M Leuven | Audio description

These are the words of Geert Goiris, curator of the exhibition.

Pareidolia is the human ability to recognise patterns in haphazard data, an evolutionary mental trait that allows us to detect significance in random images or patterns. Once we go down that path, it is hard to turn back. What about the visual echo between a flock of birds and a spider’s web in the legs of a stool? By photographing pigeons in flight and using a pen to trace the individual birds, the artist tried to uncover a hidden order. He then plotted them as dots in a line drawing. Ornithomancy was once a common divination technique; finding meaning in the formation of a flock of birds has a long history. A second work in this room takes the form of a stool. A jagged, linear pattern of iron wire has been stretched between its legs. Is this a sketch for a spider’s web? Or an attempt to preserve this fragile structure by means of a drawing? An attempt to understand something by copying it? Or is it more a metaphorical addition to a piece of furniture, just as a draughtsperson might add a cobweb to an object to indicate it has fallen into oblivion?

These are the words of Geert Goiris, curator of the exhibition.

Quantification, the division of space, a share of the cake. Everything belongs to someone. The very essence of capitalism and the cause of our current predicament. Or is it time to talk about broken-ism? Peter Morrens’ sculpture balks at being a desirable, saleable object. It is an endearingly pieced-together artefact that is at odds with the slick aesthetics of pie charts. The work unashamedly asks honest and confrontational questions. What do we think? Why are we so stuck in this messy, arbitrarily pieced-together segmentation that could cease to exist at any moment? Is redistribution not a possibility? This tragicomic object thematises the notions of disintegrating and reassembling. As in a slapstick comedy, failure is central but it also brings solace.

These are the words of Geert Goiris, curator of the exhibition.

This silent and monochrome video, filmed in Ostend, was the starting point for the collection presentation. The image is greyish and somewhat blurred. But the simplicity of this artwork belies its radicality. It was shot in one long, uninterrupted take. It is an austere film: Dujourie does not indulge in virtuoso camera angles or movements. The work’s power stems from the calculated position of the video camera and, above all, how Dujourie handles the device as artist/model/spectator. The work conveys her fascination with imminence. Character development is almost non-existent. Time slips by while nothing essential changes. I am captivated by the video’s elegance and how the artist evokes such a rich range of emotions using just her body, a room and a static video camera. Her appearance is unaffected: we witness a self-aware body in a calm and balanced state. This is a non-performative body, one that is not pressurized to produce or consume. It is an idle body, perhaps a bored one, but it is inherently active and unruly, sensual and above all autonomous. ‘Passion de l’été pour l’hiver’ hints at a longing for the unattainable. We are drawn to the latter: there are no insurmountable obstacles in love stories. The body might seem passive, but the title suggests passionate desire. Outward appearances betray no hint of the inner storm.

You are listening to the wall text of the exhibition DOKA.

The art objects of M are safely stored in the dark depot, where a constant temperature is maintained. Only for an exhibition are they brought out, placed on display and illuminated. Photographer and guest curator Geert Goiris saw a parallel with the darkroom or doka, the magical place where analogue photos come to life. In this presentation, he aims to let carefully selected works from M’s contemporary art collection emerge from the darkness.

The development of an analogue black-and-white print – whereby only red light is allowed – takes roughly seven minutes. After that, the white light can be turned on to view the print. One by one, the exhibition halls are bathed in red light, evoking the experience of the darkroom. Each room in the exhibition is lit solely by red lamps for seven minutes. The monochromatic lighting alters our experience of the works: colours fade away, and contrast seems to increase. Shadows become deeper, details merge into the overall picture. During the red phase, we perceive the artworks in an unexpected way. At the same time, this intervention suggests that each image carries another.

The common thread throughout the exhibition is a quote from poet Mary Oliver: ‘Attention is the beginning of devotion’. Our era is characterised by high pace, distraction, and looking without truly seeing. The spaces where we spend a significant portion of our time are often shaped by entrenched habits and routines. The artworks in the exhibition disrupt our assumptions and expectations – sometimes subtly, sometimes explicitly. They invite us to take an unprejudiced look at the familiar and focus on the pleasure but also the necessity of attentive observation.

Form First | Messieurs Delmotte

This elongated space is the first gallery in the Moved exhibition. The exhibition is divided into three chapters: procession, pilgrimage and private devotion. In this gallery the focus is on private devotion.

In front of you is a recumbent Christ from an entombment. The sculpture is presented on a plinth built into a niche in the wall. Six figures form a semi-circle around the body of Christ. The group consists of two men and four holy women looking on with downcast expression. They all have their head inclined and their eyes turned towards Christ, who is lying majestically on the ground. Though Christ himself is only wearing a loincloth, the six figures around him are all colourfully dressed.

The ladies are wearing head coverings, and two of them are holding a jar of ointment. The most prominent of the women is Mary, who is looking at her son with great sadness. She has her hands together in an attitude of prayer.

On either side of Christ are two male figures. Originally their arms could be moved up and down by means of a wooden hinge mechanism, enabling believers to use this group sculpture to stage and act out the entombment of Christ in a very expressive manner.

Dated around the first quarter of the sixteenth century, the sculpture was originally in the Holy Cross Chapel in St James’ Church in Leuven. Like here in the exhibition, the figures were placed in a niche to represent Christ’s tomb in Jerusalem. Though the work was located in a public space, it nevertheless testifies to the very personal and emotive way in which the faithful engaged with religious art. To identify as closely as possible with his suffering, the figure of Christ was, for example, laid lovingly on an embroidered cushion or a brass crown placed on his head. This way people could express private devotion even in a church.

Hanging in front of you at eye level is the painting ‘Grain Market in Fez’. It measures 50 cm high and 66 cm wide. It was painted by Jules van Biesbroeck, probably some time between 1925 and 1965.

Squatting in the foreground on the right of the painting is a grain seller enveloped in a white robe, which leaves only his eyes and nose free. Biding his time, he gazes at us with a sleepy and slightly bored expression, as if he was the spectator. This immediately sets the scene. His pose conveys the impression of the slow passage of time. The two brown cushions lying next to him reinforce that impression.

The scene takes place in Fez, one of the largest cities in Morocco where the artist lived for a while. In 1925 he visited Algeria for the first time and in 1935 he went from there to Morocco. After his stay in North Africa, he became best known as a painter of oriental scenes. The southern colours and sun-drenched atmosphere found in this painting are typical of his work. Here sand colours reminiscent of a desert landscape fill the picture and once again underline the sense of stagnation.

The background of the painting shows the activity normally associated with a market. Similarly dressed market vendors have gathered there under a sort of tent. To the left of that three men load a donkey, presumably with sacks of grain. The figures look rather static; even the donkey seems to be standing stock-still. Though people are out and about, the scene nevertheless conveys a sense of inertia and stillness.

This oak sculpture is two metres high, the height of a doorpost. That is above-average size for a medieval sculpture, but that has to do with the story encapsulated here in a single frozen moment.

This colossus depicted full-size is wearing a short, red tunic with a blue cloak draped over it. He has wrapped the cloak over his right arm to prevent it getting wet, for – as legend has it - the giant is standing in water. The artist had the man’s left foot disappear into the block of wood to convey the illusion that he is wading through water. The giant has to make an effort to remain upright and so is holding his staff firmly with two hands. His right hand, level with his face, is gripping the staff and he uses his other hand to plant it firmly in the river bed. His body forms an S-curve as he divides his weight, enabling him to put force on his left leg.

The reason for all this exertion is sitting on the man’s shoulders. He is carrying a child with chubby cheeks and curly hair, dressed in a white tunic. The child seems to have no difficulty keeping his balance: from his navel upwards he towers above the head of his bearer. The infant had asked the giant to help him across the river. With each step the giant took, the child felt heavier and heavier and the water reached higher and higher. Once at the shore, Jesus Christ made himself known: the giant had not only carried him but also all the sins of the world. Christ looks straight ahead, makes a sign of benediction with his right hand and in so doing anticipates the heavy burden on his own shoulders.

The legend of this ‘Christ bearer’, better known as Saint Christopher, is not in the Bible, but was nevertheless very popular in the Middle Ages. It gave rise to the practice of placing enormous sculptures of Saint Christopher next to the doors of churches and city gates. His presence provided protection on journeys, which were a dangerous undertaking in the Middle Ages. He is still the patron saint of travellers and pilgrims to this day.