On my way to Frankfurt, I stop in Freiburg to visit the Kunstverein–a familiar space, as I used to work there as the artistic director of the Freiburg Biennial until last winter. To my surprise, the entrance of Freiburger Kunstverein is blocked by the back of a wooden hut. Walking around the structure, I see that it’s front is shuttered, and that there are more huts in the main gallery space. As I make my way into the middle of the building, a street begins to form in my mind. It leads to the center of a small village replete with little courtyards; a village where something feels slightly off.
The exhibition by Belgian artist Sara Deraedt is titled free, a name borrowed from two cities with the same name. Taking place simultaneously in Freiburg at Kunstverein Freiburg, Germany and in Fribourg at Kunsthalle Friart, Switzerland, the exhibition embodies the interdependencies of two spheres existing apart, yet simultaneously. The show is de facto one as much as it is split in two, between two countries, two cities, two institutions. As the artist states in the three sentence exhibition leaflet “free is marked by separation. The two locations exist in parallel and with the absence of the other, like an estranged family. Inside, separation continues.”
For Deraedt, the exhibition in each location functions indepentedently–presenting an either-or scenario. I chose to trust the proposed scenario and visited only the German side of the exhibition. The leaflet further informs me that the six huts in the exhibition are rented from the city of Freiburg and are normally used for the local Christmas market. No artworks by Sara Dereadt are on display here–no list, no titles–yet the precise arrangement of the six huts. At first glance, I am standing in the middle of a peaceful village. On second glance, something feels off.
Although all the huts share the same shape, a square base with a pointed roof, each behaves differently. Some are turned away from the center of the gallery, while others are neatly aligned in succession. Their closed windows make communication amongst the huts difficult yet enhance their individual positioning.
Their architectural constellation is similar to systemic therapy constellation, for example, embodying a family after a quarrel: each member taking their stand, turning the grid of the huts into a social constellation.
They don’t act out, yet their communication is at malice. Each hut embodies a different character, their positioning makes way of their social bonds. Enemies and allies are formed: some standing closer to each other towards the exit, one solely staring against the wall of a dark alley. The careful spatial arrangement of the huts evokes a psychological landscape, drawing the visitor into the scene.
In free, Deraedt sends us on a journey of deprivation–of something that feels both familiar and uncanny–toward an indefinable destination or quest, evoking a space of projection shaped by absence. Expectations of recognizable art tropes or interpretive details that might resolve the exhibition’s meaning are left unmet: visitors must engage directly with what they encounter. The installation promises a narrative, but there is no plot. In free there is no beginning or end, leaving me in a state of perpetual movement.
The open door of the hut at the very end of the space literally pulls me right in. Once inside the dark, small space, surrounded by the scent of wood, a feeling of familiarity to a hiker’s hut emerges–a simple shelter promising refuge in a sudden storm. After a few moments, the walls of the enclosed space seem to creep closer and closer. The cozy feeling gives way to claustrophobic tightness. What once felt safe turns into a place of discomfort–the hut now resembles a cell, designed to isolate. I turn around and find myself back in the starkly contrasting light, white gallery space. In the middle of the gallery, a freight elevator marks the village’s center, much like a church would.
On top of the elevator Deraedt placed a cross, made from the Kunstverein’s plinths. From the ground floor the elevator only goes down. The shaft on its sides draws me in, into the dark. It presents an underlying score of the exhibition; the things that exist below. I take the staircase up and gaze down on the village. It seems like a model of reality purged of life, or do I see somebody? The seemingly calm scene carries an unsettling undercurrent. Stillness turns into a storm. Peace into struggle. The village into a prison. The empty streets into controlled zones of residence. The huts conceal cellars. The image of something so familiar, yet without direct meaning, makes the unsettling counter-images even more powerful. The longer I stay, the more the dimension of what lies beneath comes to the forefront.
Circling back down I enter a rabbit hole and my thoughts make me at loss for words. A sense of inexplicability grips my throat grappling with the profound and elusive nature of an experience that defies my clear articulation. It is the feeling one encounters when faced with something so deeply complex yet clear that words seem insufficient to capture its essence.
On my way out, I noticed more strongly the red light of the hut that is turned to face the wall, away from the others. Since the exhibition is only lit by natural light, it becomes brighter and redder as the sun sets.
Days later, memories of the exhibition resurface. As though in a dream, I am the main protagonist walking through space, and what opens up is this uncanny feeling.
Moving through the Kunstverein Freiburg in Sara Deraedt’s free meant experiencing the space. Once inside, I felt compelled to stay. Space and body merged into material. While walking, I lost track of time and, ultimately, the act of consciously observing, returning instead to myself. Throwing back to oneself; is this the separation the artist intended? It is difficult for a trained visitor to admit the inability to rely on familiar references.
This is an exhibition that needs to be experienced to be truly understood. It succeeds because of an exceptional precision. Deraedt’s exhibitions go against justification and articulation and free is no exception. When visiting free in Freiburg, one could experience what happens when art is deafeningly silent.
