Corpus

Sixty square black-and-white photographs in five rows of twelve, fragments of one man's body: shoulders, a face, hands, feet, a navel — *Corpus*, 2009 — sixty prints, 180 × 420 cm. Courtesy of the artist

Year: 2009
Medium: Inkjet prints, black and white; video, colour, sound
Dimensions: Sixty prints, 32 × 32 cm each — 180 × 420 cm in five rows of twelve
Running time: 18 min 45 s
Transfer: 2026, square
Camera: Hasselblad
Collection: Ursula Blickle Videoarchiv, Belvedere, Vienna

Corpus, 2009 — 2026 transfer

The sixty prints pinned edge to edge in five rows of twelve on a white wall above a parquet floor — *Corpus*, 2009 — installation view. Courtesy of the artist

A video camera looks down into the viewfinder of a Hasselblad, at a ground glass the size of the negative, on which my body appears upright and reversed left to right. Each time I press the release, the mirror lifts, the negative is exposed, and the ground glass goes blank. Video records everything that happens between two photos being taken. Everything, that is, except the sixty photographs themselves (five rolls of twelve frames), each made in the one instant the video cannot see.

Rodolphe Gasché calls the silvering at the back of a mirror its tain: the lustreless surface without which there would be no reflection, and which never appears in one. The photographs of Corpus are made behind the mirror, and literally so: the mirror lifts, the light falls on the film as what Daniel Rubinstein calls the latent image (touched, not yet seen), and the one witness that sees everything else goes blind. Photography and video touch only where neither can see.

The line of a jaw and throat, the head turned away, a beard along the edge — *Corpus*, 2009 — detail. Courtesy of the artist

Through the viewfinder: the jaw and throat on the ground glass in red light, the focusing circle at the neck — *Corpus*, 2009 — video still. Courtesy of the artist

On the wall opposite the video hang the sixty prints, in five rows of twelve, one row for each roll of film. I can see a body represented. This represented body expands - it is Jean-Luc Nancy’s expansion - and it stretches from one image - not imago but look or glance - to another in order to shape a body not yet existent. Not always. Sometimes a touching - Nancy’s touching - replaces this expansion. A knee touches a waist, a head caresses a foot. The images sometimes fail to produce the whole bodies, but only parts - partes extra partes. In one moment I can see a sensual touch. In another disgust of the body parts thrown together in the mass grave. The disgust of myself and the disgust of others. And what about the hand stretching towards me, the observer? Does it want to touch me or to draw me in? Haven’t I already entered? Am I not already touched? Wait. Isn’t it my hand stretching out? Why is it pin sharp and the cock blurred? Still it is one body. One body, that moves and in this movement changes. Aging.

A hand resting against a knee, the fingers spread, in raking light — *Corpus*, 2009 — detail. Courtesy of the artist

Through the viewfinder: the same hand on the ground glass, reversed left to right, beside the focusing circle — *Corpus*, 2009 — video still. Courtesy of the artist

Nothing on that wall may change its place; the rolls fix the order, frame by frame. When Derrida says, that “the permutation or transformation of elements is prohibited in the center”, where is this center here? Isn’t it fluid, doesn’t it move with every glance, isn’t it banned from multiple heads and waists, where it could seize its place all-too gladly? Images represent a body, and build a corpus with a fluid center. How does the center flow, if we cannot see it flowing, and yet with every new glance it’s somewhere else? Doesn’t it flow through the liquids, that hide behind the skin? The skin of body parts and - again Nancy’s and Ferrari’s - skin of images.

A belly with the navel at the centre and hair spreading below it — *Corpus*, 2009 — detail. Courtesy of the artist

Through the viewfinder: the navel on the ground glass in amber light, the focusing circle over it — *Corpus*, 2009 — video still. Courtesy of the artist

The project leans on the two concepts found in Jean-Luc Nancy's Corpus and in his philosophy in general: touching and expansion. Photography and video touch in time; in space they expand into each other. The rigid posture of a single photograph expands into the fluid movement in the video, while low resolution, burned out video image expands into comparatively large, well exposed negative.

A mouth and a bearded chin above the collarbone and the chest — *Corpus*, 2009 — detail. Courtesy of the artist

Through the viewfinder: the mouth, chin and chest on the ground glass, lit warm — *Corpus*, 2009 — video still. Courtesy of the artist

It is looking at me and absorbs me.

A face in deep shadow, only the mouth and the line of the jaw in light — *Corpus*, 2009 — detail. Courtesy of the artist

Through the viewfinder: the face half in shadow on the ground glass, the focusing circle below the eye — *Corpus*, 2009 — video still. Courtesy of the artist