Mother-of-pearl Spirits 2002

Curator: Gosh, it feels like something out of a dream—an azure dream, maybe a touch melancholy. The whole scene shimmers with a gentle sadness, like memories you can’t quite grasp. Editor: We’re looking at “Mother-of-pearl Spirits,” a 2002 site-specific installation by the brilliant Rebecca Horn. Predominantly photographic and digital in its presentation here, it engages with public space through a carefully arranged spectacle of light. Notice how these ethereal rings dance above a classic cityscape, seemingly suspended. Curator: Spirits indeed. They remind me of fireflies caught in an infinite midnight—but with a silent, geometric grace. It's like the past and future are having a quiet conversation in blue. And look at those rings; they appear to float independently of the architectural framework—but the lines linking these glowing elements are real, which means we as the public are prevented from wandering freely through the public square—a subtle, clever intervention from Horn. Editor: Absolutely. The rings, uniform in shape yet varied in placement, offer an interesting play of repetition and difference. We must remember Horn’s exploration of kinetics, both physically in her early sculptures and here, conceptually through digital mediums. I’m curious how you perceive its relation to "light and space"—would you consider that association to hold ground in this particular installation? Curator: Absolutely. “Light and Space” for me is not merely about showcasing luminosity; rather, the whole is about capturing a sensation—the sensation of infinitude and of feeling insignificant in relation to this overwhelming cosmos—the artist brings our attention to just how fragile our shared space is in relation to our personal interpretations of what that is. A digital cityscape of quiet introspection. Editor: Ultimately, “Mother-of-pearl Spirits” encapsulates much of what makes Horn’s art so compelling: the blending of historical reference, technological innovation, and poignant atmosphere, captured digitally, makes one want to question our notions of site and light as something more significant than what can be recorded. Curator: Indeed, its haunting glow will linger in your mind long after you leave. It certainly has for me.