Kindler discusses her relationship to the artist.
“It’s hers,” she said. “It’s completely from the
head, a sculpture observed through large, broken
Kindler’s late night dates
had been recorded.
The lover, unnamed, described
Kindler’s pelvic mound as an institutional carpet that
was littered with “love prints” from inscrutable visitors. Later,
Collagne told me that the exhibition was inspired by those dates.
Those sessions lasted through September.
Working with Kindler was unusually sporadic.
The gumption was in concert with the artist’s
documentary material that would
incite her temper, at times. “I’m confident,” she wrote.
“And very unconfident.”
Kindler was in her mid-thirties. She had a
thin face and shoulder-length dark hair parted in the middle.
In her world, time was accordion-like. Those audiocassettes,
which captured Kindler’s imagination, crunched
underfoot, as the artist intended. We enter a room where
light hit Hessler’s face while he uncovers the history of Kindler’s career.
He decided it could serve as the conventional introduction to the artist’s
Hessler co-curated “The Room Represents My Permit.”
There was a long delay due to renovations.
But Kindler was uninterrupted.