Heidrun Hubenthal-Paradise Open on Sundays

Heidrun Hubenthal

Introductory words for the opening of the exhibition by Jorge da Cruz – 2012, Buchoase, Kassel

“Paradise Open on Sundays or Enclosure Destined to Have a Prosperous Life”

“Paradise is open on Sundays” is the title of a text by Ivo do Carmo, a Portuguese philosopher, writer, and friend of Jorge, which will be published as a book in Portugal later this year.

The two friends often spoke about the text, and Ivo describes this dialogue as follows:

“We spoke often about all this, Jorge and I. I searched for words. He captured images. Later we realized that in his images my words were preserved, and that my texts carried his images within them. In this interplay of mutual insights, I saw how paradise changed on his artistic construction site. I watched Jorge on this site measuring, sawing, painting, destroying, experimenting, and creating paradise. Through his work, exhibited here, I was able to better understand my own work—and to believe in it. Thank you.”

Jorge engaged in his works with the first two chapters of Ivo do Carmo’s text.

Excerpt from the text by Ivo do Carmo

“A society that is based on the idea that work represents the path to salvation also needs a plausible framework of meaning for paradise. Where heaven and heavenly imagery once belonged to eschatological semantics, these paradigms today are powerless against the redeeming power of leisure and tourism. They now imitate heavenly promises on earth.

The tourism industry has appropriated melodious words such as ‘heaven,’ ‘paradise,’ ‘dream,’ or ‘bliss,’ promising seductive offers to anyone who possesses enough free time.

Whether tropical beaches or mountains, hotel rooms or eco-bungalows, cruises or desert crossings, nature parks or casinos—these travel brochures all appeal to the desires of the soul. And in the reflection of these kaleidoscopic images of sensuality and happiness, the soul finds itself separated from its illusion only by a ticket or a postcard.

The analogy between tourism and paradise goes far beyond allegorical affinities. The word paradise comes from the Persian/Avestan pairi.daēza and means ‘enclosed space.’ Let us imagine a magnificent wall surrounding a lush garden where graceful animals wander through exotic vegetation. We see fountains and lakes, small statues and carefully trimmed plants, and in the midst of all this flourishing, princes and ambassadors stroll or hunt—together with impressive soldiers and illustrious travelers enjoying their leisure time.

Such influential visions of paradise do not differ all that much from today’s tourist resorts. The ideals of exclusivity, well-being, and distinction are privileges of heaven on earth—adjusted to the desires of the taxpayer’s soul.

For all these reasons, the tourist represents a privileged class: he is mobile, he enjoys the sensual pleasures of life, and he recognizes himself as the central figure in a happy narrative.”

Jorge da Cruz’s images stand in dialogue with this text—and the text itself is a response to the images.

The exhibition has three parts

1. Paradise is Here

The parrot as the last bird of paradise in relation to the Last Supper—Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper.

The baby images with Buddha and wings under the title: A Friend Told Me the Smile Is Gaza.

The babies of Palestine who died and became angels.

The return of the parrot in the mirror of the master—paintings concerned with the world of the living and the world beyond.

2. Print on Old Documents: I Loved My Life There

A response from life in a socialist apartment block.

3. Paradise is Open on Sundays

The photographs Sunset in Jaffa, Sunrise in Tel Aviv, and The Jump into the Water already show the deceptive images of the tourist gaze.

Görlitzer Park as a bounded paradise.

The signs of demolished houses in Palestine on the wall—enclosure and exclusion of the present and the past.

Like on a carousel, we move in circles in our pursuit of paradise. To capture paradise we travel with cameras and follow icons—even if it is Ground Zero. We write postcards, have them stamped, and tell our loved ones that we wish they were here as well.

We travel like warriors and fighters, following brands and attractions. We relax in paradise and move in a triangle—as tourists who follow the sign and absorb the attraction:

“Enjoy dream temperatures of 26 degrees all year round. Discover a piece of the tropics on 66,000 square meters with the largest indoor rainforest in the world, Europe’s largest tropical sauna landscape, the South Sea with 200 meters of sandy beach—and many other superlatives.”

Paradise is the place where the dream of a perfect island in Europe has come true.

Further thoughts on the theme of paradise

Free time, leisure, is protected—whether in the Nazi leisure resort Kraft durch Freude in the seaside complex of Prora, or in the walled garden that has an inside and an outside, making us wonder: which side is the better one to live on?

Like Adam and Eve, who in the transparent drawings are cast out of paradise for not following the rules.

And our postmodern promises of paradise—in shopping malls or in countries where we are welcomed as tourists (as bringers of money), yet immediately taken into police custody when expressing opinions.

Our recommended equipment: a towel, a bathrobe, sunglasses, sunscreen, courage, a ball, non-flammable toys, diving goggles, a plastic camera, several small bags—preferably instead of one large suitcase.

All this to realize the dream: a tropical island in the heart of Europe—60 km from Berlin.

Included: a predetermined flourishing life. The tourism industry promises a beautiful weekend in beautiful nature at the edge of the city—inside or outside, pleasure or punishment.

Hainan Airlines advertises with exotic flowers and the parrot. The artist says:

“Please show me a photograph. Please tell me a lie. Please let me go.”

The Russian paradise is also shown—with a park plan and new buildings. In the Christian paradise, Adam and Eve appear in the bunker—and at the same time lying in deck chairs under the sun—enclosed or expelled, wearing thick jackets against the cold or in unprotected nakedness.

“And in Berlin this house appears like a large boat, a cruise ship full of strangers who are more like pirates in a country where everything works, where time has stopped, and the only movement is to move from boat to boat. A country where love is absent, where the smile has no teeth and adventure has been lost in the corridors of subway line U1.”

Here, too, people are searching for paradise. We are all both enclosed and excluded at the same time.

— Heidrun Hubenthal