did not claim as an independent

artist to create solutions for

many people or make everyday

life easier for anyone. He wanted

to intensify his own life by break-

ing habits. He also made meticu-

lous calculations – for example,

the number of clothes hangers

that he would have or the dis-

tance from his potential visitors

(he could only ever have one

visitor who would stand or sit

exactly 40 cm away from him.)

However, like the Zen doctrines,

the design of his cells eludes the

rules of any logical rationalism.

Absalon wanted to challenge the

standardised motion sequences

with which Le Corbusier or also

the Bauhaus designers worked

with houses that were so pre-

cisely “tailor-made” that they

inspired new ways of living and

thinking. He hoped for a close-

ness with space where intensive

dialogue could take place and

rituals could be developed that

really were his own. The aim was

to equip every one of his cells in

such a way that they provided

for basic needs and ensured

independent living, though not

entirely self-sufficient living. But

instead of following conventional

functionalities, every individual

design should get him to make

unfamiliar movements; get him,

as he described it himself,

“dancing”. He admitted that a

“slow dance” with the interior of

the cell would initially feel con-

strained and uncomfortable.

But as soon as he had assimi-

lated the movements, in the way

that religious people pray, it

would enrich him. If he took

ownership of the available space

in this way, he believed that he

would grow into it emotionally.

As a former aircraft engineer,

Absalon drafted elaborate

sketches and developed models

and prototypes. The cell for Paris

was realised to the extent that it

was almost ready to move in.

It only had to be placed in the

intended location and connected

to the municipal supply network

– when Absalon died from the

consequences of his AIDS illness

in 1993. He still accomplished

the basis of his life’s work be-

cause all of the important deci-

sions were already manifested in

designs: “Choice seems to me

to be the biggest and best thing

that I can provide,” he confirmed

during a lecture at the École

Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-

arts in Paris a few months before

his death. “I chose my living

space, I chose my way of sleep-

ing and eating and I chose the

height of my door handle. (...)

I overcame the distance between

my desires and my reality.”

Absalon’s radically subjective

way of opening up space raises

a question that every designer,

architect and individual will ask

every now and then: Do things

really have to be how they are?

He didn’t want to provide an-

swers with his cells, but only give

suggestions. “I would simply

like to encourage people not to

subscribe to the rationale passed

on to us and presented in fur-

nishing catalogues. Choose,

choose your life.”

Cellules, 1991

Installationsansicht/ Installation

KW Institute for Contemporary Art, 2010

Foto/ Photo: dreusch.loman, 2010

12 Kartonboxen mit 6 Elementen

Holz, Karton, Papier, weiße

Dispersionsfarbe/

12 cardboard boxes with 6 elements

Wood, cardboard, paper, white paint

20,5 x 160,5 x 252,5 cm

courtesy Musée d’Art Moderne de

la Ville de Paris

Cellule No. 6, 1992

Kartonboxen mit 6 Elementen/

Cardboard elements with 6 boxes

Copyright the artist

Kugelschreiber, Bleistift, Tinte,

Korrekturflüssigkeit auf weißem Papier

Ball pen, pencil, ink, correction pen

on white paper

21 x 29,7 cm

ABSALON – CELLULES

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