Paternoster

The paternoster is on the way out. This elegant system of circulating, open cabins is being replaced by electronically controlled lifts; mainly because paternosters are no longer considered safe. Terrible accidents are a definite possibility. And yet, it is the lift that has become the favoured setting for a large number of horror films. Talking of films: a paternoster is like a movie in its own right, each cabin corresponding to a frame of the film.

This motion picture quality seems to have been the main reason behind Munich artists Johannes Brunner and Raimund Ritz' decision to use a paternoster as the venue for an art exhibition. They found a particularly attractive specimen in an old high-rise brick building belonging to the Munich municipal authorities. Although one can be sceptical about particularly unusual exhibition venues, the fascination of this place was irresistible.

The paternoster here has over 20 cabins. The majority of the people invited by Brunner and Ritz to design something for the open wooden cuboids were young artists from Munich. The remainder were, on the whole, more prominent artists from other German cities. There were also various non-artists, such as a taxi driver who was at last able to realise his dream by using a cabin to give a party for his favourite passengers on the day of the opening. In fact there were several presentations conceived exclusively for the opening: a naked Buto dancer (Yvonne Pouget); a musician (N. Richter de Vroe), who played with a bow on a single string stretched across the space; and Alex Murray-Leslie's portable art object: a model wearing a skirt whose extraordinary shimmer was created by the very vivid colour of the inside of the garment. (You were supposed to look underneath to appreciate the effect.)

The particular quality of this exhibition lay in the various positions from which it could be viewed: as a passenger in the cabin or as an observer on a particular floor. This often led to interesting confrontations: for instance, when travelling and standing visitors came face to face, thus involuntarily questioning the relationship of exhibit and viewer.

If visitors were standing on terra firma, in a corridor in the building, for example, they could watch the various cabin installations pass by: a corner bench with appropriately rustic wall covering by Martin Schmidt, which changed the space into a cosy farmhouse room; or Daniel Knorr's so-called 'pendulum' which was lying on the ground 'waiting for the cultural revolution', because it would not be able to work until top and bottom changed places, the artist explained. There was also a strange mobile made of mincemeat animals, constructed jointly by Hamburg artist Claudia Pegel and the singer from the German pop band Goldene Zitronen. But the mini-installations also included some over-simple theatrical stagings, like a hard hat lying on the cabin floor in a pool of ketchup blood ­ a composition by Pina and Via Lewandowsky. But visitors could also get into the paternoster ­ with a companion if they chose Theda Radtke's cabin. There they met one of several attendants who usually supervised the rooms of a Munich art gallery. The artist called these shift-workers 'loans'. If you wanted to travel alone, you could choose Nevin Aladag's intervention. She had fastened a helmet to a cable hanging from the ceiling: visitors who put it on, standing in the dark and unable to see, could simply switch off. In Brigitte Schwacke's cabin, Komm mit (Come with Me, all works 1996), passengers were suddenly addressed by a voice using psychologically challenging words. Less confrontationally, Benjamin Heisenberg provided visitors with factual information about the building from a suitcase he had deposited in another cabin. Passengers needed a little more time for Simone Boehm's work. Her Stowaway, a relief image of a young girl, only developed its full effect after a long period in darkness. At the points when the paternoster changed direction in the cellar or the top floor, the relief, which was made of fluorescent plasticine, started to glow with the effect of a photographic projection, or better ­ like a ghost. Ultimately, 'Paternoster' proved that a lift as an art venue, or as a film location, can provide fun and horror at the same time.