen den Ebenen vagabundierendes rares Relikt, in seiner Aufgeregtheit ein Portal zur Besinnung. So gewinnen die Interventionen eine anhaltende Wirkung aus ihrem ephemeren Dasein. Ayse Erkmen verhandelt auch solch fundamentale Daseins- und Erkenntniskategorien wie die Zeit auf leichte und humorvolle Weise.
Full text of "German American Annals"
Ihre St. Bleiben Ayse Erkmens Arbeiten schon durch die zeitliche Begrenzung ihrer Eingriffe in Bewegung, sind viele der Installationen auch durch das Moment der Bewegung selbst gekennzeichnet, allerdings nicht im Sinne schlichter Kinetik. Vielmehr zeigen sie ortsbezogene Situationen als Prozess. Bank an. So wird die Geste des Ausstellens letztlich selbst zum Inhalt der Ausstellung.
Die Ansprache des Betrachters wirkt auf eine spezifische Art unausgesprochen. Erkmens Schaffen basiert auf dialektischem Denken, ist dialogisch organisiert und empfiehlt diskursives Handelns. Whether in the exhibition hall or in the public space, she sensitizes us to the structures and situations, both historical and contemporary, that are present at a given site.
With a minimal intervention and using nothing but the lighting equipment already present at the site, she thus created a light installation that revealed the hidden structures of the White Cube. As early as the late s, Erkmen began to work with found materials and architectural situations. The lighting rails became barriers in the space, seemingly marking areas around the centers of the rooms not to be entered by the visitor and constraining his or her movement to corridors along the walls.
Although the fundamental idea was comparable, this intervention, drawing on a very different spatial and technical existing situation, was markedly different from the confusion of fluorescent lamps at the Hamburger Bahnhof fifteen years later. The fluorescent tubes are legible in this context as the minimalist objects the visitors to a gallery expect, and by lighting the room from below, they create the dramatic illumination that would stage an artistic installation in space.
Yet they are also the same sources of light that, discreetly installed in the ceiling, are used to create what is considered ideal lighting in a museum, the neutral space known as the White Cube. Erkmen disrupts the fiction of a neutral space: the proportions of a room, doorframes, windows, outlets, light switches, and lighting equipment—even when the designers of a space attempt to render them as imperceptible as possible—are never neutral, they merely fade into indistinctness in our habitual perception.
These included screens in various corners of the rooms showing movies featuring the silent-movie start Henny Porten, whom the Nazis put under house arrest in these same rooms because her husband was Jewish. With the project Ghost, which she developed in for Thyssen- Bornemisza Art Contemporary, Erkmen once again addresses a set of historical issues. The countess brought Beethoven in contact with noble patrons, who subsequently supported the composer financially.
This soprano can be heard as a ghostly voice from nine speakers installed at the palace in a spacious room it has more than square feet illuminated by twelve lamps. Yet we may also read the title of her work as an indication of its largely immaterial character, of the intangibility of both the voice and the light installation staging the room itself, which will be dissolved and disappear once the exhibition is over.
By rearranging and contextualizing a composition by Beethoven, she opens new perspectives and invites associations that go far beyond the historically factual. In this sense, she not only transforms the many-voices canon, reducing it to a single soprano voice, she also dislocates it from its original domain of meaning. In a comparable manipulation, Erkmen in created a work entitled Image for the Kunstverein Arnsberg using five close-up photographs, selected from five different categories in an image database, that largely blocked the doorframes.
This sort of highly versatile glossy photograph, an image from a world of ideal happiness, is usually ordered by advertising agencies and magazine editors, who then contextualize it with captions, writing, or other images and use it as a visual message transmitting a particular attitude toward life or a stereotypical idea or belief. The oversized and technically perfect photographs, far from being innovative visual creations, follow simple compositional schemata to create standardized depictions of fantasies of escape and idealized everyday situations.
In the sparse rooms of the Kunstverein, the artist thus unmasks the aspirations and yearnings of our lifestyle-hungry society, ideas that are almost aggressively pushed by the media, as vacuous, empty shells that do nothing but encourage unsatisfiable expectations. As in Ghost, the artist always conceives her works as site-specific, taking into account not only the given architectural situation, but also historical and social circumstances.
This builds an element of indeterminacy into the language that has to do with the versions of events as filtered through the mind of a third unnamed person or the speaker himself or herself—with a confluence of stories, a superimposition of perspectives. She had ferryboats shipped to Frankfurt am Main aboard other, bigger ships: one each from her native Istanbul, from Venice, and from Shingu, Japan. The three ferryboats were unloaded in Frankfurt and for one month served as ferries on individual routes on the river Main.
Fares were set to match actual rates in the various places of origin, so that a trip on the Japanese Kumano No. A comparison of these fares indicated the value of labor and the level of economic prosperity in the different regions; even in her initial conceptual draft, Erkmen had selected exclusively western-oriented and fairly affluent countries. On the one hand, these temporary additional ferry connections served as a new and popular means of public transport.
As in Participation Kunsthalle Bern, , she exhibited the freight elevator, usually in service only during exhibition preparations and otherwise hidden beneath the exhibition hall, by having it stand out roughly eight inches above the floor. The intervention involved no installation work or transportation of parts and could be altered or reversed at any time. By stopping the elevator for a moment, Erkmen succeeded in creating a literally temporary work that, unlike Ghost, required no new materials.
Working on the boundary between art and non-art, Erkmen displaces our habits of perception, directing our attention to disregarded spatial as well as social relations that disrupt our fixation on a certain horizon of experience. Her oeuvre is as multi-faceted as the many different contexts in which she develops her works. Based on the premise that, rather than developing a defined formal language, she always works in site-specific ways and with—usually temporary—interventions, the oeuvre she has built over the past three decades is nonetheless highly consistent. Her works sensitize us, altering the way we experience our everyday lives and putting our habits of perception to the test, opening up new horizons and possibilities.
Supporting columns and pillars are generally disliked by any gallerist as they take up valuable exhibition space. This is why at art fairs they are mostly hidden in the small storage areas of the exhibition booths — tightly hung with small masterworks, reserved for exclusive viewings. Using the bare white walls to create a sculpture, where previously nothing existed.
Whether this is sculpture or conceptual art the work becomes even more engaging as the ribbon has its own story. Depending on the space the nets are either thrown over white walls or hung uselessly off them. The knots, pulled tight, form a seam down the column, to the left and right of which the otherwise uncovered column is unpretentiously exposed. The Physics Room is no pure white cube space.
The space is softened; mid-morning the warm streams of sifted sun flow through the monochromes, lighting the space with a pastiche glow. Running the length of the space is a patterned rug designed by the artist, and constructed by local artisan carpet manufacturer Dilana rugs, who Erkmen stumbled across while exploring the neighborhood.
It is too narrow to be seen as a domestic rug, too short to fit another gallery space. Made specifically for this setting, relocating the rug would render it useless. It features a roughly-drawn sketch, a simple gesture that recalls the act of doodling when the mind is otherwise occupied. Perhaps a thought the artist had when staring from the gallery window down onto the High Street scene. Dull in comparison to the blinds, it is a natural, dirty cream through which black lines loop.
The colour of coffee one might say, reflecting the common scent of coffee that rises from the street below. The images are spectacular, yet generic, and retain little sense of place. Erkmen selected 84 images, and compiled them into a continuous DVD loop in which the sequence is slowly revealed, one by one, as if downloading from the internet. The positioning of the gallery is the focus of Level Two, a video work Erkmen made during her stay here. The banner had became unstitched from its pole in a bout of bad weather and thrashes around, the wind crashing it against the building.
The turbulent slapping creates a violent noise, hinting that this is the role galleries should occupy, pushing against structures, pressing action in the current climate. The word is a common expression in the local vernacular, an idiosyncrasy that Erkmen enjoyed. As the title hints, underlying this installation is a wry sense of humour that sees the simple repositioning of something familiar into something somehow foreign. She is not interested in permanence. She has developed exhibitions in many countries around the world; in each place a project develops site-specifically, responding to the peculiarities of the space she encounters.
Each situation demands a different conceptual response, through which she works with ideas and materials that relate to the context. Once an exhibition is over only fragments remain. One commonality throughout her projects is a poetic aesthetic sensibility. The minimalist elegance of her work acts as an entry point to the context she explores. Her work presents a wonderfully poetic, witty, playful engagement with the environment in which she operates.
London: Black Dog Publishing, Als ich durch den U-Bahnhof Alexanderplatz hastete, stie0 ich zufallig auf die Klanginstallation. Wie schon Gertrude Stein bemerkte:. Ein Genie zu sein, nimmt vie1 Zeit in Anspruch. Man muss so viel herumsitzen und nichts, aber wirklich nichts tun. Dennoch arbeiten sie einer konstruierten Wirklichkeit - im filmischen Sinne -entgegen. Schicht um Schichtwird freigelegt, um eine Art Wahrheit zu finden. Ich schreibe dies auf dem Flug nach Neuseeland, inmitten eines leeren Raumes. Turhan Ilgaz, İstanbul, , ss. Naturally enough, her works thus vary considerably from one another and so her oeuvre has no readily discernible outward appearance.
Appropriations and Approximations 4 The appropriation of words, images, signs, gestures, ready-made products or even spaces is part of this method. Entitled Taklit Imitation , the installations in Izmir from and Istanbul from set the first accents in this direction. In each of these exhibitions Erkmen re-enacted a street situation resembling a sculptural configuration: a blazing fluorescent tube rose out of a pile of bricks, each of which had her initials imprinted on it. For the Istanbul variation, the bricks were encased in metal. When related to her text in the publication accompanying the Izmir exhibition, which soberly describes how Erkmen left a flat near Taksim Square at 2.
Erkmen appropriated the word for the title of her solo exhibition in the gallery Barbara Weiss, Berlin. At times the titles of works refer to these states, without however, thanks to their playful subtlety, ever dictating to the viewer what they should be thinking or feeling. Whilst the moving wall is a semblance, in the experiential moment of this fake wall moving towards or away from one, the person within the installation is simultaneously led back to their essential sense of self, to existence.
Evoking a reflective visualisation of a room was the key theme of her installation Bu Galeri This Gallery, , p. The form of the installation imitates the floor plan of the Galerie Deux in Tokyo, a copy of which the artist had received from the organisers in advance to help her plan her work. What is it supposed to achieve? Or rather, what does it trigger in the viewer? Once the viewer recognises the cinematic allusion, recollections of earlier times are activated, times when the logo of the US film production company Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer MGM graced the opening credits of almost every major film, sparking a sense of tingling anticipation: one was to be shortly immersed in another world full of opulent images.
The roaring lion stands for the bold, glorious years of moviemaking — but soberly considered, also for an entertainment medium that lacks depth. Such a corporate logo not only evokes nostalgic, personal memories, but moreover general ideas about art and its meaning and place in society. In this context the lion epitomises the idea of the freedom of the arts, of art that may develop unburdened by ulterior functions and exploitative misappropriation. Although the aesthetic slogan is not haloed around Chambal, the defiance stance it expresses is clearly evident in his facial expression.
Even without recognising the source of inspiration, the intermeshed layers of meaning generated by mimesis are touched on. The longer the viewer watches the sequences, cut into an endless loop, the more human the animal appears. The provocative gesture remains disturbingly amusing precisely through its endless repetition. Once the viewer becomes aware of the exchange of roles, and moreover should they catch on to the allusion to the Leo of MGM, then they may well sense more subtle, perhaps even mournful tones behind the roar.
Perhaps they derive intellectual delight from the recognition. It is, however, left to the viewer whether this recognition is to be read in terms of a transformation of the quoted scene. What is inevitably provoked in the viewer by the confrontation with the lion is the imitative instinct: the sheer delight in imitating.
The other is suddenly oneself: we are at once a beastly-human and a human-beast. Generating Alarm: Activating Insight Deutsche Bahn is another video of extremely short length, lasting just eleven seconds. Nonetheless, the film weaves and holds the viewer in a spell, or more precisely leaves them holding their breath: accompanied by a deafening drone similar to that of a jackhammer or a helicopter, the video shows from above a section of a lighthouse which is about to be swamped by a surging wave.
The precarious aspect of the situation: the viewer is witness to a frightening scene, with a man, tiny in the perspective of the camera, stepping out of the lighthouse door, completely oblivious of the danger he has just exposed himself to and so helplessly at the mercy of the fate about to befall him. But before the wave engulfs him, the film abruptly ends. For a few seconds there is a blacked-out sequence, and then the film restarts from the beginning.
We have no idea how the drama ends. At the very last minute he was able to escape back inside, reported the magazine mare. The photographer Jean Guichard had captured from the helicopter the moment directly before. The photo became world famous and is unrepeatable […]. It was this noise — the accompanying caption states it clearly — that had put the life of the keeper at risk; it was the reason why he had stepped out of the lighthouse in the first place.
But without the helicopter there would never have been a spectacular image. With the replicated perspective and the noise the viewer is automatically placed in the role of the photographer sitting in the helicopter.
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Here mimesis serves to enable the viewer to relive — again and again — the scenario, contrary to the unrepeatable claim made by the magazine text. The imitation of reality and art induce us, on the one hand, to query the craving for sensational images; on the other hand, it appropriates for itself the obtrusive aggressiveness. It generates alarm, leaving the viewer perturbed. Picking up on earlier employed forms and materials and setting them in new contexts has the character of an inner process, extracting a further, topical facet from their qualities. This is strikingly evident in a work developed for the Folkestone Sculpture Triennial, which brings the notion of mimicry, already implanted in Whitish from p.
For example in the Berlin version of Imitating Lines from p. Self-referentiality possesses an important ancillary function: it enables Erkmen to produce variants and so keep up with the ever-increasing invitations to take part in exhibitions. The artist is all too aware that this demands a balance between an enlivening and solidifying allusion to her earlier work.
In this vein, she has accompanied the conception of the present Berlin exhibition, which ties into that of the catalogue as an attempt to provide a survey of her work, with skepticism, doubting whether an exhibition planned as a retrospective, which may match her created work in quality and quantity but not its essence, is capable of conveying and sustaining the newness of the unexpected. They are not to know from the outset how they are to deal with it.
It has to seem as if it has come about by chance. As if something has happened. Ikon Gallery, Birmingham, Manchester , p. The quote from Edgar Wind used here as a motto is taken from this issue, ibid, p. Secession, Vienna , p. The circumstances are special and the meeting at first one-sided, for Jane, meanwhile working in a peepshow, cannot see the male customer on the other side of the mirrored pane of glass. In this interaction oscillating between painful alienation and a gentle drawing nearer to one another, the glass pane mirrored on one side is an ingenious device.
Via a monitor, the viewer could marvel at Nastassja Kinski alias Jane with her subtle facial expressions and pink angora sweater in infinite loop. The editing out of the male film partner was a minor but extremely decisive intervention, involuntarily catapulting passers-by into the role of the film figure Travis and thus entangling them in a web of attraction and voyeurism, of coming closer and timidity. Nonetheless, it has left a lasting impression on me. Perhaps this is because here, with the help of the device of the one-sided mirrored glass, a motif — ultimately invisible!
This was particularly evident in the work Portiport, which was shown in Frankfurt the same year as The Pink Sweater. Portiport was part of the opening exhibition in the series Zuspiel held in the Kunsthalle Portikus. For this purpose she chose seven industrially manufactured metal detectors and placed them between the Corinthian columns of the stylized neo-classicist portico to the former Frankfurt city library, at the time home to the Portikus, a gallery for contemporary art.
Most visitors interpreted the transposing of these security detectors into an artistic context as an allusion to a latent threat. For foreign visitors, who — like the artist herself — were used to the everyday surveillance of public places and buildings like hotels, bars and cinemas in their various native countries, the detectors had a more reassuring impact, conveying a sense of security.
No matter how different the reactions calculated by Erkmen may have been, the work resulted in a heightened perceptual sensibility of the site itself, for in the moment of transition from one area to another it also marked modes of inclusion and exclusion. I want to form a condensation of reality. There are undoubtedly connecting elements and congruencies in her works, for example a certain visual reduction of the minimal artistic interventions, as well as frequent linguistic-textual markings.
The actual works are preceded by an intensive study and consideration of the site, its history, its architecture and its social context. In order to be able to respond to the specific circumstances of the site intended for a work, the artist must first nurture and develop a feeling for this site. And I want to be the person in-between who helps these things to become visible. Of course these do not have to be logical reasons, they are my reasons. The posters feature portraits of a young woman looking thoughtfully and aloofly at the camera and a pensive young man smoking.
Both persons are relatives of Erkmen, her grandmother and great uncle; they were separated in the wake of the political events triggered by the genocide of the Armenians around , during which their father was killed. While the sister stayed in Istanbul, the brother emigrated to Khartoum in Sudan. Official ceremonies are held here on national holidays, so too demonstrations in support of various causes.
Between and almost a million Armenians lost their lives, but Turkish authorities have refused to recognise that the murders and expulsions of this period constituted genocide, deploying any means to prohibit publications claiming the contrary. The charge was later dropped on the grounds of a legal technicality. Although she employs posters in advertising boards, her artistic intervention in public space is anything but loud, intrusive or attentionseeking; once again it is succinct and precise, the means are extremely reduced, her artistic strategy subtle, indeed subversive.
While the artist has revealed the fates befalling the portrayed persons in an interview with the journal Radikal, and so disclosed the historical-political context and the political brisance of the work, not every passerby needs to know about the complexity of the work or indeed understand it. Erkmen had seen illustrations of various types of landmines in a Red Cross catalogue and artistically reworked them in a diverse array of variations: produced in wood, cast in ceramic, embossed on tiles, computer-animated, employed as a screensaver like in to save, staged as a seductive consumerist object in shop windows.
In Erkmen even employed two enlarged images of her ceramic edition, glistening like jewels, to cover the floor p. While not entirely incorrect, it is inadequate as a description of her core concern. Erkmen is not a political artist in the sense that she takes stands on ongoing issues or current events. She would find that too populist and superficial. Nevertheless, it is undeniable that her works harbour a certain political potential: they raise politically relevant questions and do not shy away from politically controversial issues and areas.
That they thus do not accrue the characteristics of the eternal and strive for perpetual presence suits the artist however, because from the very outset she has found all that is permanent and firmly established in art to be suspect. It is no coincidence that she moves back and forth between her abodes in Istanbul and Berlin, between the cultural worlds of the Orient and Europe, and is also very much on the move around the globe realising her projects. The fairytale of Goldilocks was a source of inspiration for a number of works in the early s and its theme is one the artist has continually referred to when elucidating her artistic practice.
The fairytale tells the story of the little girl called Goldilocks who enters the house of a family of bears and, in their absence, goes about sampling their porridge, sitting on their chairs and even trying out their beds. By Norbert Kohlhase. By Gustav Sichelschmidt. Geschichte der romantischen Literatur.
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Das weltliche Kloster.