The Beggar's Diary, 30.08.2007. - A demonstration passes by the Spiekerhof and Filch asks what's going on: "We are protesting because we have to relocate to Muenster," someone shouts. "What?" A man explains that they work at a bank in Cologne, and the bank has decided to relocate over 700 employees to Muenster. They all have to move.
Filch thinks it must be hard to find places for some 700 families to live, but he’s sure the bank has thought of that … there is not much room for improvisation with such a resettlement, and in Germany, after all, cosmopolitism is a must.
Two men from Hamburg come to meet him. Filch asks them for a story and one of them takes a stone out of his pocket. It's a beautiful stone, naturally carved by the Rhine. It seems to have threads all over it. "This is a story," Ranko says. The stone is reminiscent of a tree, with the lines indicating its age.
Not much is happening today and so Filch decides to wander about. He sees George Rickey’s sculpture and thinks about how all this, the Skulptur Projekte that is, got started.
What has come out of this discussion about public art that has by now been going on for some 34 years? Three people give three different answers. The lady who takes care of Hans-Peter Feldmann’s toilets says: "Public art must be functional." The guard at Marko Lehanka's flower venture: "Art must be understandable." And a tourist says: "Art must be interactive." And Muenster’s residents for the most part think the city should buy Bruce Nauman's piece. Filch decides not to put himself forward for the post.
He spends the rest of the afternoon at Mike Kelly's Petting Zoo. There is a rumor going around that the bad guy from the Spiderman movie was here, that he was stoned, that he loves Mike Kelley's work, and that he bought the Petting Zoo for a million Euro—sans animals, since they don’t belong to Mike Kelly. But the bad guy from which Spiderman movie? 1, 2 or 3? Willem Dafoe, Alfred Molina or Thomas Haden Church?
Filch goes to have a drink at the FYAL in the late evening. There is only one table free, with a "reserviert" sign on it. But, as no one is there, Filch sits down to drink his beer.
Not much later, a bunch of people walk up to the table and say they had reserved it (yes, that is what the note says!). Filch asks if it is all right if he sits with them—one more person could hardly make that much of a difference. But apparently it can, and the crowd is not amused. Then one man claims to recognize him: "Wait! Didn’t you sit on one of my balls yesterday." That’s either a joke, Filch thinks, or his broken German is playing dirty tricks on him again. The man says his name is Dieter, and adds: "You talked to the President sitting on the Oldenburg balls, remember? Well, I made them for Dominique."
Right, that's what he meant.
"I built Guy Ben-Ner’s work as well."
"Well, nice to meet you. I’ll be going now,” Filch says, and walks over to another table.
He sits down next to two men, and before he knows it he’s having a lively conversation with a man called Udo. They’re all drinking beer. Udo talks about Muenster, which "can be boring." But "it's good for families," he adds. "It’s lucky for us we have the Skulptur Projekte."
Filch, out of the blue, asks Udo if his father is still alive (why ask that, Filch?). No, his father died when he was 41, and Udo was just a kid of 10. "So, that means you're older now than your father ever was?" Udo is silent for a while and then says he is 46 now, and that, indeed, it is odd to be more advanced in years than his father ever was. Udo’s son was also 10 when Udo turned 41, and he really thought then that he did not want to die. Because of his son.
When their glasses are empty Filch says goodnight. Udo answers back: "Das Leben ist kein Wunschkonzert."
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