The contributions by Caroline Bachmann, Monika Baer, Jochen Lempert, Mark von Schlegell and Bea Schlingelhoff are carefully selected and arranged so that they speak to each other like a collection of self-contained and coherent short stories (Werk-Stories). This correspondence is situated on the thin borderline drawn by the title i am see and turns to you in a rotating movement that, as long as it circles, simultaneously shows both sides i am at the lake (site-specific) and i am seeing (sight-specific)!
“The five stories in this collection really are short stories (...). I ́ve included a brief afterword with each story. I like the idea of afterwords rather than individual introductions since afterwords allow me to talk freely about the stories without ruining them for readers.” (From Preface of: Bloodchild and other stories by Octavia E. Butler (1947–2006)).
Inspired by this self-commenting method of science fiction writer Octavia E. Butler, we would like to allow ourselves to write the descriptive and explanatory part of the invitation text in the form of an afterword (without ruining them [Mark von Schlegell ́s two excerpts] for readers).
Die Ausstellungsbeiträge von Caroline Bachmann, Monika Baer, Jochen Lempert, Mark von Schlegell und Bea Schlingelhoff sind so ausgewählt, dass sie in dem Raum wie eine Sammlung von in-sich- schlüssigen Shortstories (Werk-Stories) zueinander sprechen. Diese Korrespondenz befindet sich auf der dünnen Grenze, die der Titel i am see zieht und wendet sich in einer Drehbewegung, die solange sie kreiselt, die Momente ich am See (ortsspezifisch) und ich bin Sehen (blickspezifisch) simultan zeigt, an Sie!
«The five stories in this collection really are short stories (...). I ́ve included a brief afterword with each story. I like the idea of afterwords rather than individual introductions since afterwords allow me to talk freely about the stories without ruining them for readers.» (Aus Vorwort zu: Bloodchild and other stories by Octavia E. Butler (1947–2006)).
Inspiriert von der selbstkommentierenden Methode der Science-Fiction-Autorin Octavia E. Butler, fügen wir den beschreibenden und erklärenden Teil des Einladungstextes als Nachwort (without ruining them [Mark von Schlegells Textauszüge] for readers) an.
[from] THE PRINTED SEE...
After a moment of breathing, she rushed to the parapet. Far below, electricity flashed upon all the surface of the See. The ruddy bay blinked. And then for a moment the world she stood against was inflamed in green.
(--Nice. --Wicked indeed...)
Egge tapped goggles. The view returned to normal, but something she saw, he saw, had changed. He lowered precious, and walked quietly forward to see.
It was most irregular for him to do so, and made precious ever so warm. To the south, he saw crowds already gathering along the old waterfront to look at the transformed water edging their city›s bubble. The pale and ratlike wastrels laughed, pointed and shouted, many of them unhelmeted and bare- skinned. Egge could now make out what they were seeing.
Egge frowned in that way like a smile, stroking the itchy soft hair of the chinny chin chin.
(--Oh shit. Here it comes...)
Was it true? The See was flattened, transformed into text, white on black, rolling out, spilling tendrils, letters expanding and contracting in weird eddies. Even so, it was clear this was printed. Entire lines of words maintained themselves in the foam that crossed and bubbled the quietly roiling surface.
(--Was it the hypercube that did that? (UPDATE: So that›s how that happened? TIL...))
Egge, naturally, could read what it said on the See. Nobody, none of those outside now, even the ones with exolungs, certainly not Tango Hambly herself, still leaning out gazing, could read those words. The alien script of a now useless, unremembered tongue, pointlessly yet relentlessly inhering to the ever-changing surface of Big Little See gave the words of the lost poem, entirely unreadable to them all, incoherence.
And all the sheeple pointed, marveled at the printed See.
«It`s Henry,» Tango Hambly said, not turning around. «His last post-script.»
She looked good against the chaos. Precious took her like that.
The shot angled through the hippocampus, with slivered precision, directly out the eye -- piercing her life with artistic resonance..
(--Wait a minute! Tango?? WTF!!! Noooooooo ...)--
And the words upon the See began to change...
REMEMBER HOPPIES IF YOU SEE AN EGGE OUT THERE IN THE WILDERNESS GIVE AN EGGE A HAND. INFORM!