Text from the catalogue: “Reservate der Sehnsucht”, written by Iris Dressler, Dortmund 1998.

Videowork: “Nóóó, you don’t understand”

A transparent male body stretches across three video projections, moving minimally as though floating in an aquarium. Similarly phantom-like fragments of sounds and sen­tences emerge from off-screen. Isolated from their original context in diverse television series, they form cryptic dialogues that are repeatedly broken by short pauses; short moments of silence. Neither plots nor actions come into effect, but rather a sterile substitute, made of little fragments that are, and could make one, emotional. The snatches of language as well as the expressions of emotion, like laughter; sobbing, groaning, shrieking, giggling are, in addition to their acoustic presence, simultaneously transmitted in text and projected onto the floating body, like subtitles. The appearance and disappearance of voices in turn, direct his movements in the ‘vacuum’. "This is your father speaking" is said at one point.

It is well known that film and television are surfaces for the projection and mirroring of our confessed and hidden longings and passions. Voices, sounds and film music play an important yet subtle role in this. In Nóóó, you don't understand Bogers compres­ses the effects of intonation parame­ters, both outside and inside speech -parameters that even babies are able to decipher and certainly understand. With this he creates space for certain dramatics that as a spectator; one can hardly escape from. The lethargy of the passively floating body, reacting only to 'His Master's Voice', is passed on to the position of the viewer. The subtle suggestive power of mass media, capable of manipulating our moods considerably (this is of course how advertising operates), seems both isolated and isolating alike; it appears as a powerful dis­course that we enter willingly.



Excerpt from the catalogue of the solo exhibition: ‘Shared Moments’, ‘Woodstreet Galleries’,  Pittsburgh USA, Oktober 2002.

The video installation Play-Rev-Play consists of three semi-transparent screens which structure the presentation room.  The images projected upon them thus cannot be grasped at first sight, but only after walking through the whole room and taking in the clipping-like constellations.  The images can be viewed from both sides of the screens, creating a multiplicity of perspectives, i.e. as many exclusions as connections, which are directly linked to the viewer’s position.

On the three screens of Play-Rev-Play we can see a foot, hand and head, each of monumental size, drifting almost weightlessly and independently from each other under water in front of a black background.  The aquarium-like remoteness of their presence and their distance to the observer’s world is as equally radical and hermetic as in Nóóó, You Don’t Understand.  As if powered by an invisible force, hand, foot, and head suddenly act simultaneously and slowly move to the surface of the water.  But before they can break the surface and the head can gasp for air, an arm suddenly appears out of nowhere and pushes the head, hand and foot back into the water.  The meditative calm of complete self-sufficiency changes unexpectedly into a violent action, which almost takes one’s breath away.  As soon as the arm appears, the three pictures briefly freeze and then reverse in slow motion back to the original state.  During this time the otherwise silent images are accompanied by the original sound of the recordings.  It is again peaceful and quiet, as if nothing happened and nothing could shake the cosmos of these three solitary images.  One would almost forget the incident if it were not continually repeating itself, and if tiny changes were not entering the images each time.  In an impressive way, Play-Rev-Play shows us a central phantasm of Western culture: the desire for constancy, continuity, and eternity; the fear of change; the wish to hold on to things, moments and events, i.e. life itself; so that it remains unchanged for all times.  We are living in a culture that represses and despises death, which paradoxically equals a longing for death.  And it is the media of photography and film that reflects reality, in which the desire to hold on coincides with the desire to kill the moment.  The perfect harmony, the ideal state of permanence and security, is only disturbed when the lifeless body parts, which are fixed in the image and preserved like compounds, begin to move; to break out of their calm remoteness and want to return to life.  What first seems to be an act of external force, i.e. the arm that permanently pushes down the head gasping for air, does not fulfill anything else than our primary desire that nothing should change.  The arm in Play-Rev-Play seems to set boundaries that hope to see death overcome in the picture.