Total obscurity… No risk…<\/em> This makes one wonder. The guard has returned and shifts his balance from one foot to the other; he plays distractedly with the walkie-talkie\u2019s antenna. When a crackling sound is heard, he starts and indicates to a visitor that his turn has come by extending to him the form to sign. The man squints his eyes better to grasp the scope of what is being asked of him and begins reading: \u201cDear visitors, as a result of \u00adspecific conditions required by the artist, the exhibition S\u00fc\u00dfer duft<\/em> can only be visited individually. Since the configuration of the exhibition does not permit conventional supervision, each visitor is invited to assume responsibility for himself by \u00adsigning the following agreement. The Maison Rouge \u00adrefuses all responsibility for possible physical or material damage incurred in the exhibition. In \u00adsigning below, you declare to have been made aware of these conditions.\u201d The man raises his head, twisting his mouth into a \u00adgrimace. He appears to be upset and embarrassed. He mutters something in the guard\u2019s direction, cracks a weak hint of a smile, and quickly heads toward the art centre\u2019s exit. Stupefied, we watch him leave. The rumour spreads once more through the queue. Visitors stand there, \u00adworried and nervous, like divers lined up at the foot of the \u00adstaircase leading to the high diving board. Waiting time of 50 minutes: in having almost reached our objective, we cannot give up. At the base of the diving platform, we would at the very least enjoy the satisfaction of knowing what awaits us, of seeing others jump in and swim back up to the surface of the water. However, S\u00fc\u00dfer duft<\/em> swallows spectators one after another without spitting them back out. Not one returns to tell us. We hear no story to reassure us. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Retreating to the right at the end of the small white hallway there is a door. As he is about to close it behind us, the guard advises in a low voice: \u201cIf you do not feel well, do not move. Someone will come to get you.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n We are now alone in a very narrow corridor that looks like a backstage area: on one side there is the wall of the art centre, white and thick, and on the other a partition raised up several meters high. A little further down, a discreet handle in the partition indicates a passage to another site. Timidly, we push the hidden door in and discover a small room with a low ceiling, dimly lit by an orange lamp. There is another door at the end of this room that opens onto a corridor similar to the one we have just exited. Yet again we come face to face with a door in the partition. As it loudly slams shut, we realize that it is impossible to reopen it. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The room in which we find ourselves \u201clocked in\u201d is completely white. It resembles a contemporary museum space dividing two exhibitions: empty, immaculate, and vast. From the ceiling neon bulbs pour out an intense and overwhelming light. There are several doors, but only one handle. To reach it we must cross the entire space. Our steps resonate. Fortunately the handle turns and the door opens. We then fall into a \u00adcontainer. Its sides are made of aluminium. It is hot; the air is stale. Located behind a translucent, plasticized curtain, a handle similar to those found on freezer doors again indicates a new path to follow. Upon opening this door, the change in temperature is compounded by another surprise: the space\u2019s profound obscurity. We must grope around in the dark to find the next exit, and we discover a handle curiously identical to the previous one. A doubt overcomes us: have we retraced our steps? The darkness is complete. As we attempt to follow the length of the wall, our hands and feet run up against emptiness. The space is complex. Upon finally reaching the detour of a partition, the light and a strange feeling of d\u00e9j\u00e0-vu arise simultaneously. In an instant the idea that we must begin the journey anew crosses our minds. In reality, we stand in the exit\u2019s antechamber. A last door \u201cfinally\u201d opens onto the museum space. Our return to the secure space is brutal. We no longer expected it. It is a shocking awakening. <\/p>\n\n\n\n The sweet and acrid smell that wafts in from beneath the doors2<\/sup><\/a><\/span> 2 <\/a> - \u201cS\u00fc\u00dfer duft<\/em> (\u201csweet perfume\u201d) is the first time Gregor Schneider uses artificial odours in his work, which imperceptibly modify our perception of space, our \u00adbehaviour, and our mental images. In the exhibition, the visitor perceives two types of contrasting odours. It is a play of olfactory opposition that the artist announces in the scratch n\u2019 sniff exhibition card: the evocative title \u201csweet perfume\u201d is covered with an opaque, silvery film, which, when scratched, reveals the disagreeable odour of burnt rubber.\u201d Excerpt cited from the S\u00fc\u00dfer duft<\/em> exhibition brochure.<\/span> is the only Ariadne\u2019s thread that spectators can grasp to guide themselves. It fills our lungs and impregnates our nostrils. This smell progressively becomes a projection surface. Certain spectators have compared this smell to that of meat at a butcher shop, and others to that of body odour. We discover it at the beginning of the journey; it surprises us, and the more challenging and prolonged the experience becomes, the more its perfume seems disagreeable. Insufferable, it magnifies the contrasts that saturate our senses.<\/p>\n\n\n\n As aural isolation gives way to the noise of doors that slam shut in seeming condemnation, as the light is either too intense or \u00adaltogether absent, we have no other choice but to experience the void, our \u00adimprisonment, and the labyrinth. Lost in the middle of nowhere, we are urged forward and must always go further just to be somewhere else. \u201cTo exit\u201d becomes a primal quest. A meticulous working of matter, colours, and light transforms the space into a scenario and slowly but surely builds anguish. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Nonetheless, since the spectator\u2019s suffocation is not the simple \u00adby-product of spatial pressures, it is all the more ineluctable. Not only do visitors immerse themselves in a space that dominates them, but they also become engrossed in their own perceptions, which end up engulfing them. The work is analogous to a black hole in space and time. It exists only in the unique and intimate experience of each visitor who has been removed from reality (\u201creality\u201d is understood here in terms of a shared perception of things). Inside the exhibit, we are definitely alone, \u201csolitary witnesses of (our own) staging\u201d and of the artist\u2019s mise-en-sc\u00e8ne. The solemnity of the formal notice, the fulfilment of formalities, the signing of a contract, the dramatization of the entry into the artwork, and, above all, the wait time are all necessary stages to the construction of this experience. <\/p>\n\n\n\n In S\u00fc\u00dfer duft<\/em>, the world disappears from spectators\u2019 horizon and spectators disappear from the horizon of the world: they do not know where they are, and those who are on the outside do not know either. The spectator who disappears haunts the memories of those who \u201cremain,\u201d waiting. These witnesses are indispensable. Without their testimony, the disappearance would not take place. Schneider\u2019s artworks are secret, \u00adominous \u201ccells,\u201d unknown, blurry, and unfathomable. The choice of \u00admaking spectators enter one at a time is therefore far more than an authoritative strategy designed to frighten the public: the artist places spectators in a position to accept their own disappearance. This disappearance of the \u00adsubject coincides with his apparition in our memories and corresponds to the infinitesimal moment of passage to another state of being. This change in status is as brief and efficient as the short instant during which we walk through an open door, a gateway, or step over a threshold. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Translated from the French by Vivian Ralickas<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/esse.ca\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/66_DO04_Lauraire_Schneider_La-maison-rouge-scaled.jpg\")
S\u00fc\u00dfer duft<\/em>, La Maison Rouge, Paris, 2008.
SODRAC (2009)
Photo: courtesy of the artist & VG Bild-Kunst Bonn<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/esse.ca\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/09\/66_DO04_Lauraire_Schneider_White-Odour-scaled.jpg\")
\u00ab White Odour \u00bb<\/em>, S\u00fc\u00dfer duft<\/em>, La Maison Rouge, Paris, 2008.
SODRAC (2009)
Photo\u202f: courtesy of the artist & VG Bild-Kunst Bonn<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n