All language subtitles for [1996] Obrazy na wystawie

Pictures at an Exhibition.

A film by Ulrich Seidl.

'Tis I, The serial-killer,

Feverishly beautiful,
Loving you to death.

The soul catcher,
Painfully merciful,

How good I do exist.

'Tis I, the dreamer who wears
blindingly white bone runes.

'Tis I. 'Tis I.

The heartbreaker who beats
the drum of fate torturously sharp.

'Tis I, the clam seeker who
breaches the dawn tenderly gentle.

'Tis I, the miracle doctor. But...

I don't heal my own
miracle-causing wounds.

'Tis I, the shadow hunter.

My bittersweet smile
causes cries.

'Tis I, the bootlicker.

The lust, poet's child of the night.

'Tis I. 'Tis I.

When I look at this picture,
I first think of the lifecycle.

Why? Well, I see a small path
here that vanishes in the fog.

That's a situation we
all know from our lives.

We never know what's
happening tomorrow.

And of course, life is full of surprises.

They are symbolized by those
stalagmite-like shapes.

They represent obstacles
that we have to avoid.

By all means, in this picture we see
the uncertainty in the morning.

It ain't that, either.

Switch on your jukebox, throw in a coin
and join in with Luis Premer.

My name is Ren� Rupnik
and I'm about 50 years old.

I now live with my mother.
I used to be a long-time

teacher of physics,
math, and chemistry.

Since teaching really
bothered me, I retired.

Now, I am studying sciences
and particularly the arts.

This is the plenty of the colour 'red',

Red with all its
expression and power.

At the top left,
a little explosion.

And this gash;
it's like a bolt of lightning.

Concerning courtesy,
I agree with you.

But to me, Staudacher is so
interesting because of another reason.

Here, he works, you can almost say,
epistemically, maybe without even knowing.

The writing, the letters and the symbols
are here related with the outlined reality.

And that's our lives' contradiction.

On the one hand,
linguistic and theoretical.

And on the other hand,
opposed to reality.

I can see it in all of his works
and it stimulates me, epistemically.

In the center of the
picture, there's a church.

To its left, there's a bird.

- I don't see any bird.
- I do.

And there's no church at all.

Points and lines.
I don't see anything.

It's an awful picture.

And on the top,
there might also be a bird.

The painter was crazy.

That's no art.

I don't see anything else.

She just doesn't understand it.

It's just an awful picture!

If they only had these kind of
pictures in exhibitions,

I'd stop being a connoisseur of the arts!

It doesn't have anything
to do with art.

Yellow.

Blue.

Brown.

Red isn't in the picture.

Gray.

In the turmoil of the sensual world,
the abundace of industrial society,

We pay tribute to
Master Mondrian.

This picture shows
an erect penis of a man

that sticks out from his body
in the direction of the shot.

I instantly have to think of the
comparison between a penis and a cannon.

Particularly the cannons in the
18th century, which were very penis-like.

The testicles are equivalent
to the cannon wheels.

The penis shaft to
the cannon barrel.

And the glans is a little bit
thicker just like the muzzle.

This similarity is very meaningful.

It influences man's way of
thinking and feeling.

Sigmund Freud realized that
sexuality and genitalia affect the humans.

The similarity between a penis and
a cannon makes the man a warrior.

The man also "shoots"
with his penis actively.

His martial ways also
merge into his other life.

Thus, his whole life
is influenced by his penis.

At the top right, that's a
monkey, not a bird like I'd thought.

That's neither a bird nor a monkey.
Where are the hands, feet and the head?.

- It's upside down.
- Oh, I see.

I think you see it
upside down.

I have absolutely no interest
in this picture. It's a disaster.

If you make something like that,
you take the mainstream for fools.

You can't even look at it, but
have to pay admission for it.

In the center, it's quite
warm because of the brown.

Because of the generous brush
strokes and the thin color,

warmth pervades the whole city.

And red and yellow,
very ardent colors,

they surround the whole city
and make it dynamic.

This picture is called
"Soul Control."

In the center, I can see the human
being who is in contact with his surroundings.

They are symbolized by
differently-colored areas.

Depending on their intensity, they symbolize
communication, bonds, and emotions.

For some pictures you
don't need a title.

Without a title, you know
what a nude picture shows.

If I see a square,
I don't need a title either,

because geometry and regular
shapes are left to my imagination.

I'm free to adapt
and use my imagination.

I can let my geometrical
worldview take effect.

The green looks nice, but you
can't perceive anything.

On the left, you might see a head
with a long neck and long hair.

But what he is trying
to say with the swastika flags...

Maybe he lives in the past,
tainted by the Nazis,

or still glorifies the
Nazi ideology.

Or maybe he has suffered a lot
so that he can't forget that time.

In any case, he can't be in his
right mind making such things.

This accumulation of penises
in the left image center

looks down threateningly
on the vaginal composition

and penetrates it.

The picture is about domination,
a man's invasion into the woman.

The dominance of the father
in the family.

The child, to the right of it
in the shape of an embryo, is isolated.

It watches the father besieging and
overwhelming the mother sexually.

It might develop
an Oedipus complex

watching its father penetrating
and advancing on its mother.

I see a colorful figure. The
yellow thing with the blue eyes.

It reminds me of Africa,
of the Maasai.

Big people. They also have
big eyes and jump high.

Africa... I'd love to visit there.

It's a colorful world. The people
are always happy, even without food.

There's a lot of
suffering and war.

There's war in every country.
I don't understand it.

If I could do something, I'd create
peace and abolish starvation.

If I'm standing in front of
this picture "Heroes' Square,"

I ask, where's the hero, where's the
square, where's the heroes' square?

What connections should I
make to reach some conclusion?

The way I'd look at this picture would
differ greatly as if there was no title.

If this picture didn't
have a title, I'd be lost.

This work doesn't have a title.

However, I still desire
to find a title for it.

I'd say it's about the
abuse of science.

Sciences are represented
by clear and straight lines.

They are in order.

Communication is only possible
because of this abuse.

An abuse of thinking.

As this work is
made on a curtain,

you will find secrets yet to be
discovered by the sciences behind it.

The red color is
too loud for me.

The left thing on the top
looks like two thighs...

- You mean it should be darker.
- No, lighter.

The dark color bothers me.

And on the top left,
it looks like human thighs.

With a little bit of
imagination, yes.

And on the left, a caterpillar's
face. Interesting, isn't it?

Yes, it has two eyes and a nose.

If you look closely, it has
a human face because of that.

But to tell the truth,
I wouldn't buy it.

It's horrible, isn't it? It's way
too modern for our home.

Fear stands for man or
man stands for fear, or what?

You said it yourself. The whole
picture stands for woman.

I don't say that fear is man. I say that
the genders are scary to each other.

- You mean fear of relationships?
- Yes, relationships and also...

We want to live
together, but we can't.

Just look at society.
It's true.

And in my opinion,
he expressed that very well.

It's a knock-down picture.
All the red is depressing.

If you had it at home and saw that
red all the time, you'd kill yourself.

You'd need a big home
for this picture.

But even if it were small, it's about man's suppression,
woman suppressing man.

Maybe you're having
problems with women.

Certainly not.

You can see here why you
shouldn't start a relationship.

- You see that in the picture?
- I see that for sure.

If it's still full of secrets,
it's worth something.

The man has to work and the
wife just stays at home.

The man has to give
her money.

The man can't make decisions because
his wife always tells him what to do.

While you were talking,
I looked closer at the picture.

This black and red thing below
these open thighs might be a penis.

The black expresses fear.

And the red expresses life.

And where does this red come
from? From the woman's thighs.

Pure oppression.

- Women are life.
- And men aren't?

- Men are also life.
- Oh, I see, also.

So you think women
are the major part of life.

So you have the right
to oppress men.

And the mother's breasts on the right.
This whitish, maternal, this milky...

The reason why women are so soft,
their breasts and thighs in particular,

is because the infant has
the same soft and sensitive flesh.

He feels good
in this environment.

In contrast to the hostile
world outside. There's heat.

And the wind is blowing. Sometimes,
it's too cold, too hot, or too dry.

This attacks the infant's skin
who suffers from that.

I still remember my childhood
when I had to wear long trousers.

I was physically exhausted.
My skin was itching.

I just wanted to rip it off, be
naked and crawl into a vagina

only as a penis
to flee from our

cultural, chemical, hostile
world which only attacks you.

I want to have an understanding
boyfriend that I don't meet with every day.

That would be horrible. I could never
marry and see the same person everyday.

Wake up, go to sleep.
That would be boring.

You get to know
each other too well.

It should be something
new day by day.

It's okay to meet
two or three times a week.

Maybe it's not an advantage
not knowing that person that well.

If you don't know the person too
well, there will always be surprises.

Negative, but also positive ones.

People change.
Maybe too fast.

I just changed a lot recently.

Sometimes, I don't even know
what I want.

He is surrounded by women
who want to suppress him.

That's the reason
for all the red.

The man is always abused.
Just like in a marriage.

That's what's shown here.

I don't know about marriage.

Why? Don't you
denigrate your husband.

We want to talk about
the picture, don't we?

Yes, but that's pure oppression.
The big things are always women.

And the small thing
in the middle is the man.

This black figure is genderless.
It's neither man nor woman.

It's the general fear

that we don't dare to
live up to our emotions.

Or that we are lascivious
but don't live up to it.

Lust, that was your
first statement.

I think about it
when I look at the picture.

So you are having
pornographic thoughts about it?

No, I don't. I just think that this
is what the artist is trying to show.

It's life's perpetual topic.

But you perceive
everything big as a woman.

And everything little as a man.

No, the cigar is big and
could stand for a penis.

There we have it!
You're seeing sex again.

There is a process as
eater and shitter,

the two final stages of the
digestive tract, a development.

That's life. And he is literally
projecting a biological act of ours

so that we're challenged
to think about what we do,

about what's going on inside
us and inside our heads.

It's kind of a mirror
he's holding up to us.

By God, one cannot
be happy with that picture.

You can't hang it up in a
room. Maybe in a vestibule.

Maybe in a big hall
because the picture is huge.

But you'd only walk past it and
wouldn't pay attention to it.

But by God, you couldn't say
you'd draw delight from this picture.

Red on Gray. 1962.
By Markus Prachensky.

A fight, a blow,
its power.

With two brushes.

The mortal combat of two
samurai, in one person.

Am I not right?

As a child, you always
laugh. You are never sad.

You don't know anything evil.
That's why you go to a circus.

My father always bought
me big, colorful balloons.

I ran out proudly. It usually
burst before I got home.

There wasn't
much point in it.

I also liked cotton candy.
Sweets, I love sweets.

You only get fat.

I will never want to be as
fat as these women. So bulky.

One will realize instantly that women
are sexuallly masochistic beings.

So women become happy
when they are beaten.

Not hard, but only
a slap on the butt.

They develop certain
masochistic desires

that are similar to
the sexual act

because she is also
"stung" and treated harshly.

At the same time, she senses
pleasure even though she's in pain.

She puts it away
and turns it into lust.

My marriage wasn't torture.

And if it was, it would be my
problem because I can abandon it.

- I'm free.
- Yes.

So you were divorced and tortured.
You shouldn't have got a divorce.

- Yes, sure.
- It's also a sort of torture.

A lot of things are torture. It can be
psychological, physical, or mental.

Maybe I tortured myself because I had
expectations that my partner couldn't meet.

- But that's also torture.
- Then I torture myself and

blame everything on you.
But that's not true.

I torture myself because I stayed
in that relationship too long.

That's a picture for the future,
for the next 100 or 200 years.

That's what the artist thinks
the world will look like.

Here, the human body is
enchained, tied to the ear.

They hear but can't process
the data like we do now.

Every dream has its end.

Every shadow follows the light.

Every day dwindles.

Only our love doesn't.

Because it came like a fairytale
and entered our hearts.

It seems like a miracle
that will never cease.

Every path, every street
leads to some destination

Every river runs toward the sea
and ends there.

But the love you give
is better than a dream

Because it lives until
the end of time and space.

Of time and space.

Living dead.

And everything that is related
to it. Love, joy, grief, pain, lust.

Why do you say "lust" at the end?
Actually, everything starts with it.

Youth, sex, debauchery.
That's how it should be.

Everybody enjoys life. It irritates
me that you mention sex at the end.

- You shouldn't...
- I just took what you said...

Women's thighs, pure sex,
excesses. Generally, that's life.

Pure sex is life?
I'd rather say love is life.

And love doesn't have
anything to do with sex.

Everything has...
Sex is life.

But without sex?
What good is money without sex?

In this picture,
love isn't expressed.

But you can clearly see
the female torso.

You can see
their hands touching.

But you can't see them ascending to
heaven, like the priests always say.

It isn't shown.

His intention with this picture
was something different.

It should make you think.

He can't always express
things the way he wants.

It's his version.
He did a good job.

The picture turned out well.

It's well-proportioned.

It is fair to say that
this is an act of love.

To the right, of course,
he shows in a typical way what life is about,

It's fleetingness.
What point is there to life?

- Nothing anymore.
- You can say about life:

All things must pass.

You might even say
that one expects death.

When I see a skeleton,
pictured or real,

well, I often pass a bookshop
selling books on medicine.

They have a skeleton for sale.

If I look at that I feel nervous
for the next half hour.

I try to pass that shop without looking at it.

We should face death calmly,
but I wouldn't want to feel liberated,

I don't want to be liberated from life.
Personally, I love life.

If one is reasonably healthy
one should be satisfied.

There are so many ways and means of living
that I don't want to be free of life.

To me, life doesn't represent a prison
that I want to be liberated from.

Life is fantastic.
It comes to an end at some point,

but that doesn't make it less beautiful.

At the centre, death lurks
heralding its own arrival.

It's rather depressing.
We'd better look at the other side.

There we have women of a nubile age.

Of course, one studies women of all ages,
though more attention is given to the young ones.

This lady, above all her pelvis,
it's lascivious,

It's strong, I'd like to touch it.

Also her upper and lower thighs
with those feminine shoes,

putting an emphasis on
everything feminine,

they represent the lasciviousness
of an older woman.

Older women are more lascivious
and try to make themselves interesting

to the world by using
accessories like those shoes.

This woman is a wonderful counterpart
to the man discussed earlier on.

You get loads of women like that
and she reminds me of an older mother

whose broad thighs and broad pelvis

represent a hole you want to creep into.

That is something I theoretically
do in my mind all the time

when studying women at a swimming-pool,
but of course just theoretically and in my mind.

You say love and sex are the same?

That's impossible because the
sort of love a mother feels for a child...

You could feel love in a natural environment,
sitting alone in a meadow,

watching a sunset, you may suddenly
feel a wonderful emotion called love.

- But that's got nothing to do with sex.
- But we are talking of physical love.

You perhaps. I'm not.

You'd like to live with a partner
who tells you about bumblebees,

takes you to a meadow
and there you'd have an orgasm?

- I don't know. Maybe I'd have an orgasm.
-Really?

- Anyway... you're talking such nonsense!
- We're talking about sex.

No, I'm not talking about sex.
You talk about sex.

You look at the picture
and talk about sex.

You see a woman's open thighs.
She gives herself to a man and you talk of meadows?

Well, perhaps it's got something to do
with procreation, with breeding and revival...

Death... Last year my cat died...

My mother told me several times :

"Look, I feel so rotten today.
Maybe when you come home you'll find me dead."

If you listen to that time and again,
you wish to push such thoughts aside.

You don't want to think about death,
you flee from your flat so as not to see it,

so as not to be close to it.

Then I go to the Lobau
to look at young girls, virgins even,

just young life, so as not to be reminded of death
and to avoid a nervous breakdown.

This is ridiculous.
I'd like to know what you read of all this?

And the scissors must not be in the living-room.

I cannot receive anyone today,
I can't do anything today.

The flat was so nicely furnished.

Your father tried so hard in everything.

And now you ruin it all.

Your father would never have done that,
never, never.

He took the greatest care of this flat,

he loved this flat more than anything
and you misbehave in this fashion.

We are not ignorant in matters of art.

On the contrary,
we think a lot of art - if art it is.

We have very good things that often delight us.

This is made of straw,
done by a farmer's own hand.

A very good oil-painting,
dating from the late 18th century.

It shows two swans in a river forest.

Two wonderful plates on the wall,
the upper one dating from 1949 or 1950,

depicting the fortress of Jerusalem.

The lower one shows a Biedermeier couple,
a hunter and his bride.

Here, rather a naive painting, oil too,

excellent work showing
some place in the Alps.

Here we have nice things as well.

A typically rural picture,

something one could still call genuine art,
made of straw.

It shows things typical of country life:

food, fruit, vegetables, bread, drink.

A beautiful Alpine village in the Dolomites,

characterised by this fence.

The fence says a lot about its location.

This is a wonderful, old bedroom painting.

It's brilliant and dates
from the turn of the century.

It's still up to date and can be
considered a real work of art.

It gives us much joy.

This is a farm,
probably in the Salzburg mountains,

excellent work, fine painting, signed.

This is a wonderful picture,
it's an embroidery, finely stitched.

It depicts a Dutch landscape in winter.

All one can say is that,
if you look at it for a longer time,

especially during the summer,
it warms your heart.

Such pictures really give you much joy.

The end of love.

Black is my color because you
are dead a thousand times.

Desire, my deepest scar.
The requiem, a red sky.

I don't come to you
out of hatred, love or grief.

I come because you are in me.
Distance of desire without a wall.

I won't reach you
just as no one shall reach the horizon.

But I will never go off my route
until your dream picture fades away.

At some point I will die
on my long jouney to you.

Your longing I will court
Before freezing on this path of love.