press release

In recent years there seems to be a trend for a number of contemporary artists to engage with images, ideas and concepts of twentieth century Modernism. The canon of modernist aesthetics and approaches has once again bubbled to the surface as these artists engage with a range of historical sources ranging from Constructivism and Bauhaus to modernist architectural and design movements. Major institutions and commercial spaces have presented works by a younger generation of artists that directly reference or engage in the heritage of Modernism. And once again, perhaps ironically given some of the discourses constructed by women artists working in this area, it has primarily been the male Young Turks who have gained recognition and acclaim. “Frauhaus” seeks to provide a certain balance by reviewing the work of a number of women artists –some of them young, others emerging or established- who have also been engaged with addressing the heritage of Modernism and its substrata in their recent practice. And, it does so from a conscious position of a “salon review” or snapshot: these artists are not isolated in engaging with the topic. The strand is increasingly visible in the work of others. For example, American artist Sue de Beer will present a new project tackling the subject in collaboration with curator Jan van Woensel later this year at MUHKA in Antwerp; Pil and Galia Kollectiv, already engaged with the aura of Modernism for years, recently presented a new work directly referencing Schlemmer and experimental rock music at The Showroom in London; Micahela Meise addresses the intersections of performance and visual aesthetics arising from European mid-century modernist movements and reconfigures them in a context after Minimalism and Conceptual Art. The presented artists are not working in a vacuum. The work in “Frauhaus” itself is varied with the individual artists often taking very different approaches or focusing on specific concerns. However, it is hardly surprising that one overarching thematic that seems to run through much of this practice is some kind of attempt to address the gender politics of Modernism in an art historical context. To reduce the practices of these individual artists to a simplistic statement of their concerns being those of gender and identity politics within a trope that reassess modernist aesthetics would unreasonable: each artist has her own additional aims and intentions in her work and the gender politics are present in greatly varying degrees. Nonetheless, these artists are acutely aware of the lack of a female aura in the Gropius villa in the coffee table books of suburbia. In some cases they appear to be demanding direct redress for the way in which art and design history has sidelined the role of women in these key twentieth century movements and yet in others -almost a contradiction- they appear to be acknowledging the fact that the narratives of twentieth century modernist production were amongst the first to allow a role for women as creators. If the stories we tell about the Bauhaus and Constructivism are a little fishy from a feminist perspective, they nonetheless are amongst the first in which women are accorded some credit.

The women graduates of the Bauhaus or theatre designers of Russian revolutionary theatre may have been assigned a number of traditional gender roles. However, it might be some indication of progress within its own historical context that -even if they are shown in marcel waves and frilly dresses besides pipe-smoking men in baggy woolen suits- they appeared in increasing numbers on the group graduation photographs of these movements. Unlike many of their preceding counterparts, they had faces and names that could speak to more recent generations of artists about their identities and work. In some cases, the work of the artists shown in “Frauhaus” appear to be engaged in a complex intellectual discussion about the role of women in these movements. In the case of others, they appear to be fairly straightforward starting points or sources of inspiration for far more personal or quirky discourses; the historical women and their work speak for themselves and require no justification.

HK119/Heidi Kilpelainen The output of Finnish-born Heidi Kilpeläinen (HK119) bridges both the art world and the music industry. In addition to working as a conceptual visual artist, she also works as a commercial recording artist in a pop music context. Her various performances, video and object works are being shown in prestigious visual arts spaces, but she is also signed to One Little Indian Records.

In effect, there are few distinctions between the separate identities that this background information implies; artist, performance artist, pop star, cabaretier…. In itself, this transgression of contemporary industry delineation is reminiscent of the idealistic “total artist” vision espoused by a number of modernist artistic circles emerging Viewed from the other side, it has not been Heidi's process to develop 'products' for each of these different sectors and audiences, but a process of creative expression that crosses over and connects with her primary concerns as an artist. It is the individual sectors that have decided that aspects of her output have a place in their markets rather than vice versa.

The performances and installations tend to highlight the references to Constructivism, Constructivist performance art -Meyerhold, Piscator and Mayakovsky- seems to jostle with Tatlin and Malevich to get to the front of the queue. These motifs are revisited in new maquette works in which the miniature constructions in wood suggest the Utopian aspirations of the modernist stage designer, blue prints for a constructed environment in which new and exciting performance forms may take place. This sense of the idealistic performance forms of the early 20th century is also present in the new video works. Shot in black and white, the work has a feel of Ziga Vertov’s early experiments with camera effects or, more clearly, Bauhaus and surrealist performance. In “Tube Head” for example, we see Heidi performing a kind of jerky dance piece on a set she has constructed, a tube covering her head, a svelte refugee from a piece by Schlemmer or Leger. Similarly, the stark black and white lines and geometric forms of her drawings and paintings directly reference the outpourings of European Modernism. In Kilpeläinen’s hands they become odd subversions with pop culture politics, sci-fi paranoia and perhaps even a whiff of Finnish folklore working their way into the imagery.

If gender is one of Kilpeläinen’s overriding concerns, perhaps it enters the work by default; her own body standing in contrast to the male performers with whom we associate the modernist European performance art tradition. Instead, we seem to be being confronted by an artist –incidentally a woman- whose gender is no longer reason enough to deny her centre place as the protagonist in her own constructions and Utopian visions.

Ursula Mayer The Austrian artist Ursula Mayer works across a range of media in which video and installation feature most prominently though her practice has also included photography and artist books. Her most recent series of film works draw on film theories arising from Italian cinema of the 1960’s and, in particular, the way in which mise en scène rather than actors’ actions can be used to build an emotive state or a narrative. Refining this notion even further, Mayer’s most recent film works have chosen iconic “object buildings” as their locations. She has worked with the same two actresses –perhaps some notion of avatars or alter egos- over a series of film works in which these famous buildings, already commodified and loaded with meaning, become something akin to narrative characters in their own right. Moving through these oddly familiar locations with all their accoutrement apparently intact – object d’art, furniture, decoration- the actions of the women or woman are neither overly dramatic, not entirely naturalistic. As the short loops repeat, the effect is one that is continually evolving, a series of stark and breathtaking images in which the relationship between these women and the litany of modernist aesthetics is constantly highlighted; the clever editing ensuring that the narrative aspect of the film becomes almost incidental as in a remembered dream or memory. If the intention is for us to question the politics of gender and modernism, then this exists in a very understated way; the lyrical and emotive qualities take the foreground.

In other works, such as a triptych of prints, the gender politics of Modernism are thrown into sharp highlight. A woman dressed in vaguely retro clothing sits on a classic modernist chair, a mask covering her face in an altered re-enactment of a famous Bauhaus photograph. Prompted by the familiar visual cues, we are forced to consider the constructs of gender in the “official version” of themselves that movements such as the Bauhaus have left for us.

Sadie Murdoch Sadie Murdoch’s long-established practice is also is based in addressing the representations of modernist architecture and design and, more specifically, the gender constructs that these representations have created. In her practice, however, the minutiae of the mechanisms as well as the grand themes come under the microscope.

In many ways, her work is not only about examining the gender politics intrinsically trapped within the artifacts and visual languages given to us by classic Modernism, but the meanings and nature of the media first elevated to an “art” status (even if only by after-the-fact art historical processes) by these movements, most notably that of photography. If Sadie Murdoch’s work is about the the elision of women from narratives about modernism, it is also about the intrinsic interrelation between photography and these processes of marginalisation. Thus, whilst the viewer may be confronted with more overt narratives of re-enactment in which we see Murdoch herself performing the role of a potentially forgotten heroine of Modernism, creating these images through actual photography –rather than some other currently available means- might be said to be the most distilled locus of her re-enactment practice. Taking the now populist notion that the medium is the message, Murdoch’s work presents a case study in which it truly is the case: we deny at our own peril engaging with her discourse without considering the role of photography in constructing the visual languages of Modernism we now read almost instinctively. Much of the work for which she is best-known emphasizes the gender discussions. This is probably in part due to the performative presence of Murdoch herself in the work and our expectations about what that means. And, of course, so it should be. The contributions of movements like the Bauhaus to the theoretical and practical understanding of photographic portraiture are immense, providing a rich heritage and seam of academic discussion that permeates practically every formal education in fine art (photography) to this day. However, photography in which the figurative or people were distinctly absent are perhaps an even greater heritage left to us by these movements. Approaching the new, shiny industrial world with unbridled vigour, Bauhaus, Constructivist and other modernist photography movements offered us abstract compositions of objects and materials that demonstrated true developments in the medium and simultaneously, consciously or unintentionally, created frozen statements of the modernist mindset of its day.

The works in which Sadie Murdoch turns her attention more specifically to these experiments and absents herself – at least in her own physical presence- perhaps offer an even clearer insight into how much her work is about the medium. In such works, the traces of the self sometimes remain tangible within the frame, strangely incongruent materials, papers and pearls, giving a suggestion of the absent woman. But, they are abstracted enough for us to see very clearly the line of discussion about the relationship strictly between the history of photography and the creation of modernist myths and visual languages on a broader scale. Certainly, whether she is physically absent or present in the image, the discussion is one in which the interrelationship between photography and women’s position in Modernism is not presented, historically, as entirely symbiotic. However, Murdoch’s work is all about the simultaneity of multiple positions and steers clear of doctrinaire statements. In a series of works in which she has turned her attention to the questionably neglected role of the designer Charlotte Perriand, a collaborator of Le Corbusier, she re-enacts famous photographs of the designer with the iconic 1928 Chaise Lounge, commonly attributed to Le Corbusier’s lofty talent, that was in part the result of Perriand and Pierre Jeanneret’s efforts. The result is something that we can simultaneously view from various positions. A faked archival photograph perhaps, but additionally neither presented nor intended as being completely passable as some apparently genuine historic object. Undeniably photography and yet undeniably contemporary, we are not simply presented with a revisionist history inserted into the common memory of Modernism but instead a contemporary object that links with the past. Like the recorded statements Perriand herself, Sadie Murdoch’s statement is not about simplistically bemoaning the fate of a woman designer to the benefit of the male architect’s legendary status. Instead, this simultaneous reading prompts us to a more reflective response on the more academic aspects of the work. On another level still, there is even something joyous about it: Murdoch’s focused reenactments can be taken as something of a wry and heartfelt expression of solidarity or identification with the women chipping away at the modernist workbench all those years ago; a private and highly staged snapshot of an alternative role-model for younger women.

Gal Kinan In the work of Israeli artist, Gal Kinan, modernism is less of the central discussion and more one of the discussions entwining with the main thrust of her work. Gal Kinan makes drawings, prints and complex kinetic sculptures, drawing on modernist aesthetics that refer as much to mid-twentieth century design movements –such as the Bauhaus or Constructivism- as to central European folk art traditions.

The coexistence of these elements moves the discussion of Modernism’s heritage into new territory: they are simultaneously a reflection of the Israeli visual culture that surrounded Kinan whilst growing up and, by extension, remind us of the political fallout and global songlines left remaining after the Nazi’s direct assumption of power of many European modernist schools. There is perhaps, a certain irony in that a visual trope that is often historically associated with ill-fated Utopian socialist agendas would realise an actual physical form in a country in which stark political conflict has remained persistently present ever since its arrival.

The key theme running through Kinan’s work, regardless of medium is the experience of the individual growing up in an extreme, militarized society and, more precisely, its impact on the interpersonal relationships of a normally intimate family nature. In Kinan’s work the autobiographical experience is explored in a frank and even brutal way. The artist presents an unsettling vision of a father-daughter relationship constantly foreshadowed by the frontier society always expecting an onslaught. In Kinan’s vision, the flesh is literally turned into a machine, at the hands of a looming, disciplinarian father entity, whether he takes on a physical form or not . The girl child becomes an automaton, fed commands via small flat screen monitors that she must act out mechanically and unquestioningly. And when the father takes on a form of his own – a great mechanical monster- the impact is even more alarming as his doll of a daughter is spun through a series of complex movements by his giant mechanical arm, its complex robotics accepting commands from a computer.

In Kinan’s world of the militarized society, the warmth and intimacy that is inevitably connected to our flesh – the tender embrace of a parent or the comforting contact of familial skin- turns to stone and metal. The sensorial way in which most of us experience our family environment is eschewed, instead, for controlled, brutal mechanical actions. And yet, the work walks a careful line and grapples with the complexities of the political context. Most of these bodies exist as distinctly male, distinctly female or a clear hybrid. There is no gender ambivalence. Whether conscious or not, this also raises questions about the visual representation of gender in many of the familiar forms that emanated from the Bauhaus. In Schlemmer’s costumes for performances – brought to mind in a number of Kinan’s sculptures and drawings- we are often presented with a strange combination of androgyny and rigid gender signification.

Kinan’s work acknowledges the gender politics of parenting and, perhaps, the political needs of a child. Male and female children may have their gender “made” by society as much as by biology, but the result is refractory: children feel their needs (whether articulated or not) in a way that is affected by a self awareness of gender identity. These needs can be met or even enforced. But they can also be denied or neglected. If the works carry a critique of patriarchal treatment of female children, there is also something of the needs of a daughter – self-knowingly female contained within a female body- unmet and abused. But Kinan does not completely isolate the post-Freudian gender politics in her work. By not removing the social context from her oeuvre; through the constant small reminders in the forms drawings of gigantic guns and fortified compounds, we are reminded of the bigger picture. The father figure looms as a monstrous entity at many times and even his moments of care are thwarted by a militaristic control. But Kinan also allows us to recognize that he, like the daughter, is the product of a particular set of social and political circumstances.

Karen Tang Karen Tang’s work, like that of Gal Kinan, takes the discussion of Modernism into new geographical territories. Primarily known as a sculptor, British Chinese artist Karen Tang makes works in which pattern and decoration –and the viewer’s expectations about them- are reconstituted in new and unexpected ways to prompt ideas about identity politics. Of course, this is addressed through her skill and discipline as a sculptor and therefore, any such discourses are also contained within forms and objects that work in sculptural terms; they are attractive and aesthetically determined objects. Tang’s previous bodies of work have taken this approach to construct a kind of deft trompe l’oeil. For example, the terribly “Chinese looking” decorative elements cut into streamlined metallic sculptures turn out to be drawn from European Baroque church decoration. However, more recent works see her engaging directly with the modernist languages of European 20th century traditions. The most recent body of work grew out of a research trip to China that saw Tang directly addressing the issue of contemporary Chinese culture for the first time. Perhaps more accurately, they confront the intersections of this modernist tradition and the socio-economic realities of China’s engagement with free market economies.

In a series of modular sculptures made out of cheap industrial materials – MDF and golden metallic paper manufactured in China’s Pearl River region- Tang presents a DIY solution that can be pulled apart and reassembled flat-pack style. Contemplating the sheer scale of the urban landscapes being knocked together in China, Tang’s bemused “Golden Reaper” stands as a kitschy portent of doom and a parody on the materialistic values driving these unprecedented developments in human geography. The gold of the paper –traditionally a symbol of eternity and transcendence in Chinese iconography in addition to it’s pure market value as a metal – is offered as something of alchemical mirror-writing: it’s very shiny, but it’s actually meant to be read as a base metal.

Although Tang’s work is very clearly about contemporary China, its form and mode speak to us of European Modernism. Directly drawing on her research trips to Constructivist houses in Moscow, there are other histories that are immediately evoked, perhaps most obviously, the much-discussed work of designers such as Grete Schütte-Lihotsky. Certainly, the traditions of modularisation that were rigorously developed by institutions like the Bauhaus to embrace new cheaper industrial materials have a direct impact on the development of current urban landscapes such as those springing up on Chinese soil. And, just like the work of Schütte-Lihotsky whose 1926 “Frankfurt Kitchen” can be viewed as a triumph of women-friendly domestic design or a home goal for patriarchal role delineation, here achievement and benefit are all relative positions.

The Chinese contemporary experience of urban development is one that we readily grasp from current media’s documentation and discussion of the process. And yet, the history of European Modernism was not so dissimilar in its own way. Perhaps we forget a little too easily that the actual realisation of Utopian urban development was strongly linked in Europe with social and economic factors driven by need rather than idealism. In social terms, we might tend to remember the apparently positive and inspirational forces more easily in our cultural narratives; we agree that it was a good thing to want to build clean, functional and affordable housing for troops returning from war or as a response to slum clearance. Yet, perhaps we neglect the level of desperation necessary before fundamentally reactionary regulatory state bodies supported the actualisation of such innovative and daring urban design on a grand scale. In marvelling at the images at the Bauhaus Archiv or visiting the remaining original modernist social housing complexes in Germany, we often forget that their realisation, politically, is as much indebted to the authorities’ fears of managing the social disorder of homelessness created on a grand scale by economic boom.

In 1872, mounted soldiers rode into a crowd of rioting homeless families in Berlin and cut them down with sabres. These were not political activists or natural enemies of the authoritarian state, but the culmination of years of squatters camps that sprung up all over Europe’s newest “weltstadt” as it struggled to house the thousands of ordinary people holding down respectable jobs in the ever-increasing numbers of businesses springing up at the height of Germany’s economic boom. These are the sorts of forgotten contributing factors that would force aesthetically reactionary forces to even consider a brave new world of design realised in incremental stages with various false starts and unexpected new driving forces over the next fifty years. If we forget these factors when being seduced by the beautiful coffee-table books of iconic object buildings from Weimar Germany, then perhaps the Chinese do not. It was a Chinese historian who famously commented when asked, nearing the bicentennial of the French Revolution, what its most significant effects were that it was too early to tell. Perhaps, unlike the rest of the aesthetically fixated niche audiences, the Chinese have not forgotten the perils of neglecting more pragmatic urban provision. And like Europe over a hundred years ago, it might need to consider even the most undesirable of designs to accommodate those needs. If Tang does make any statement about gender in her work, however, it is implicit rather than overt. As a sculptor she has adopted a format that inevitably reminds us of the work of supposedly forgotten women designers in European modernist schools. But perhaps more interestingly, the juxtaposition of these modernist tropes and the contemporary Chinese context prompt us to consider the relative scales on which human beings are forgotten; the few hundred neglected designers engaged with famous Modernist institutions compared with the thousands of underpaid Berliners living in boxes in parks in the late 19th century that justified the actualisation of their daring new designs or the millions subsumed by China’s various cultural revolutions.

Angie Reed The Berlin-based Italian American artist, Angie Reed, does not engage with the narratives of Modernism by engaging with its aesthetics as documented in the popular notion of “Bauhaus” or “Constuctivism”; the received visual languages that have come down to us through documentation and art historical representations. At least she does not do so through the “high culture” strand of academic treatise and beautiful catalogues. Instead, her lines of engagement with these topics –nonetheless distinctly present in her more recent works- reach us by being filtered through her own artistic worldview in which the trashy visual cultures of the underground comic, sixties television animation, Italian packaging design and camp architectural illustration merge.

Angie Reed is probably best known as a pop performer signed to the “Chicks on Speed” label. Her quirky electropop songs are more than capable of holding their own as pop music, coming from a distinct Berlin scene that includes the likes of Gonzales, Mocky, Peaches, Namosh and, of course Chicks on Speed. But a key feature of her work is that Angie Reed’s musical practice is inseparably connected with her practice as a visual artist.

In Angie Reed’s practice, her song writing comes out of forming the content for a performed experience –whether in galleries or more theatrical settings- intrinsically linked to the worlds she creates through the use of text and drawing. In the more recent of her two hour-long works, the projections of sequential drawings have been transformed into animation. Angie Reed’s practice has always involved drawing and an interest in animation. During the period that she studied under Katarina Sieverding, she explored a broad range of permutations of the various practices. One result was the performance-based works. The other main form was the use of her idiosyncratic drawings –or animations made from them- in making installations. In some cases these have involved turning specific rooms into a form of three-dimensional storyboard. In others, the work is more sculptural. In others still, straightforward animation.

The use of architecture or specific architectural representations has always been a feature of the animation and drawing works, Reed consciously using and reworking the image of a woman or women enclosed within specific, fantastic interiors drawing on her wealth of illustration and animation influences to make a somewhat camp post-feminist critique. In works from the most recent “ XYZ Frequency” body of work, German modernism in its various forms seeps into the imagery and narratives of a number of the animation works.

Hers is not the sleek modernism of the commonly envisaged Bauhaus or the sleek lines of the International Style, but a dense pastiche of many different visual languages all speaking at the same time. In the digital animation work “Bend the Truth in the Confession Booth” - taken from Reed's scanned drawings and then digitally animated- there are references that are unmistakable to specific audiences. There are clear allusions to the iconic Berlin artist Kathe Kollwitz who lived and worked contemporaneous to the tale and to the camp hand of Italian commercial illustration and animation from the 1960's and 1970's.

Unfolding on the screen is the apocryphal tale of a lesbian nun in Weimar Germany who is excommunicated and thereby sets out on an adventure that will see her achieve legend as a courtesan and eventually wind up a Situationist in post- World War II Paris. This is a tale of a woman denied and abused as a result of one identity that she might have had who responds by finding others that offer her a level of choice and power. And yet, for all its post-feminist empathy, it remains light and wry, in part achieved by the humour of the song and in part by the humour of the animation and its visual languages.

The narrative preoccupation with Weimar Germany continues in other works: a woman inevitably slaughters her lover in a nail salon rendition of a Georg Grosz; opium, absinthe and illicit sex are everywhere. Reed’s engagement with the visual languages of modernism contextualises the highbrow status of its more refined Bauhaus offspring to the street culture from which it emerged; the pin-up girls and sordid illustrations of racy novels. She is less concerned with how the tasteful examples of modernist design affected women than the quintessential opportunities allowed by a broader culture in flux. She avoids Schütte-Lihotsky’s kitchen and heads straight for Dietrich’s boudoir, the air pungent with delicious transgression and sexual survival strategies for a specific time in place that, to some extent, enabled a new kind of modern sexual identity for women to be born. The bittersweet aura of vamps and bankrupted war widows from Viktoria-Luise-Platz selling handjobs in the KDW coexist in the same three-minute story in which a woman finds her political fibre and resists fascism.

Perhaps in a thought process that relates to her commitment to an Arte Povera practice in the production of the work, Reed takes the visual languages of the era, equally modernist in their mindset, that have been consigned to the trash can by the arbiters of good taste and finds the human beauty where the polished chrome and white cantilevering is absent. Architecture and design, for Reed, exists in an internal landscape of psychology where the rough edges of existence cannot be filed down or separated from the messy stream of daily life, not even by the aspirations of Utopian architects in the 1920’s.

Selected Exhibition Credits HK119 has shown work at Tate Britain (London), Tate Liverpool (Liverpool), ICA, Kiasma (Helsinki), MAMA (Rotterdam) and Barbican – New Contemporaries (London). She participated in Metropolis Rise (Beijing & Shanghai) and the E-flux project in Istanbul and shown in galleries such as Fortescue Anvenue/Jonathan Viner (London) and Percy Miller (London) HK119 has released an album on One Little Indian Records and will release her second album on the same label in mid/late 2007

Ursula Mayer has shown at a range of spaces including Essl Collection/Kunsthalle Wien and Sesession (Vienna). She has been shown at MAMA (Rotterdam) was an official Witte de With Contemporary Art Center (Rotterdam) presentation at the Rotterdam International 2007 and will present works in a duographic project at the Centraal Museum (Utrecht) in March 2007. She will have a solo show at the Museum in Linz, Austria in October 2007.

Sadie Murdoch currently has a solo exhibition at Gallery 4, The Henry Moore Institute (Leeds). She has exhibited in projects at Ssamzie Space (Seoul), Galerie Krizinger, (Vienna), East International (Norwich) and Taipei National Fine Arts Museum (Taipei). Work by Sadie Murdoch was shown in the 2002 Liverpool Biennial (Liverpool).

Gal Kinan has had solo exhibitions at the Petach Ikva Museum of Art (Petach Tikva) and the Janco Dada Museum (Ein Hod). She has shown work in projects at the Martin-Gropius Bau (Berlin), The Haifa Museum of Art (Haifa), MAMA (Rotterdam) and the Rijksakademie (Amsterdam). Her work was included in the UCLA Wight Biennial (Los Angeles) in 2003.

Karen Tang was presented in a solo exhibition at The Economist Plaza (London), contributed works to Artfutures - Bloomberg Space (London) and work has been acquired by The Lincoln Museum (Loncoln). She has participated in projects at Galeria Slodownia, Stary Browar( Poznan) and to various outdoor sculpture exhibitions including the Portland Sculpture Trust and Trinity Buoy Wharf exhibitions in London. She was nominated for Jerwood Artists Platform, Becks Futures and New Contemporaries in a three year span. Angie Reed has shown work at range of spaces including Kunst Werke, Berlin; Kunstverein Wolfsburg, Wolfsburg; Wolfsburg Museum,Wolfsburg; Galerie TZR, Bochum and MAMA/Museum Boijmans van Beuningen, Rotterdam. In November 2006 she was shown in the duographic exhibition “Experimental Personalities” at the Contemporary Art Center, Cincinnati and in 2005 a solo presentation at KunstBank, Berlin as a recipient of the Berlin Senat work stipendium. Angie Reed has two albums, “The Best of Barabara Brockhaus” and “XYZ Frequency” released on Chicks on Speed Records and numerous collaborations and solo singles released on other labels.

only in german

Heidi Kilpelainen, Gal Kinan, Ursula Mayer, Sadie Murdoch, Karen Tang, Angie Reed