ewo is in motion. We are connecting. With different people, new markets, other cultures. We willingly accept, endorse and support external influences since we believe that the answers to the requirements and challenges of our time can be found through such connections and dialogues. ewoLAB initiates projects with artists, designers and architects and in doing so deals with the subject of light on various levels.
NOVEMBER 2015 “Lightways” by Linda Jasmin Mayer for ewoLAB: On/Off – Reflections on Light
A light on the edge of the path projects, and its radiance is directed at an object or a building. Sometimes the illuminated object is in the field of view of the passersby, sometimes it is not. Some of them stop with surprise, some of them just go on, some of them turn around, they’re irritated, is the light broken? Someone even asked if it was haunted.
In Refshaleøen in Copenhagen, Linda Jasmin Mayer has developed a light installation for ewoLAB that fits in with the surroundings in a restrained manner. It works with the illumination of the path and for the mooring of ships. The area of the former shipyard is rough: old factory buildings, manufacturing halls, houses, some unused, some inhabited by the local creative spirits. The artistic intervention is subtle and not obviously to everybody. That raises the questions: how attentively do we follow our path? How much do we allow ourselves to be “distracted”? How high or low is our threshold of attention? Those who pause and look around themselves quickly notice that the usual lighting of the path was intruded upon here. The artist works with the presence and absence of light. Today, new technologies make it possible for lights to only be in operation when they are needed, and thus, for example, if cars or pedestrians pass by. Here, it is the other way around: a motion sensor turns off the light for a short time.
Contemporary art encompasses the question of what is and isn’t art. Which signals does art have to send out in order to be recognized as such? With her work “Lightways”, Linda Jasmin Mayer skillfully moves along a border. She allows her work to also remain unrecognized. The artist uses light to direct our attention to objects of the past that are located within the area. If the installation is observed from the distance, then the feeling arises that one is looking at a stage set. Within that context, the choreography of each scene is a little bit different. What is created is a playful, ephemeral staging of light in surroundings of a past technical greatness. The installation was implemented with LED spotlights from ewo (models P160 and P200). The various radiating characteristics of the lens optics (tightly or loosely bundled) make possible a different emphasis of the objects. As lighting colors, warm white (3,000 K) and cool white (6,000 K) were used. With the illumination of the pole, the lighting color varies between these two values.
The luminaires communicate with each other by means of a radio network. Through the use of remote servicing, functions can be defined and modified and the system can be monitored in real time. The interaction is triggered by means of motion sensors. For the project, ewo carried out individual software programming that was supplemented by scene programming as effect lighting of the pole. A gateway functions as the central interface which establishes the communications with the control software over the GSM cellphone network.
The challenge consisted of making the smallest possible intrusion in the existing structure but nevertheless achieving a lasting effect. All of the data through the course of the duration of the project are recorded and can be correspondingly evaluated.
LIGHTWAYS
REPORT 1
(1)
Mind Walks
Darkness and Light
In the dark and nocturnal urban landscape, we follow the light. It draws us towards it. The routes that result from our movements towards and through the light seem to be predestined, planned, built. From a bird’s-eye view, it might seem that our steps through the darkness are guided. Only the illuminated, the lit, attracts our attention – and we turn our focus towards it. Darkness itself, and all that it veils, remains an unexplored mystery that skirts the edge of our perception.
But how many roads do we sidestep if we follow only this predetermined course? How many pathways, shrouded in darkness, do we not follow? What would happen if light were to follow us – and not we the light? What if the apparently insignificant were suddenly bathed in bright light rather than those things that we expect to be brightly lit? What if, in a museum, the paintings were no longer illuminated on the walls – but the electric sockets next to them, instead? Can our focus be so easily controlled? And are we afraid of looking into the darkness?
Darkness is daunting. At the same time, it arouses curiosity in us and strengthens the imagination. The eye gets used to darkness quickly – much faster than it becomes accustomed to bright light. If you look into a glaring light, you can’t see anything anymore. And the stronger the light, the darker shadow it creates. No doubt there is more than contrast between darkness and light. In between, several layers of transitions and twilight feed our vision. But how much light is necessary in order to see? My search leads to the darkest corners of the city. Where are they? Why aren’t they illuminated? What is hidden in the dark?
Darkness and Light
In the dark and nocturnal urban landscape, we follow the light. It draws us towards it. The routes that result from our movements towards and through the light seem to be predestined, planned, built. From a bird’s-eye view, it might seem that our steps through the darkness are guided. Only the illuminated, the lit, attracts our attention – and we turn our focus towards it. Darkness itself, and all that it veils, remains an unexplored mystery that skirts the edge of our perception.
But how many roads do we sidestep if we follow only this predetermined course? How many pathways, shrouded in darkness, do we not follow? What would happen if light were to follow us – and not we the light? What if the apparently insignificant were suddenly bathed in bright light rather than those things that we expect to be brightly lit? What if, in a museum, the paintings were no longer illuminated on the walls – but the electric sockets next to them, instead? Can our focus be so easily controlled? And are we afraid of looking into the darkness?
Darkness is daunting. At the same time, it arouses curiosity in us and strengthens the imagination. The eye gets used to darkness quickly – much faster than it becomes accustomed to bright light. If you look into a glaring light, you can’t see anything anymore. And the stronger the light, the darker shadow it creates. No doubt there is more than contrast between darkness and light. In between, several layers of transitions and twilight feed our vision. But how much light is necessary in order to see? My search leads to the darkest corners of the city. Where are they? Why aren’t they illuminated? What is hidden in the dark?
REPORT 2
(5)
High Tension
The Story of a Place
On a quest in search of the city’s darkest places, I came across an island that seemed like a no man’s land somewhere between the past and the future. This district near the city center hasn’t been an island for a long time now – a bridge connects it to the mainland, and its contours confirm the impression that it had been artificially expanded quite some time ago and that it may continue to expand like this. The industrial buildings and cavernous spaces look like discarded relics of a time that no longer exists. They recount an age in which many things here were different and bespeak an entirely different future.
The Burmeister & Wain Shipyard was one of the country’s most important industrial centers between 1872 and 1996. It was an emblem of the nation, an icon of industrialism and a symbol of its promise. In the wake of a crisis in shipbuilding and subsequent bankruptcy, it was abruptly abandoned. Thousands of workers found another place. This area sparked my imagination and elicited many questions: What does the disintegration and abandonment of industries and their infrastructures actually mean? Do we also lose names and languages through this abandonment? How many things can no longer be perceived because we have forgotten their language through the progress of development and lost them as a result? Upon closer inspection, something surprising was revealed: in reality, the seemingly unused spaces all had a temporary use.
I found a bunker – overgrown and overwhelmed by nature. Inside, there were many empty spaces and the dank odor of mildew and rust. I saw several halls; back then, individual parts of the ships were cut out in some. Other spaces had high towers, down from which the edges of the cargo ships were projected, in order to cut their shapes. Today, they are used as a winter storage area for boats, as a climbing hall and as storage space for containers. The individual elements of the ships were once joined together in the largest hall; today the Royal Theater stores its sets here, inside of containers.
A few days later I found the last untouched relic of the shipyard since the bankruptcy: the yard’s electrical generator. It appeared to me that this is a place that houses hundreds of stories. There was a 1986 phone book still on the desk, together with other documents. Did the crisis come on so suddenly? Did people just get up and go? Even now, cables connect the former shipyard’s various halls. What, if anything, is conducted through these power lines today? Electrification had such an enormous impact on the development of artificial light. What was the world like “before” – when cities were not yet lit?
On one of my last visits, I met the founder of an organization for which many volunteers worked to build a rocket for a suborbital manned flight – they had built submarines for over a decade. Now they want to be the first ones to launch a manned rocket into space. Within four minutes it should reach an altitude of 150 km, make a few turns around its own axis and then land safely back on the surface of the earth.
In an interview I read a few days ago, I discovered a new perspective on light. The American artist James Turrell, who worked with light for a lifetime, said: “Because in the same way that the daytime sky surrounds us with light that illuminates the atmosphere, so that it is impossible to see the stars ... as soon as this light is removed, we gain access to the universe, and that is a very important psychological factor. So when the lights of the city illuminate the night sky, we can’t see the stars at night, which has a decisive effect.” [1]
These days the night sky can easily be seen from Refshaleøen. At night the island lies in the dark – just like its future. The current owners, some pension funds, speculate that they’ll be able to build a residential area here within the next few decades. Thus the structures of an island created for industry would be built over.
The future lies in the dark, without question, but what is the future of light? And what will light mean in the future?
[1]Frauke Tomczak, Licht als Material - Ein Gespräch mit James Turrell, Kunstforum, Band 121, 1993
The Story of a Place
On a quest in search of the city’s darkest places, I came across an island that seemed like a no man’s land somewhere between the past and the future. This district near the city center hasn’t been an island for a long time now – a bridge connects it to the mainland, and its contours confirm the impression that it had been artificially expanded quite some time ago and that it may continue to expand like this. The industrial buildings and cavernous spaces look like discarded relics of a time that no longer exists. They recount an age in which many things here were different and bespeak an entirely different future.
The Burmeister & Wain Shipyard was one of the country’s most important industrial centers between 1872 and 1996. It was an emblem of the nation, an icon of industrialism and a symbol of its promise. In the wake of a crisis in shipbuilding and subsequent bankruptcy, it was abruptly abandoned. Thousands of workers found another place. This area sparked my imagination and elicited many questions: What does the disintegration and abandonment of industries and their infrastructures actually mean? Do we also lose names and languages through this abandonment? How many things can no longer be perceived because we have forgotten their language through the progress of development and lost them as a result? Upon closer inspection, something surprising was revealed: in reality, the seemingly unused spaces all had a temporary use.
I found a bunker – overgrown and overwhelmed by nature. Inside, there were many empty spaces and the dank odor of mildew and rust. I saw several halls; back then, individual parts of the ships were cut out in some. Other spaces had high towers, down from which the edges of the cargo ships were projected, in order to cut their shapes. Today, they are used as a winter storage area for boats, as a climbing hall and as storage space for containers. The individual elements of the ships were once joined together in the largest hall; today the Royal Theater stores its sets here, inside of containers.
A few days later I found the last untouched relic of the shipyard since the bankruptcy: the yard’s electrical generator. It appeared to me that this is a place that houses hundreds of stories. There was a 1986 phone book still on the desk, together with other documents. Did the crisis come on so suddenly? Did people just get up and go? Even now, cables connect the former shipyard’s various halls. What, if anything, is conducted through these power lines today? Electrification had such an enormous impact on the development of artificial light. What was the world like “before” – when cities were not yet lit?
On one of my last visits, I met the founder of an organization for which many volunteers worked to build a rocket for a suborbital manned flight – they had built submarines for over a decade. Now they want to be the first ones to launch a manned rocket into space. Within four minutes it should reach an altitude of 150 km, make a few turns around its own axis and then land safely back on the surface of the earth.
In an interview I read a few days ago, I discovered a new perspective on light. The American artist James Turrell, who worked with light for a lifetime, said: “Because in the same way that the daytime sky surrounds us with light that illuminates the atmosphere, so that it is impossible to see the stars ... as soon as this light is removed, we gain access to the universe, and that is a very important psychological factor. So when the lights of the city illuminate the night sky, we can’t see the stars at night, which has a decisive effect.” [1]
These days the night sky can easily be seen from Refshaleøen. At night the island lies in the dark – just like its future. The current owners, some pension funds, speculate that they’ll be able to build a residential area here within the next few decades. Thus the structures of an island created for industry would be built over.
The future lies in the dark, without question, but what is the future of light? And what will light mean in the future?
[1]Frauke Tomczak, Licht als Material - Ein Gespräch mit James Turrell, Kunstforum, Band 121, 1993
High Tension
The Story of a Place
On a quest in search of the city’s darkest places, I came across an island that seemed like a no man’s land somewhere between the past and the future. This district near the city center hasn’t been an island for a long time now – a bridge connects it to the mainland, and its contours confirm the impression that it had been artificially expanded quite some time ago and that it may continue to expand like this. The industrial buildings and cavernous spaces look like discarded relics of a time that no longer exists. They recount an age in which many things here were different and bespeak an entirely different future.
The Burmeister & Wain Shipyard was one of the country’s most important industrial centers between 1872 and 1996. It was an emblem of the nation, an icon of industrialism and a symbol of its promise. In the wake of a crisis in shipbuilding and subsequent bankruptcy, it was abruptly abandoned. Thousands of workers found another place. This area sparked my imagination and elicited many questions: What does the disintegration and abandonment of industries and their infrastructures actually mean? Do we also lose names and languages through this abandonment? How many things can no longer be perceived because we have forgotten their language through the progress of development and lost them as a result? Upon closer inspection, something surprising was revealed: in reality, the seemingly unused spaces all had a temporary use.
I found a bunker – overgrown and overwhelmed by nature. Inside, there were many empty spaces and the dank odor of mildew and rust. I saw several halls; back then, individual parts of the ships were cut out in some. Other spaces had high towers, down from which the edges of the cargo ships were projected, in order to cut their shapes. Today, they are used as a winter storage area for boats, as a climbing hall and as storage space for containers. The individual elements of the ships were once joined together in the largest hall; today the Royal Theater stores its sets here, inside of containers.
A few days later I found the last untouched relic of the shipyard since the bankruptcy: the yard’s electrical generator. It appeared to me that this is a place that houses hundreds of stories. There was a 1986 phone book still on the desk, together with other documents. Did the crisis come on so suddenly? Did people just get up and go? Even now, cables connect the former shipyard’s various halls. What, if anything, is conducted through these power lines today? Electrification had such an enormous impact on the development of artificial light. What was the world like “before” – when cities were not yet lit?
On one of my last visits, I met the founder of an organization for which many volunteers worked to build a rocket for a suborbital manned flight – they had built submarines for over a decade. Now they want to be the first ones to launch a manned rocket into space. Within four minutes it should reach an altitude of 150 km, make a few turns around its own axis and then land safely back on the surface of the earth.
In an interview I read a few days ago, I discovered a new perspective on light. The American artist James Turrell, who worked with light for a lifetime, said: “Because in the same way that the daytime sky surrounds us with light that illuminates the atmosphere, so that it is impossible to see the stars ... as soon as this light is removed, we gain access to the universe, and that is a very important psychological factor. So when the lights of the city illuminate the night sky, we can’t see the stars at night, which has a decisive effect.” [1]
These days the night sky can easily be seen from Refshaleøen. At night the island lies in the dark – just like its future. The current owners, some pension funds, speculate that they’ll be able to build a residential area here within the next few decades. Thus the structures of an island created for industry would be built over.
The future lies in the dark, without question, but what is the future of light? And what will light mean in the future?
[1]Frauke Tomczak, Licht als Material - Ein Gespräch mit James Turrell, Kunstforum, Band 121, 1993
The Story of a Place
On a quest in search of the city’s darkest places, I came across an island that seemed like a no man’s land somewhere between the past and the future. This district near the city center hasn’t been an island for a long time now – a bridge connects it to the mainland, and its contours confirm the impression that it had been artificially expanded quite some time ago and that it may continue to expand like this. The industrial buildings and cavernous spaces look like discarded relics of a time that no longer exists. They recount an age in which many things here were different and bespeak an entirely different future.
The Burmeister & Wain Shipyard was one of the country’s most important industrial centers between 1872 and 1996. It was an emblem of the nation, an icon of industrialism and a symbol of its promise. In the wake of a crisis in shipbuilding and subsequent bankruptcy, it was abruptly abandoned. Thousands of workers found another place. This area sparked my imagination and elicited many questions: What does the disintegration and abandonment of industries and their infrastructures actually mean? Do we also lose names and languages through this abandonment? How many things can no longer be perceived because we have forgotten their language through the progress of development and lost them as a result? Upon closer inspection, something surprising was revealed: in reality, the seemingly unused spaces all had a temporary use.
I found a bunker – overgrown and overwhelmed by nature. Inside, there were many empty spaces and the dank odor of mildew and rust. I saw several halls; back then, individual parts of the ships were cut out in some. Other spaces had high towers, down from which the edges of the cargo ships were projected, in order to cut their shapes. Today, they are used as a winter storage area for boats, as a climbing hall and as storage space for containers. The individual elements of the ships were once joined together in the largest hall; today the Royal Theater stores its sets here, inside of containers.
A few days later I found the last untouched relic of the shipyard since the bankruptcy: the yard’s electrical generator. It appeared to me that this is a place that houses hundreds of stories. There was a 1986 phone book still on the desk, together with other documents. Did the crisis come on so suddenly? Did people just get up and go? Even now, cables connect the former shipyard’s various halls. What, if anything, is conducted through these power lines today? Electrification had such an enormous impact on the development of artificial light. What was the world like “before” – when cities were not yet lit?
On one of my last visits, I met the founder of an organization for which many volunteers worked to build a rocket for a suborbital manned flight – they had built submarines for over a decade. Now they want to be the first ones to launch a manned rocket into space. Within four minutes it should reach an altitude of 150 km, make a few turns around its own axis and then land safely back on the surface of the earth.
In an interview I read a few days ago, I discovered a new perspective on light. The American artist James Turrell, who worked with light for a lifetime, said: “Because in the same way that the daytime sky surrounds us with light that illuminates the atmosphere, so that it is impossible to see the stars ... as soon as this light is removed, we gain access to the universe, and that is a very important psychological factor. So when the lights of the city illuminate the night sky, we can’t see the stars at night, which has a decisive effect.” [1]
These days the night sky can easily be seen from Refshaleøen. At night the island lies in the dark – just like its future. The current owners, some pension funds, speculate that they’ll be able to build a residential area here within the next few decades. Thus the structures of an island created for industry would be built over.
The future lies in the dark, without question, but what is the future of light? And what will light mean in the future?
[1]Frauke Tomczak, Licht als Material - Ein Gespräch mit James Turrell, Kunstforum, Band 121, 1993
High Tension
The Story of a Place
On a quest in search of the city’s darkest places, I came across an island that seemed like a no man’s land somewhere between the past and the future. This district near the city center hasn’t been an island for a long time now – a bridge connects it to the mainland, and its contours confirm the impression that it had been artificially expanded quite some time ago and that it may continue to expand like this. The industrial buildings and cavernous spaces look like discarded relics of a time that no longer exists. They recount an age in which many things here were different and bespeak an entirely different future.
The Burmeister & Wain Shipyard was one of the country’s most important industrial centers between 1872 and 1996. It was an emblem of the nation, an icon of industrialism and a symbol of its promise. In the wake of a crisis in shipbuilding and subsequent bankruptcy, it was abruptly abandoned. Thousands of workers found another place. This area sparked my imagination and elicited many questions: What does the disintegration and abandonment of industries and their infrastructures actually mean? Do we also lose names and languages through this abandonment? How many things can no longer be perceived because we have forgotten their language through the progress of development and lost them as a result? Upon closer inspection, something surprising was revealed: in reality, the seemingly unused spaces all had a temporary use.
I found a bunker – overgrown and overwhelmed by nature. Inside, there were many empty spaces and the dank odor of mildew and rust. I saw several halls; back then, individual parts of the ships were cut out in some. Other spaces had high towers, down from which the edges of the cargo ships were projected, in order to cut their shapes. Today, they are used as a winter storage area for boats, as a climbing hall and as storage space for containers. The individual elements of the ships were once joined together in the largest hall; today the Royal Theater stores its sets here, inside of containers.
A few days later I found the last untouched relic of the shipyard since the bankruptcy: the yard’s electrical generator. It appeared to me that this is a place that houses hundreds of stories. There was a 1986 phone book still on the desk, together with other documents. Did the crisis come on so suddenly? Did people just get up and go? Even now, cables connect the former shipyard’s various halls. What, if anything, is conducted through these power lines today? Electrification had such an enormous impact on the development of artificial light. What was the world like “before” – when cities were not yet lit?
On one of my last visits, I met the founder of an organization for which many volunteers worked to build a rocket for a suborbital manned flight – they had built submarines for over a decade. Now they want to be the first ones to launch a manned rocket into space. Within four minutes it should reach an altitude of 150 km, make a few turns around its own axis and then land safely back on the surface of the earth.
In an interview I read a few days ago, I discovered a new perspective on light. The American artist James Turrell, who worked with light for a lifetime, said: “Because in the same way that the daytime sky surrounds us with light that illuminates the atmosphere, so that it is impossible to see the stars ... as soon as this light is removed, we gain access to the universe, and that is a very important psychological factor. So when the lights of the city illuminate the night sky, we can’t see the stars at night, which has a decisive effect.” [1]
These days the night sky can easily be seen from Refshaleøen. At night the island lies in the dark – just like its future. The current owners, some pension funds, speculate that they’ll be able to build a residential area here within the next few decades. Thus the structures of an island created for industry would be built over.
The future lies in the dark, without question, but what is the future of light? And what will light mean in the future?
[1]Frauke Tomczak, Licht als Material - Ein Gespräch mit James Turrell, Kunstforum, Band 121, 1993
The Story of a Place
On a quest in search of the city’s darkest places, I came across an island that seemed like a no man’s land somewhere between the past and the future. This district near the city center hasn’t been an island for a long time now – a bridge connects it to the mainland, and its contours confirm the impression that it had been artificially expanded quite some time ago and that it may continue to expand like this. The industrial buildings and cavernous spaces look like discarded relics of a time that no longer exists. They recount an age in which many things here were different and bespeak an entirely different future.
The Burmeister & Wain Shipyard was one of the country’s most important industrial centers between 1872 and 1996. It was an emblem of the nation, an icon of industrialism and a symbol of its promise. In the wake of a crisis in shipbuilding and subsequent bankruptcy, it was abruptly abandoned. Thousands of workers found another place. This area sparked my imagination and elicited many questions: What does the disintegration and abandonment of industries and their infrastructures actually mean? Do we also lose names and languages through this abandonment? How many things can no longer be perceived because we have forgotten their language through the progress of development and lost them as a result? Upon closer inspection, something surprising was revealed: in reality, the seemingly unused spaces all had a temporary use.
I found a bunker – overgrown and overwhelmed by nature. Inside, there were many empty spaces and the dank odor of mildew and rust. I saw several halls; back then, individual parts of the ships were cut out in some. Other spaces had high towers, down from which the edges of the cargo ships were projected, in order to cut their shapes. Today, they are used as a winter storage area for boats, as a climbing hall and as storage space for containers. The individual elements of the ships were once joined together in the largest hall; today the Royal Theater stores its sets here, inside of containers.
A few days later I found the last untouched relic of the shipyard since the bankruptcy: the yard’s electrical generator. It appeared to me that this is a place that houses hundreds of stories. There was a 1986 phone book still on the desk, together with other documents. Did the crisis come on so suddenly? Did people just get up and go? Even now, cables connect the former shipyard’s various halls. What, if anything, is conducted through these power lines today? Electrification had such an enormous impact on the development of artificial light. What was the world like “before” – when cities were not yet lit?
On one of my last visits, I met the founder of an organization for which many volunteers worked to build a rocket for a suborbital manned flight – they had built submarines for over a decade. Now they want to be the first ones to launch a manned rocket into space. Within four minutes it should reach an altitude of 150 km, make a few turns around its own axis and then land safely back on the surface of the earth.
In an interview I read a few days ago, I discovered a new perspective on light. The American artist James Turrell, who worked with light for a lifetime, said: “Because in the same way that the daytime sky surrounds us with light that illuminates the atmosphere, so that it is impossible to see the stars ... as soon as this light is removed, we gain access to the universe, and that is a very important psychological factor. So when the lights of the city illuminate the night sky, we can’t see the stars at night, which has a decisive effect.” [1]
These days the night sky can easily be seen from Refshaleøen. At night the island lies in the dark – just like its future. The current owners, some pension funds, speculate that they’ll be able to build a residential area here within the next few decades. Thus the structures of an island created for industry would be built over.
The future lies in the dark, without question, but what is the future of light? And what will light mean in the future?
[1]Frauke Tomczak, Licht als Material - Ein Gespräch mit James Turrell, Kunstforum, Band 121, 1993
High Tension
The Story of a Place
On a quest in search of the city’s darkest places, I came across an island that seemed like a no man’s land somewhere between the past and the future. This district near the city center hasn’t been an island for a long time now – a bridge connects it to the mainland, and its contours confirm the impression that it had been artificially expanded quite some time ago and that it may continue to expand like this. The industrial buildings and cavernous spaces look like discarded relics of a time that no longer exists. They recount an age in which many things here were different and bespeak an entirely different future.
The Burmeister & Wain Shipyard was one of the country’s most important industrial centers between 1872 and 1996. It was an emblem of the nation, an icon of industrialism and a symbol of its promise. In the wake of a crisis in shipbuilding and subsequent bankruptcy, it was abruptly abandoned. Thousands of workers found another place. This area sparked my imagination and elicited many questions: What does the disintegration and abandonment of industries and their infrastructures actually mean? Do we also lose names and languages through this abandonment? How many things can no longer be perceived because we have forgotten their language through the progress of development and lost them as a result? Upon closer inspection, something surprising was revealed: in reality, the seemingly unused spaces all had a temporary use.
I found a bunker – overgrown and overwhelmed by nature. Inside, there were many empty spaces and the dank odor of mildew and rust. I saw several halls; back then, individual parts of the ships were cut out in some. Other spaces had high towers, down from which the edges of the cargo ships were projected, in order to cut their shapes. Today, they are used as a winter storage area for boats, as a climbing hall and as storage space for containers. The individual elements of the ships were once joined together in the largest hall; today the Royal Theater stores its sets here, inside of containers.
A few days later I found the last untouched relic of the shipyard since the bankruptcy: the yard’s electrical generator. It appeared to me that this is a place that houses hundreds of stories. There was a 1986 phone book still on the desk, together with other documents. Did the crisis come on so suddenly? Did people just get up and go? Even now, cables connect the former shipyard’s various halls. What, if anything, is conducted through these power lines today? Electrification had such an enormous impact on the development of artificial light. What was the world like “before” – when cities were not yet lit?
On one of my last visits, I met the founder of an organization for which many volunteers worked to build a rocket for a suborbital manned flight – they had built submarines for over a decade. Now they want to be the first ones to launch a manned rocket into space. Within four minutes it should reach an altitude of 150 km, make a few turns around its own axis and then land safely back on the surface of the earth.
In an interview I read a few days ago, I discovered a new perspective on light. The American artist James Turrell, who worked with light for a lifetime, said: “Because in the same way that the daytime sky surrounds us with light that illuminates the atmosphere, so that it is impossible to see the stars ... as soon as this light is removed, we gain access to the universe, and that is a very important psychological factor. So when the lights of the city illuminate the night sky, we can’t see the stars at night, which has a decisive effect.” [1]
These days the night sky can easily be seen from Refshaleøen. At night the island lies in the dark – just like its future. The current owners, some pension funds, speculate that they’ll be able to build a residential area here within the next few decades. Thus the structures of an island created for industry would be built over.
The future lies in the dark, without question, but what is the future of light? And what will light mean in the future?
[1]Frauke Tomczak, Licht als Material - Ein Gespräch mit James Turrell, Kunstforum, Band 121, 1993
The Story of a Place
On a quest in search of the city’s darkest places, I came across an island that seemed like a no man’s land somewhere between the past and the future. This district near the city center hasn’t been an island for a long time now – a bridge connects it to the mainland, and its contours confirm the impression that it had been artificially expanded quite some time ago and that it may continue to expand like this. The industrial buildings and cavernous spaces look like discarded relics of a time that no longer exists. They recount an age in which many things here were different and bespeak an entirely different future.
The Burmeister & Wain Shipyard was one of the country’s most important industrial centers between 1872 and 1996. It was an emblem of the nation, an icon of industrialism and a symbol of its promise. In the wake of a crisis in shipbuilding and subsequent bankruptcy, it was abruptly abandoned. Thousands of workers found another place. This area sparked my imagination and elicited many questions: What does the disintegration and abandonment of industries and their infrastructures actually mean? Do we also lose names and languages through this abandonment? How many things can no longer be perceived because we have forgotten their language through the progress of development and lost them as a result? Upon closer inspection, something surprising was revealed: in reality, the seemingly unused spaces all had a temporary use.
I found a bunker – overgrown and overwhelmed by nature. Inside, there were many empty spaces and the dank odor of mildew and rust. I saw several halls; back then, individual parts of the ships were cut out in some. Other spaces had high towers, down from which the edges of the cargo ships were projected, in order to cut their shapes. Today, they are used as a winter storage area for boats, as a climbing hall and as storage space for containers. The individual elements of the ships were once joined together in the largest hall; today the Royal Theater stores its sets here, inside of containers.
A few days later I found the last untouched relic of the shipyard since the bankruptcy: the yard’s electrical generator. It appeared to me that this is a place that houses hundreds of stories. There was a 1986 phone book still on the desk, together with other documents. Did the crisis come on so suddenly? Did people just get up and go? Even now, cables connect the former shipyard’s various halls. What, if anything, is conducted through these power lines today? Electrification had such an enormous impact on the development of artificial light. What was the world like “before” – when cities were not yet lit?
On one of my last visits, I met the founder of an organization for which many volunteers worked to build a rocket for a suborbital manned flight – they had built submarines for over a decade. Now they want to be the first ones to launch a manned rocket into space. Within four minutes it should reach an altitude of 150 km, make a few turns around its own axis and then land safely back on the surface of the earth.
In an interview I read a few days ago, I discovered a new perspective on light. The American artist James Turrell, who worked with light for a lifetime, said: “Because in the same way that the daytime sky surrounds us with light that illuminates the atmosphere, so that it is impossible to see the stars ... as soon as this light is removed, we gain access to the universe, and that is a very important psychological factor. So when the lights of the city illuminate the night sky, we can’t see the stars at night, which has a decisive effect.” [1]
These days the night sky can easily be seen from Refshaleøen. At night the island lies in the dark – just like its future. The current owners, some pension funds, speculate that they’ll be able to build a residential area here within the next few decades. Thus the structures of an island created for industry would be built over.
The future lies in the dark, without question, but what is the future of light? And what will light mean in the future?
[1]Frauke Tomczak, Licht als Material - Ein Gespräch mit James Turrell, Kunstforum, Band 121, 1993
High Tension
The Story of a Place
On a quest in search of the city’s darkest places, I came across an island that seemed like a no man’s land somewhere between the past and the future. This district near the city center hasn’t been an island for a long time now – a bridge connects it to the mainland, and its contours confirm the impression that it had been artificially expanded quite some time ago and that it may continue to expand like this. The industrial buildings and cavernous spaces look like discarded relics of a time that no longer exists. They recount an age in which many things here were different and bespeak an entirely different future.
The Burmeister & Wain Shipyard was one of the country’s most important industrial centers between 1872 and 1996. It was an emblem of the nation, an icon of industrialism and a symbol of its promise. In the wake of a crisis in shipbuilding and subsequent bankruptcy, it was abruptly abandoned. Thousands of workers found another place. This area sparked my imagination and elicited many questions: What does the disintegration and abandonment of industries and their infrastructures actually mean? Do we also lose names and languages through this abandonment? How many things can no longer be perceived because we have forgotten their language through the progress of development and lost them as a result? Upon closer inspection, something surprising was revealed: in reality, the seemingly unused spaces all had a temporary use.
I found a bunker – overgrown and overwhelmed by nature. Inside, there were many empty spaces and the dank odor of mildew and rust. I saw several halls; back then, individual parts of the ships were cut out in some. Other spaces had high towers, down from which the edges of the cargo ships were projected, in order to cut their shapes. Today, they are used as a winter storage area for boats, as a climbing hall and as storage space for containers. The individual elements of the ships were once joined together in the largest hall; today the Royal Theater stores its sets here, inside of containers.
A few days later I found the last untouched relic of the shipyard since the bankruptcy: the yard’s electrical generator. It appeared to me that this is a place that houses hundreds of stories. There was a 1986 phone book still on the desk, together with other documents. Did the crisis come on so suddenly? Did people just get up and go? Even now, cables connect the former shipyard’s various halls. What, if anything, is conducted through these power lines today? Electrification had such an enormous impact on the development of artificial light. What was the world like “before” – when cities were not yet lit?
On one of my last visits, I met the founder of an organization for which many volunteers worked to build a rocket for a suborbital manned flight – they had built submarines for over a decade. Now they want to be the first ones to launch a manned rocket into space. Within four minutes it should reach an altitude of 150 km, make a few turns around its own axis and then land safely back on the surface of the earth.
In an interview I read a few days ago, I discovered a new perspective on light. The American artist James Turrell, who worked with light for a lifetime, said: “Because in the same way that the daytime sky surrounds us with light that illuminates the atmosphere, so that it is impossible to see the stars ... as soon as this light is removed, we gain access to the universe, and that is a very important psychological factor. So when the lights of the city illuminate the night sky, we can’t see the stars at night, which has a decisive effect.” [1]
These days the night sky can easily be seen from Refshaleøen. At night the island lies in the dark – just like its future. The current owners, some pension funds, speculate that they’ll be able to build a residential area here within the next few decades. Thus the structures of an island created for industry would be built over.
The future lies in the dark, without question, but what is the future of light? And what will light mean in the future?
[1]Frauke Tomczak, Licht als Material - Ein Gespräch mit James Turrell, Kunstforum, Band 121, 1993
The Story of a Place
On a quest in search of the city’s darkest places, I came across an island that seemed like a no man’s land somewhere between the past and the future. This district near the city center hasn’t been an island for a long time now – a bridge connects it to the mainland, and its contours confirm the impression that it had been artificially expanded quite some time ago and that it may continue to expand like this. The industrial buildings and cavernous spaces look like discarded relics of a time that no longer exists. They recount an age in which many things here were different and bespeak an entirely different future.
The Burmeister & Wain Shipyard was one of the country’s most important industrial centers between 1872 and 1996. It was an emblem of the nation, an icon of industrialism and a symbol of its promise. In the wake of a crisis in shipbuilding and subsequent bankruptcy, it was abruptly abandoned. Thousands of workers found another place. This area sparked my imagination and elicited many questions: What does the disintegration and abandonment of industries and their infrastructures actually mean? Do we also lose names and languages through this abandonment? How many things can no longer be perceived because we have forgotten their language through the progress of development and lost them as a result? Upon closer inspection, something surprising was revealed: in reality, the seemingly unused spaces all had a temporary use.
I found a bunker – overgrown and overwhelmed by nature. Inside, there were many empty spaces and the dank odor of mildew and rust. I saw several halls; back then, individual parts of the ships were cut out in some. Other spaces had high towers, down from which the edges of the cargo ships were projected, in order to cut their shapes. Today, they are used as a winter storage area for boats, as a climbing hall and as storage space for containers. The individual elements of the ships were once joined together in the largest hall; today the Royal Theater stores its sets here, inside of containers.
A few days later I found the last untouched relic of the shipyard since the bankruptcy: the yard’s electrical generator. It appeared to me that this is a place that houses hundreds of stories. There was a 1986 phone book still on the desk, together with other documents. Did the crisis come on so suddenly? Did people just get up and go? Even now, cables connect the former shipyard’s various halls. What, if anything, is conducted through these power lines today? Electrification had such an enormous impact on the development of artificial light. What was the world like “before” – when cities were not yet lit?
On one of my last visits, I met the founder of an organization for which many volunteers worked to build a rocket for a suborbital manned flight – they had built submarines for over a decade. Now they want to be the first ones to launch a manned rocket into space. Within four minutes it should reach an altitude of 150 km, make a few turns around its own axis and then land safely back on the surface of the earth.
In an interview I read a few days ago, I discovered a new perspective on light. The American artist James Turrell, who worked with light for a lifetime, said: “Because in the same way that the daytime sky surrounds us with light that illuminates the atmosphere, so that it is impossible to see the stars ... as soon as this light is removed, we gain access to the universe, and that is a very important psychological factor. So when the lights of the city illuminate the night sky, we can’t see the stars at night, which has a decisive effect.” [1]
These days the night sky can easily be seen from Refshaleøen. At night the island lies in the dark – just like its future. The current owners, some pension funds, speculate that they’ll be able to build a residential area here within the next few decades. Thus the structures of an island created for industry would be built over.
The future lies in the dark, without question, but what is the future of light? And what will light mean in the future?
[1]Frauke Tomczak, Licht als Material - Ein Gespräch mit James Turrell, Kunstforum, Band 121, 1993
REPORT 3
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Lightways
Sequences of light
Light attracts, deflects and guides the perception. Our gaze and our footsteps are led by light. In the installation at Refshaleøen, that which remains unseen in the darkness will be illuminated. In an alternative path of light, the unexpected is lit up. This creates choreography between light and twilight in which the various points of the island react to influences in their environment and enter into communication with one another.
Some elements of the former shipyard of Refshaleøen will be illuminated, and thus lifted out of darkness by the light for a few moments. The installation’s various points of light illuminate objects from the past that still exist on the island, yet in some cases no longer have a function. This calls into question the presence of the shipyard’s seemingly abandoned infrastructure, the decay of the historical monuments of an industry and its future.
In the interplay between new technology and the leftover relics of an industry in which the old is not replaced by the new, but rather made approachable through it, the past and the present communicate with one another.
Lightways
An alternative, visually perceptible path of light is created at the beginning of the island, at the berthing point of the public transport ships. This path leads to the center of the island.
The light path is meant to call into question the usual way in which light acts as an automatic “guide” for us through the city. The road running from the receiving point for port buses to the middle of the island is illuminated in a punctiform way. This road is a new infrastructure element for the island, having been created and illuminated a few years ago.
Along the light path, the individual luminaires are suddenly extinguished whenever someone passes through the cone of light. At the same moment, another beam of light illuminates an industrial relic in an area nearby, a part of the former shipyard. So when the light under which the passerby is located goes out, the past is illuminated for a moment.
Finding oneself in sudden darkness while walking causes confusion and is surprising; it interrupts the automated consciousness and allows for other sensory perceptions. Our perception changes when it is suddenly dark.
When one passes a luminaire, a motion detector usually turns on. The installation aims to make us consciously aware of that feeling of security that arises when the lights go on, while critically “illuminating” it, so to speak.
A narration is created by the order of “enlightenment” of the elements that are immediately illuminated at various intensities after the walking path lights go out. So just like with a photographic flash, an afterimage comes into being and a story is told through the sequence of brief lighting of historical elements.
Sequences of light
Light attracts, deflects and guides the perception. Our gaze and our footsteps are led by light. In the installation at Refshaleøen, that which remains unseen in the darkness will be illuminated. In an alternative path of light, the unexpected is lit up. This creates choreography between light and twilight in which the various points of the island react to influences in their environment and enter into communication with one another.
Some elements of the former shipyard of Refshaleøen will be illuminated, and thus lifted out of darkness by the light for a few moments. The installation’s various points of light illuminate objects from the past that still exist on the island, yet in some cases no longer have a function. This calls into question the presence of the shipyard’s seemingly abandoned infrastructure, the decay of the historical monuments of an industry and its future.
In the interplay between new technology and the leftover relics of an industry in which the old is not replaced by the new, but rather made approachable through it, the past and the present communicate with one another.
Lightways
An alternative, visually perceptible path of light is created at the beginning of the island, at the berthing point of the public transport ships. This path leads to the center of the island.
The light path is meant to call into question the usual way in which light acts as an automatic “guide” for us through the city. The road running from the receiving point for port buses to the middle of the island is illuminated in a punctiform way. This road is a new infrastructure element for the island, having been created and illuminated a few years ago.
Along the light path, the individual luminaires are suddenly extinguished whenever someone passes through the cone of light. At the same moment, another beam of light illuminates an industrial relic in an area nearby, a part of the former shipyard. So when the light under which the passerby is located goes out, the past is illuminated for a moment.
Finding oneself in sudden darkness while walking causes confusion and is surprising; it interrupts the automated consciousness and allows for other sensory perceptions. Our perception changes when it is suddenly dark.
When one passes a luminaire, a motion detector usually turns on. The installation aims to make us consciously aware of that feeling of security that arises when the lights go on, while critically “illuminating” it, so to speak.
A narration is created by the order of “enlightenment” of the elements that are immediately illuminated at various intensities after the walking path lights go out. So just like with a photographic flash, an afterimage comes into being and a story is told through the sequence of brief lighting of historical elements.
OPENING 13 NOVEMBER 2015, TRANSFORMATOR STATION, REFSHALEØEN, COPENHAGEN
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Photography: ALEN ALIGRUDIC
LIGHTWAYS
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Photography: LINDA JASMIN MAYER & ALEN ALIGRUDIC
LINDA JASMIN MAYER
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